Outsourced

24

At seven the next morning Resnick pulled up in front of Petrenko’s address. Settling in, he poured black coffee from a thermos and drank it as he skimmed the stories on the front page of the paper about Lombardo and Gordon Carmichael. After that he found Carmichael’s obituary.

As he had guessed, Carmichael was a loner with no wife or kids. The only family mentioned were parents living in Greenwich, Connecticut. The obituary had more about Carmichael’s father, a retired industrialist, than it did about the dead man – mentioning only that Carmichael had served in Vietnam, was awarded two Purple Hearts, and after his service earned a degree from Yale before working as an engineer at a number of companies, none of which Resnick had ever heard of.

Shortly after ten, a silver Mercedes pulled into Petrenko’s driveway. A man with a thick build, about five foot eight, got out. He was in his late thirties, had blond hair cut close to his scalp and a nose that had been pushed sideways across his face. Resnick recognized him, having seen him with Petrenko several times before, including at the Russian restaurant. The man stared indifferently in Resnick’s direction before heading to the front door. It was already eighty degrees in the shade and he was wearing a leather jacket, which told Resnick that the Russian was probably carrying a piece. He considered whether to try picking him up on a weapons charge, but decided to sit still and see where this led.

Ten minutes later Petrenko left the house, escorted by the same man. Petrenko gave Resnick an indifferent look before turning his gaze away. The Mercedes pulled on to the street and Resnick made no attempt to hide the fact that he was following it.

The Mercedes headed into Boston. At Government Center, the car turned towards the North End. When it got to Hanover Street, the car stopped. Petrenko stepped out and walked briskly in the opposite direction, nodding at Resnick as he went past.

Resnick was stuck. The street was too narrow for him to pull over without blocking traffic. He could gamble, drive down Hanover Street, and hope that Petrenko would double back. That seemed like a bad bet. Instead he stayed on the Mercedes. He knew the driver was Petrenko’s muscle, and he doubted Petrenko would do any business without him.

At the next street the Mercedes stopped abruptly, forcing Resnick to hit his brakes to keep from rear-ending it. The driver’s-side door opened and, in a coordinated move, the driver got out while another man stepped from the sidewalk and took his place behind the wheel. There was still no room for Resnick to pull over. The thick-bodied Russian leered at him as he jogged past. With no other choice Resnick continued following the Mercedes, knowing the best he could do now was pick up Petrenko later. Grudgingly, he had to admire the maneuver Petrenko used to lose him. He made a mental note not to underestimate Petrenko again.

Joel was surprised when he answered the phone and heard his uncle Hymie demanding to know what type of trouble he had gotten himself into.

“Calm down, Uncle Hymie.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” There was a silence, then the old man continued in a low whisper. “A reward is being offered for information about uncut diamonds. Do you want to know who’s offering this reward?”

Joel didn’t bother answering. He waited for his uncle to tell him it was Viktor Petrenko.

“I’ve asked about this person,” his uncle went on. “He’s a thug, a dangerous man. In Russia, he was an interrogator for the KGB. Do you know what that means, Joel? Do you have any idea what type of person you stole from?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t steal anything.”

“You’re going to lie to me? You think I’m some fercockt meshuggina to believe your nonsense? What’s wrong with you to think you could do something like this, getting yourself mixed up with an animal like Petrenko? Do you have brains in your head?”

“Don’t you lecture me. I never let Pop talk to me like that and I’m sure as hell not going to let you!”

Joel looked out his window and spotted Dan and his Indian buddy walking up his driveway. These two fucking momsers have to bother me now? he thought as he watched them approach.

“You little pisher,” his uncle was saying. “You’re going to talk to your uncle like that?” Then, “Hello, hello? Joel, you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m still here,” Joel said. He walked over to his desk, unlocked the bottom drawer and took out a twenty-two caliber semi-automatic handgun. He checked to make sure it was loaded. While he would’ve liked more firepower, this would have to do. There was a knock on his front door. Peering out a window, he could see the two of them waiting for him. “Uncle, look, I’m sorry about what I said. I lost my temper. But I didn’t steal any diamonds.” Lowering his voice, “Don’t mention any of this to anyone, okay?”

