The Petrov Ledger Read online

  I was released with my meager personal possessions and sneers from the officers. Their fear of Olga kept the sneers from taking a voice. I had a watch, a wallet, room keys, a few hundred in cash, and the key from the doll. I stuck the key from the doll in my back pocket to keep me from confusing it with my room key. I had high hopes of finding my lodgings. Olga gave me a huge hug when we got outside.

  “Tag, Vy - moy geroy.” She kissed both of my cheeks. I was her hero and kissable. Nice.

  “I am sorry I could not sooner find you.”

  She spoke in an accent thick enough to cut with a knife. It was how she had sounded from the first moment we spoke and her voice filled and satisfied me like a thick, nutritious bowl of borscht. Maybe it was more like borscht with a huge dollop of sweet honey. It sure sounded sweet to me. I could listen to her talk for hours, days on end. I took her hand and told her I could have waited at least another ten or fifteen minutes for her. I’m a wiseass, remember?

  Her English is far better than my Russian. She smiled and squeezed my hand. I seriously thanked her for coming to my rescue and told her that her coming through the door of the Customs Office was the happiest moment of my life.

  We walked aimlessly, hand in hand, along the Seawalk. Somehow, we had never broached the subject of where I was staying. At the moment, I was too happy to be where I was to be concerned with where I would lay may head that night. As we approached Margaret Street on the Seawalk, and wholly on impulse, I tightened my grip on her hand. When she turned toward me, I leaned in to kiss her. A feminine voice interrupted my grand maneuver.

  “Tag? Olga? Oh, my God! It is you.”

  The voice belonged to a woman who looked to be a bit younger than I. Thirty, but not much more than that and probably less. She was 5’ 10” with long, light brown hair to the middle of her back. She had a pretty face and a wonderfully trim build. As she advanced toward us with a huge smile on her face, I remembered a name. Mary Jane. Olga and I had met her last night at the Whistle Bar.

  She was originally from Cleveland, but lived and worked down here now. She was only a year short of the seven required to become a Fresh Water Conch. Fresh Water Conch is the term given those who have relocated to Key West from the mainland. She gave each of us a big hug prior to getting reacquainted with us.

  We met while she had been hanging out in the Whistle Bar trying to get a bit of a buzz before going up to the Garden of Eden. The Garden of Eden was the clothing optional bar upstairs from the Whistle Bar, which, in turn, was upstairs from The Bull.

  Evidently, we had several drinks together at the Whistle before heading upstairs. I cursed my lack of memory of the previous night for various reasons. I had evidently missed a chance to see both Mary Jane and Olga in a state of half-dress and I had absolutely no idea how much I had revealed. Beyond any indecent exposure on my part, I had revealed where I was staying to Mary Jane. She had asked when Olga had gone to use the facilities. I was at the Popular House on William Street. I was in the middle room on the second floor. I remembered now making reservations at the Key West Bed and Breakfast online. I had chosen a room with two beds to give Olga an option of staying in my room without having to share my bed. How gallant of me.

  With all I was remembering, why could I remember nothing of last night? I still had no memory of the events Olga had described. Mary Jane had decided to head home last night and left Olga and me in Sloppy Joe’s. She listened in rapt attention as Olga recounted our evening after she had left us. Mary Jane called me a true hero and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I was really enjoying this hero gig, even if I didn’t quite remember it. Mary Jane excused herself to go work her lunch shift behind the bar at Turtle Kraals.

  At this point, the fact I had slept poorly, in the elements, on a drifting boat, and for only a very short time caught up with me. Or maybe it was Olga’s plans to go shopping for the afternoon that had me craving a mattress and a roof over my head. Air conditioning would be equally welcomed. A shower would be a gift from God. We made arrangements to meet for sunset, dinner, and a night of fun. She smiled and gave me a quick hug. I watched my Russian goddess walk toward Duval Street and made my way up Margaret to Eaton and over to William.

