The Insider (6 page)

In his pre-coffee stupor, it took a few seconds for him to fully grasp the potential consequences of what had just happened. He had, however inadvertently, disclosed the pending merger of a publicly traded company, violating about a dozen securities laws in the process. If Katya went to work at her securities firm and told one of the dealers about this, or if she bought Jupiter stock herself, then he would be guilty of insider trading. Attorneys had lost their jobs and their licenses and sometimes even gone to jail for similar offenses. Since he was already the suspect in a murder investigation, this was the last thing that he needed.

For a moment, he considered whether Katya might have sought him out at the club for just this purpose—to extract insider information. He promptly dismissed the notion as paranoid, concluding that he had enough worries and didn't need to invent new ones.

Will pulled on his boxer shorts and slid out of bed, wide-awake now. He had to make sure that Katya did not do or say anything about the Jupiter deal. But he didn't want to mention it at that moment, while she was still furrowing her brow at him. From the annoyed look on her face, he could see that he was not going to get very far with her if she thought that he was being condescending.

“Forgive me,” he said, beaming his most ingratiating smile.

Katya made a show of judging him, her arms crossed. “Okay.”

Covering the three paces that separated the bedroom from the kitchen, he studied Katya's face, as he had been doing ever since they had met the night before. He kept thinking that he detected the flicker of a smile in her dark eyes or at the corners of her mouth.

Katya and Will sipped coffee and watched Ron bask in the sunlight that streamed through the blinds. Will was surprised that he didn't feel the need to fill the silence with small talk.

A pounding at the door shattered the quiet.

“Hey, Katya!
Otkroi!
It's Yuri!”

“Oh shit,” Katya said, putting down her coffee. “I'm not going to answer it.”

“Yuri? Who's Yuri?”

“I told you about him. The guy who got me the job at the securities firm. A friend of a friend of my second cousin Irina.”

“What does he want?”

Katya fluttered her hand at him, indicating that there was no time for that story.

The pounding continued and grew louder. Yuri was hammering his fists on the door, rattling it on its hinges. “
Ya znaiu, chto ty tam!
Don't make me break this fucking door down!”

Katya and Will both retreated to the far wall of the apartment and stared at the door as if it were about to explode into splinters. Will felt Katya's long nails dig into his arm. It made him feel protective of her, but he wasn't yet sure what it was she might need protecting from.

The pounding stopped. “Listen, Katya,” Yuri said, calmer this time, a skewed voice of reason. “I could kick this door in. You know that. But if I do, who is going to pay for it? You are. And your landlord, oh he will have many questions.” Yuri slammed his fist into the door to punctuate his point.

Katya whispered, “Get your clothes and hide in the bathroom. I'm going to have to let him in.”

Will shook his head. “Just wait for him to leave.”

“You don't know him. He'll either kick in the door or stay out there all day till we come out. If he thinks I am avoiding him, it will only make things worse.”

“I'm not hiding in the bathroom from this guy. What is he, your boyfriend?”

“No, but there's no time to explain. You just don't want Yuri to find you here. Trust me on this.”

Gathering up his clothes, Will went into the bathroom and shut the door. He tried to lock the bathroom door, but it was broken. He stood with his back against the sink in his boxer shorts, his suit wadded into a ball in his arms. Will examined the image of himself in the oval mirror hanging on the bathroom door. His eyes were bloodshot from the hangover. He looked pale, and his jaw was clenched with fear. His fingers gripped his pinstripe suit as if someone was about to tear it from him.

He heard the front door open, then the footsteps of more than one person on the hardwood floor. Something was said that he couldn't understand, or perhaps it was in Russian. More rapid footsteps. It sounded like the apartment was being searched.

Then the bathroom door swung open to reveal a tall man in a leather jacket. His sharp, narrow face seemed to consist of two planes that met in a long, aquiline nose. Yuri.

A feral smile spread across Yuri's face at the sight of Will in his boxer shorts. “Hello, asshole,” he said.