“You really think I’m fercockt?” There was a pause, then his uncle added, “Joel, get rid of those diamonds. Throw them away if you have to. Don’t be stupid. The next funeral I go to I want to be my own, understand?”

“Uncle Hymie, I appreciate what you’re saying. And don’t worry about anything.”

“I’m not the one who should be worrying. Don’t ever talk to me about those diamonds again,” his uncle said before hanging up.

Joel stood glowering at the phone handset before throwing it hard across the room. The handset splintered when it hit the wall, scattering pieces across the floor.

That KGB son of a bitch!

He could screw Petrenko several times over if he sent those computer disks and videotapes to the FBI. If they got their hands on that stuff, they’d send that Ruskie to prison for a long fucking time. Joel had looked at enough of it to know what he had. Records of money laundering and payoffs, and if that wasn’t enough for that blackmailing KGB son of a bitch, videotapes of sordid sex acts. Well, now the shoe was on the other foot. Joel knew he wouldn’t be able to unload those diamonds while Petrenko was on the streets, but if he could figure out a way to send a package to the FBI without having to worry about it being traced back to him…

There was another knock on the door. Joel remembered Dan and his friend standing out there. Holding the gun waist-high, he swung the door open.

“Are you two fucking morons?” Joel asked, his mouth frozen in a hard sneer. “I told you what would happen if I saw either of you again.”

Dan took a step back on seeing the gun. His friend inched forward, his muscles tensing.

“Take a step back now, Gunga, or you’re dead.”

Shrini’s eyes moved from the gun to Joel’s face. Reluctantly, he followed Joel’s order.

“This isn’t going to work,” Dan said. “You’re going to have to give us our cut.”

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s working just fine. The frame for that Mafioso worked as planned and I’m sitting with all the money. I don’t see any reason why I should give you shit.”

“Joel, you know this isn’t fair-”

“Fuck you. I warned you what would happen if your nutso pal screwed things up for us.” Joel grimaced as he absent-mindedly rubbed his jaw. “Because of Gordon I have to live with that dead girl on my conscience the rest of my life.”

“We all have to.”

“But I shouldn’t.” Joel shook his head, trying to force out the thought that Eric, and by extension himself, had contributed to what happened. “Sorry, Dan,” he said. “You’re not getting a dime.”

“Joel, we saw how much money we took from those boxes. There’s enough for all of us.”

“Forget it. You’re the one who promised Gordon would behave himself. This is your fault, not mine.”

“Okay, let’s say it’s my fault. At least give Shrini his cut.”

“I’m not doing that.” Joel shifted his gaze to Shrini. “Take my advice, Gunga, just be grateful you’re still alive.”

Shrini had been fuming. This was too much for him. “Can you believe this peacock?” he exclaimed. “We plan the robbery, invite him along and he’s going to strut about believing he and his pig friend deserve all the money!”

“Peacock, huh?” Joel’s mouth dropped into a humorless grin. “Eh, I’ve been called worse. And guess what? It doesn’t matter whether I think I deserve all the money. What matters is I got all the money.”

“What do you mean you’ve got all the money?” Dan asked. He took another small step backwards. “What about your buddy?”

“Eric’s not around any more.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

Joel didn’t bother to answer him.

“Dammit, Joel! You’re trying to send the police after all of us?”

“Don’t get hysterical. Nobody’s going to miss him.”

As the three of them stood staring at each other, the anger brewing inside of Shrini boiled over.

“You’re a coward,” Shrini said to Joel. “A peacock with a big yellow tail. Believe me, if you weren’t holding a gun I’d kick you and your tail feathers all over the place.”

“I’m getting sick of this,” Joel said, his grin completely gone, his eyes turning glassy. He faced Dan. “Give me one good reason why I don’t get rid of both of you right now?”

“Carol knows I’m seeing you,” Dan started to say. His voice cracked. He had to swallow before he could continue. “If I don’t come home later, she’ll send the police here.”