  I recognized the house at once. How could I possibly have forgotten? It was a beautiful two-story house with a third-level garret and huge front porches on the first and second floor. A sign out front proved that it was the Popular House. I drifted in a half-asleep daze through the front door and up the stairs. As Mary Jane had reminded me, my room was the middle room on the second floor. The key fit. I pushed the door open and thought of all of the wonderful sleep I could enjoy on the king-sized bed. I closed and locked the door behind me and fell onto that beautiful mattress. I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

  Dmitri Petrov had a bad taste in his mouth. It was this damn city. He hated Key West. It was too hot by far and too humid by half. He hated the “tourist” aspect of it especially. He hated having to stay in this, albeit nice, hotel room instead of staying in the house. He couldn’t stay in the house. Anything belonging to his father was in limbo pending completion of his business here in Hell. Maybe that was what sparked his hatred for this place. His father had loved it so. That was reason enough for Dmitri to despise it. He wouldn’t have to be here if his father had done the right thing.

  After his father died, Dmitri had been recognized as the new head of his father’s business by everyone concerned except his father. Dear old Dad had decided that Dmitri would have to prove his worth and his readiness by jumping through hoops. By playing Otets’ game. By following clues and hunting down what any other father would have freely given his eldest son and successor. The issues between father and son had never been settled. Now, with his father dead as of October 2009, they never would be.

  His father’s issues with him had never been about his competence. Father knew that Dmitri would always get the job done. The issues were created by Dmitri doing things his own way instead of the way proscribed by his father. As a final jab in their ongoing sparring session, his father had given clues for him to follow and hunt down in order to claim his birthright. His father believed that any job worth doing was worth doing yourself. Dmitri believed that any job can be done if you use the correct tools.

  For this job, that tool was Timothy Allen Gregory. Tag to his friends. Absolutely nothing other than a means to an end to Dmitri. Timothy had the knowledge and ability that Dmitri required to finish this scavenger hunt for him. Best of all, Timothy had absolutely no idea that he was serving as a tool for a job that he did not know of or understand.

  She had found Timothy for Dmitri. She had also found where Timothy was staying while in Key West. It was time for Vladislav and Dmitri to pay Timothy a visit. Vladislav was rather new to his position. He had only been hired two months ago in response to his request for a more imposing bodyguard. Vladislav had joined him in Key West and had made a favorable impression from the start. Like everything else, he was the right tool for the job. Vladislav Leonov was the perfect tool with which to threaten bodily harm. He stood 210 cm tall and weighed in at a shade over 145 kg. Here in America, that added up to 6’ 10”, 320 pounds. Vladislav was more than adequate for his purpose here. He was also perfect because he spoke fluent American English. It was not a skill that would be overused. Dmitri preferred that his bodyguards speak by actions rather than words. The only thing Dmitri found that he did not like about Vladislav was his name. Vladislav.

  Vladislav Tretiak had been his only rival since he could remember. Dmitri had grown up with Tretiak. Their feud had started over in a school cafeteria when they were eleven. It continued still. Tretiak was the judge who had issued the warrants for his arrest. He could not call Leonov “Vladislav”. It would generate too many negatives. He would come up with something else to call him.

  For, now, it was time for business. Dmitri led the way to the Popular House. There was absolutely no security. Of course not, this is Key West. Damn place. He led Leono
v up to the middle room on the second floor. Dmitri picked the lock and led the way into the room. Timothy was asleep. Good. He had had a hard night. He would need to be sharp in the days ahead. Dmitri almost hated to wake him. It was, however, necessary.

  I had begun to dream of my upcoming night with Olga when my rest was interrupted by a knock on the inside of the door. Two men stood beside the bed. They were dressed in very nice summer weight suits. They had a European look to them. The smaller of the two was around 6’ 2” and heavily muscled. The larger one was approximately the size of New Jersey. Before I could ask them who they were and what the hell they were doing in my room, the smaller one spoke with a thick, Russian accent.

  “Dobroye utro, zhopa. Where is my fucking doll?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Mary Jane Bailey was making yet another mojito. The lunch crowd in Key West restaurants was primarily locals. The tourists mostly came out at night. She had gained quite a loyal local, mostly male following. They said it was for her drinks. She thought it had more to do with the gyrations necessary to crush the mint leaves to make a mojito.