Still grinning malevolently, Yuri motioned for Will to step out of the bathroom.

“Look, she doesn't want you here,” Will said. “If you don't get out right now, we're going to call the cops!”

Despite his bluster, Will didn't feel very bold as he stepped into the room. The apartment, which had seemed so warm and comforting a moment ago, was now freezing. The front door was wide open and he was standing in the center of the room in his bare feet and boxer shorts.

By the doorway stood a heavyset man in a gray wool overcoat. He was nearly bald except for a few wisps of dark hair that clung to his scalp in damp strands. With his aerodynamic head and massive build encased in the overcoat, the man resembled some kind of lethal, heavy-gauge armament. His face was broad and flat, with dark, deep-set eyes that darted furtively in the shadows of a protruding brow.

“This guy . . . ” Yuri said to his companion, wagging a finger at Will. “You ever see someone and just want to beat the crap out of them?”

“All the time,” the heavyset man responded in a thick Russian accent.

Katya, wearing only her Giants T-shirt and underwear, stood at the kitchen counter looking scared. “Nikolai . . . Yuri . . . why don't we just talk later after he's gone,” Katya said, nodding at Will. “I'll come and see you. I promise.”

Nikolai pondered for a moment, the gears seeming to turn slowly but with reasonable precision.
“Postoi, Yura! On nam mozhet prigoditsia.”

“What do they want?” Will asked Katya.

Katya simply shook her head.

“Don't talk to her,” said Nikolai in his labored English. “You talk to me. Who are you?”

“I met Katya at the Whiskey Bar last night. That's all.”

Nikolai's tone was calm, patient, and only mildly amused. “Just answer questions. What is your name?”

“Will.”

“Full name, please.”

“Will Connelly.” Although Will's voice was steady, his hands were trembling, fear coursing through him like a low-voltage electrical current. For someone who had always resolved his conflicts through thoughtful discourse, the idea of real physical violence was strangely difficult to comprehend. The situation made him recall the moment when he had stood up to his wife-beating father when he was fifteen. He had faced down George late one night in the front yard of their house, wielding a driver from his bag of golf clubs. Will still vividly recalled that moment, the feel of his bare feet in the wet grass and the surging anger that almost caused him to swing the club. But instead, after some blustering and shouting, George had walked off down the dark suburban street, never to return. Anne had joked later that he should have used a nine iron.

“And what do you do, Will Connelly?”

“I'm an attorney.”

Nikolai extended a meaty hand and said, “Your card. Please.”

“Yeah,” Yuri added, “you guys always carry cards, don't you?”

“I don't think I have one with me.” Will was still hoping that he could avoid giving them too much information.

“Yura, posmotri u nego v pidzhake,”
said Nikolai, pointing to Will's suit.

“Use your English,” Yuri responded testily. “How else are you going to get any better?”

Yuri grabbed Will's jacket and pants out of his arms and fished in the suit pocket. After a few seconds, he produced a business card, then threw the clothes back at Will.

Yuri handed the card to Nikolai, who studied it as if it were written in Phoenician cuneiform.

Will, in turn, studied Yuri and Nikolai. Although he could have sized up a lawyer he was negotiating with in ten seconds flat, Yuri and Nikolai weren't nearly so easy to read. All he was able to conjure up was a long line of fictional gangsters from movies, television, and books. Were they members of a Russian organized-crime family or just garden-variety bullies?

“You do criminal work?” Nikolai asked, perhaps contemplating his own affairs.

“No. Corporate law. Mergers and acquisitions.”

“M&A, huh?” Yuri added, determined to be part of the conversation.

“Will works on big-time deals. He is way out of your league,” Katya goaded.

“Then that means he's out of your league, too, doesn't it?” Yuri countered, with a vindictive rise in his voice that made Will wonder again if they had ever been a couple. “You think Will here is going to take you away from all this? He's just here to get laid. Isn't that right, Will?”