“So? What do you think they’d find? I know plenty of places in New Hampshire where I can bury two bodies.” He aimed the gun towards Shrini’s chest, then remembered Eric. The cops would probably bring corpse-sniffing dogs to search his property. Those dogs would find him. Even without the dogs, the cops would be able to spot his grave easily enough. If he were to kill these two, he’d have to dig up Eric and move his corpse as well. He’d also have to explain to the cops why it looked like he had a freshly dug grave on his property. The thought of doing all that tired him out. Lowering his gun, he told the two of them to beat it. “If I see either of you again, you’re dead,” he said.

“I’m not leaving without my money,” Shrini insisted.

Giving him one last weary look, Joel shot Shrini in the foot.

“Ow, ow, ow!” Shrini howled, hopping up and down. Dismayed, he turned to Dan. “This peacock shot me,” he said, still not quite believing it himself.

“Next one will be through the heart,” Joel warned. “Get out of here, both of you.”

“Joel, what the fuck’s wrong with you?” Dan demanded. He waved a hand towards Shrini’s wounded foot. “How are we going to explain this?”

“You’re a smart guy. You’ll think of something.”

“You goddamned asshole-”

Joel stopped him with a look. “I meant what I said before. We’re through, Dan. I like Carol, but if I see you again she’s a widow. Now you’ve got ten seconds to get the hell out of here! Ten… nine… eight…”

“Joel, think about what you’re doing!”

“Seven… six…”

“For Chrissakes, we’ve known each other twenty years!”

“Four… Three…”

Dan could tell from the way Joel’s eyes had glazed over that none of that mattered. There was nothing he could say. No way to get through to him.

Putting his arm around Shrini’s shoulder, Dan helped him down the driveway. He knew if he as much as looked back, Joel would shoot him.

Petrenko sat in the back room of a small Italian restaurant on Prince Street. Yuri stood to his right. Across from him sat “Uncle Pete” Stellini. Stellini, close to three hundred pounds and almost as wide as he was tall, was in his sixties with gray hair that had been dyed black and a face as round as the moon. Petrenko had dug around enough to find out that Stellini’s nickname “Uncle” didn’t come from his friendly fatherly appearance, but from when he was younger and doing collections. The story was that when he got his hands on a deadbeat, he’d twist the guy’s arm behind his back and make the guy say “uncle” before he broke it. Three of Stellini’s men now stood behind him, all of them smirking as they stared at Petrenko. They were all out of shape, all carrying at least an extra fifty pounds. Even though Yuri’s gun had been taken before they were brought back to meet Stellini, Petrenko had no doubt that he and Yuri could dispatch all of these Italians if they had to.

“What can I get you?” Stellini offered, a warm smile stretched across his face. “Cappuccino, espresso? I can’t have you sitting there with nothing.”

Stellini ordered one of his men to get Petrenko his drink. “And bring a plate of biscotti,” Stellini said with a wink towards his guest.

“Now, I gotta tell you, I appreciate you coming to talk to us like this,” Stellini said. “You could’ve gone off and done something stupid instead, and Viktor, that wouldn’t have been good for anyone. Now here’s the thing. Forget about what you’ve been seeing on the news. Ray had nothin’ to do with that bank job.”

This was pretty much what Petrenko had expected him to say. “Is that so?” he asked.

“Yeah, it is.”

Stellini maintained a casual, friendly appearance as he looked at Petrenko. Absent-mindedly, he popped a couple of pieces of candy into his mouth. Realizing it, he held a paper bag out to Petrenko. “Chocolate malt balls,” he said. “You want one?”

Petrenko shook his head.

“I dunno, I’m addicted to these things,” Stellini said. “Of all the things I could be eating, it’s gotta be this shit. What are ya gonna do, you know?”

One of the wise guys returned with the espresso and biscotti. Petrenko sipped the espresso slowly, his eyes colder than any rattlesnake’s as he stared at Stellini.

“Now, as I was saying,” Stellini continued, his manner no different than if he had been talking to a long-time acquaintance. “Ray had nothin’ to do with that bank. Those pictures, they’re fake. This is nothin’ but a frame.”

“They look authentic,” Petrenko said.

“You gotta give the FBI credit. They’ve been trying to squeeze Ray for over a year now, trying to get him to turn rat. Ain’t gonna happen. So this bank job goes down and they must’ve got the brilliant idea to manufacture that videotape. They did a fuckin’ nice job with it too. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that was Ray myself.”

“So would I.”

Stellini showed a hurt look on his expansive face. “You think I’m lying to you about this?”

Petrenko took a last sip of his espresso before placing the cup on the table. When he looked back up at Stellini there was nothing at all human left in his eyes. “I know the money stolen from me is lost,” he said. “But I need the other items returned.”

“The coglionis on this asshole,” one of the wise guys said. “He’s going to come here and call you a liar.”

Stellini raised a hand to shut the man up. “I don’t think he’s saying that. The guy’s upset, and you know, who can blame him?” Then to Petrenko, “I can’t promise anything, but if you want I can ask around, see if I find anything. How’s that sound?”

Stony-faced, Petrenko asked what this would cost him.

“Twenty grand,” Stellini said. “I’m gonna have to spread some money around, and I’ll be lucky to make a nickel out of this, if you understand what I’m saying. But I wanta do this ’cause I’m happy you came to me first, especially under the circumstances. As I said, I can’t make any promises. Right now I don’t got a fuckin’ clue who did this.”

Petrenko shrugged. “Twenty thousand, okay.”

“Now, as I’m saying, I can’t promise nothin’. But I’ll do the best I can.”

Petrenko leaned back in his chair, his eyes unblinking while he stared at Stellini. “I need those items,” he said.

“Yeah, I know. I heard you. Just don’t expect any miracles.”

“If I don’t get them this way, I will have to try another.”

“I hope that’s not a threat,” Stellini said. He frowned, popped a couple more chocolate malt balls into his mouth. “So far we’ve left you alone, and I gotta tell you, I got friends who ain’t too happy about that. We know you got a nice thing going, but as far as I’m concerned, the world’s big enough for all of us, right? So we’ve been nice and kept out of your business. And now I’m going out of my way to help you out. So a little respect, capisce?”

Petrenko told him curtly that he appreciated his help.

“That’s all I wanted to hear. I’ll try my best to find out who knocked over that bank. When I find out, you’ll find out. And forget about Ray. The FBI, they’re not as smart as they think. Their frame’s not going to hold. A few days, tops, Ray’s gonna be exonerated.”

Petrenko hoped he was right. At that moment he’d give anything to have Raymond Lombardo out of custody and in his hands.

Dan had to drive around the backwoods of New Hampshire for twenty minutes before he found a drug store. After buying aspirin, antiseptic, gauze and bandage tape, he returned to the car to find Shrini with his sneaker off and in the process of removing a blood-filled sock. His friend looked pale and was sweating badly. Resting for a moment, Shrini swallowed a handful of aspirin. Then, moving gingerly, he finished taking off the sock.

The good news: the bullet had gone through his foot and was found rolling around in his sneaker. The bad news: his foot was a mess.

“Ow, ow,” Shrini cried while Dan tried to clean the wound with antiseptic. The bullet had hit Shrini under his ankle and the wound was still bleeding. Since Dan didn’t know what else to do, he pushed some gauze against the wound and wrapped it tight with tape. As he applied pressure, Shrini clenched his teeth hard enough that Dan could hear them grind.

“I am going to kill your friend,” Shrini forced out, tears streaming down his face.

“Come on, don’t talk like that.”

“You are joking, right?”

“We’re not killers.”

“After what he did to me, I will gladly kill him.”

Shrini squeezed his eyes shut. “Ow, ow,” he cried. “I think that bullet broke bones in my foot.”

Dan stared at him, frozen, with no idea what to do. Finally, he started the car. “We’ve got to get out of here,” he said.

For the next half hour the only sound as they drove was Shrini moaning every few minutes.

“I can’t drive you to a hospital,” Dan said at last. “I’m already connected to the bank because of the security system. If I get connected to this, everything could blow up on us. Do you think you can wait until we get back and drive yourself?”

Shrini nodded, his teeth clenched tight.

“How are you going to explain this?”

Showing a bitter smile, he said, “I am going to tell the police that your friend shot me.”

“What?”

“I won’t give them his name. But I will describe him and give them his license plate number. I will tell them he shot me after a traffic dispute.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Why not? The police will arrest him. Then we can break into his house and take back our money.” Shrini stopped for a moment, his breathing labored. When he could, he added, “We will teach your peacock friend a lesson he’ll never forget.”