“Shut the fuck up, Yuri.” Nikolai said it as if it were all one word and one of the few English phrases that seemed to roll trippingly off his tongue.

Nikolai and Yuri conferred in Russian, with Nikolai doing most of the talking. When they finished, Yuri walked up to Will. “You know, Will, I have never had much luck in the stock market. I was heavy into tech stocks. You being such a smart guy and all, I bet you got out of the market in time.”

Yuri's glare seemed to demand a response. “No, I got burned, too,” Will offered. “Just about everyone did.”

“But if you are such a big fucking deal, like Katya says, then you probably know some things.”

“No, not really.”

“But even if you did know something, something profitable, you wouldn't tell me, would you?”

Will could not think of a safe answer to that question, so he remained silent.

“Nikolai and I are entrepreneurs. We are always looking for business opportunities. We think maybe we see an opportunity in you, Will.”

“I think you've got the wrong idea about me.”

“We'll see.”

Yuri stepped behind the kitchen counter and examined some dirty dishes in the sink. “She is not much of a house-keeper, is she?” He picked up a dirty wineglass from the counter. He held it up to the light and examined the fingerprint smudges.

“Now I'm sure that if you really tried, you could think of something,” Yuri said. He wrapped his fingers around the base of the glass and let it dangle at his side.

“I really can't help you,” Will said.

“I don't think you're trying hard enough.”

“I don't know anything, and even if I did—”

“Take a moment,” Yuri said. “Think about it.”

“You really should think about it,” Nikolai added, with a note of what could almost pass for concern.

Will paused, making a show of giving it some thought, then tried again. “Attorney-client privilege prevents me—”

Yuri swung quickly, smashing the wineglass into Will's temple. Will collapsed to the floor. Blood flowed warm into his eyes. He watched in stunned fascination as drops of his blood formed a small, dark puddle on the floor.

Yuri stood over him. “Fuck attorney-client privilege.”

Katya came out from behind the kitchen counter, but Nikolai stepped forward to block her advance. “Animals! Leave him alone!” Katya punched Nikolai in the bicep, producing the dull, unyielding thud of someone striking a stack of phone books. With little effort, Nikolai grabbed Katya by the shoulders and hurled her onto the bed.

Yuri motioned to Nikolai. “It's your turn, big man.”

Nikolai removed his overcoat and laid it carefully over a chair. He resembled a retired football player going to seed, with his hard, protuberant belly and pectorals like balloons the day after a party.

Yuri pulled Will up off the floor, twisting his arms behind his back. Will struggled, but Yuri's grip held firm. He seemed to have done this before.

Will blinked to clear his vision. With his hands pinned, he was unable to wipe the blood from his eyes or probe his throbbing temple. He shook his head like a dog to get the blood off his face.

“Cocksucker!” Yuri shouted. “You get blood on this shirt and I'll really go to work on you.”

Nikolai slowly advanced toward Will, giving him time to contemplate what was coming. Will twisted in Yuri's grip, attempting to free his hands.

Nikolai had dark rings under his armpits, and as he stood before Will he smelled of damp wool, sweat, and cologne.

“This is crazy,” Will said. “I really don't . . .”

Nikolai put his finger to his lips. “Please,” he said, before slamming a fat fist into Will's stomach. Katya shrieked.

Will slumped in Yuri's grip, gasping for air with a thin, wet wheezing sound.

“Come on, Will, don't be a pussy,” Yuri said as he straightened Will up. Nikolai approached again.

“Stop it! He told me something!” It was Katya, who was crouched on the bed on her hands and knees.

Nikolai turned to her. “What did you say?”

“He told me something about a deal he's working on. Just stop hitting him.”

“Go on,” Nikolai said.

“Don't . . . ” Will managed to gasp.

Katya sat up on her knees on the bed. “Will, I'm sorry.” Then, to Nikolai: “He told me that he's working on a big deal. A company called Jupiter. Jupiter Software. They're going to be bought.”

Yuri released Will, and he slumped to the floor.