“Shrini, that paranoid son of a bitch probably has the money so well hidden we’d never find it.”

“I am willing to take that chance.”

Dan thought about the idea, shook his head. “He’d take us down with him.”

“You’re the one being paranoid now.”

“I don’t think so. I know Joel. He’d drag us all to death row just to make a point.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You can’t send the police after him,” Dan said. As he thought about the consequences of Shrini doing that his lower back went into spasm, the pain sucking his breath away. For a long moment he couldn’t breathe in air. When the spasm subsided, he saw his knuckles were bone-white as he gripped the wheel.

“Dude,” Shrini said, laughing weakly, “you’re sweating worse than me.”

Dan pulled over. He took several aspirin and chewed them slowly. When he trusted himself to drive again, he pulled the car back on to the road.

“We never should have robbed that bank,” Dan said.

“Believe me, our mistake wasn’t robbing that bank. It was inviting Gordon and that peacock along.”

Dan was shaking his head. “We shouldn’t have done it, Shrini. We fucked up. The best thing we can do now is forget about the bank and move forward the best we can. I told you my business idea. Let’s just do it and make some money together.” Hesitating, he added, “I’ll give you half of the thirty-two grand I was paid.”

“No way, dude. We robbed that bank and I’m getting my share.” Shrini grimaced as a jolt of pain shot through him. His voice tight, he added, “I am not letting your peacock friend get away with this.”

“Jesus Christ, Shrini, can’t you see how fucking pointless this is? Two people are already dead-”

“Three people. You forgot he killed his pig-friend also.”

“Goddamn it, you were shot through the foot. Isn’t that enough? When’s this going to be over?”

“Ask your friend.”

“Come on, man, if we try my business idea, we might end up making more money than we took in the robbery.”

“That is not the money I want. Believe me, I am going to get my cut, with or without your help.”

Dan turned and saw the determination and anger set in Shrini’s face. There was no point trying to talk sense into him, at least not now.

When they were a few miles from Shrini’s apartment complex, Dan asked Shrini to give him a week. “Don’t send the cops after Joel, okay? Just give me that time to figure something out.”

Shrini was shaking his head.

“Please, just one week. That’s all I’m asking. Afterwards do whatever you want.”

Reluctantly, Shrini agreed. “One week,” he said. “After that I’m taking care of matters my own way.”

Dan swung into the apartment complex, pulled up alongside Shrini’s Civic and helped Shrini into it. After Shrini drove off, Dan noticed blood stains on the passenger floor mat and seat. The leather interior had been treated so he should be able to clean the blood off the seat, but he was going to have to buy a new floor mat and hope Carol wouldn’t notice. If she did, there would be the inevitable questions and yet more lies. That was the least of his problems though.

Even given a week, or a year for that matter, he couldn’t see how he was going to figure out anything as far as Joel and Shrini went.

Stopping at a strip mall, he bought some supplies and cleaned up as best he could. There were red smudges ingrained in the leather that he couldn’t get out. No amount of scrubbing seemed to help. After a while he gave up trying and tossed the floor mat and the leftover supplies into a dumpster. He’d wait until the next day to buy a new floor mat and to get the interior cleaned. He felt too tired at that moment to do much of anything but head home.

When Carol saw him, she asked what was wrong.

“Nothing. I’m just beat. Why?”

“You have blood on your shirt.”

He looked down and saw she was right. “I had a nosebleed. Nothing too serious.”

“I can’t remember you ever having one before.”

“What can I tell you. I had one. It happens, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, hurt. “You don’t have to bite my head off.”

“Sorry, I’m just tired. And having a nosebleed kind of threw me. I’m going upstairs to lie down for a few minutes.” As he walked past her, she told him Peyton called. “He’s going to pick us up tomorrow at twelve.”

Puzzled, Dan asked what for.

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. “Gordon’s funeral. He said he already talked to you about it. You were planning on us going, weren’t you?”

From the way she was studying him, he knew he had no choice in the matter. Not unless he wanted to bring back her suspicions from the other day. “I guess I’d forgotten about it,” he said.