  For all of their rapt attention, the pigs rarely tipped and certainly never well. Time after time, the managers and the owner had asked, begged her to work nights. They told her her tips would triple or more. She always refused. She always gave a different reason. She certainly gave them an answer separate from the truth. She wasn’t down here for the money. Her father’s shipping business and her Uncle Steve’s less legitimate businesses certainly guaranteed she didn’t need to work for a living.

  She was here because Key West was about as far removed from Cleveland and her family as she could get. She had strained the relationship with her family by choosing to take her own path. The relationship hadn’t been killed, but it was very definitely strained.

  She had some good memories of Cleveland. She just had no interest in making new ones based there. She had hoped to be accepted into the Caputo side of the family’s business. It was truly a Family business. Her Uncle Steve was the moneyman for one of the most prominent East coast crime syndicates. “Uncle Sharky” had always discouraged her from her goal. Her mother had been married off and moved to the Midwest to uphold the long standing tradition that no Caputo women were involved in the dangerous game the men played.

  She had gone to Ohio State for undergrad then on to Columbia for her MBA. She had hoped Uncle Steve would see how well she was preparing herself from across the Hudson River. All she got for graduating with honors was a figurative and literal pat on the head and a second verse of the old song that the Caputo women did not go into the Family business. In spite of years of discouragement, her mind was made up. She would become the first Caputo woman in the business. The chilly response made her seek out a warmer climate.

  A few days ago, a call from her uncle in New Jersey had indicated a thaw in the chilly reception her goal had always received. The Family was interested in Dmitri Petrov. She was asked to keep tabs on him and let them know what he was up to in Key West. Her local contacts told her that Dmitri and his gorilla had taken up residence in the Hyatt on Front Street.

  She had been preparing to go find them last night when Tag and Olga stumbled into her plans. She had wondered at the time about a possible Russian connection between Olga and Dmitri. That wasn’t why she spent the night with Tag and Olga, though. There was something about them. Something about him.

  It made no sense to her until today when she heard the story of the adventures of Tag and Olga after she had left them at Sloppy Joes. Dmitri Petrov was after something they had. Now, she was after it, too. Her Family instincts had led her to Tag and Olga. Uncle Steve would have to see that now.

  She took out the key she had lifted from Tag’s back pocket when she had kissed his cheek earlier. It was a small key. Probably a safety deposit box key. It had no markings to indicate which bank held the box. Timothy Allen Gregory was the way to find out. She’d find him tonight. If her Caputo luck held, he’d find her.

  It is rarely if ever pleasant to be awakened from a dead sleep by intruders who call you an asshole even if they also wish you a good morning. When the intruders have more muscles in their ears than you have in your entire body, the chances of it being a pleasant experience shrink. When the intruders are asking you for something specific you had but left behind on the boat you woke up on this morning, the chances of a pleasant encounter hover near nil.

  In the dream they had interrupted, I had just headed upstairs into the Garden of Eden with Olga and Mary Jane. I could only hope this encounter would leave me in a condition to try to repeat the scene later tonight.

  The smaller of the pair nodded to his companion. The huge man bodily lifted me from my bed and stood me on my feet with all the effort I might use to shoo away a pesky fly. The smaller one snapped his fingers theatrically in front of my face.

  “Are you with us now?”

  His accent reminded me vaguely of Olga’s. Only without the sustaining, filling, and sweet feelings provided when I heard it. The chatty one interrupted as I opened my mouth to speak.

  “Where are my manners?”

  I attempted to mutter my response. The Russian notion of personal space prevented the inaudibility of what I had hoped to be an unheard remark.

  “Presumably still back in Russia.”

  The large one stifled a smile. A flicker of pure rage flashed in the eyes of the smaller one. He quelled the anger and began the introductions.

  “My name is Dmitri Petrov. This is my associate, Bob.”

  I couldn’t help myself from responding to the ridiculous notion the creature beside him could have a name that didn’t include his species or the suffix “saurus”.

  “Bob?”

  “It is what I call him. You don’t mind, do you, Bob?” Bob seemed to mind for a moment, and then remembered the kindness of the man who fed him his raw meat and shook his head with a barely audible grunt. “It is easier for Americans to remember. I do so hope that you will remember Bob. And me.”

  That was a guarantee. Dmitri and Bob would not be forgotten.

  “So, what can I do for you, gentlemen?”

  Dmitri shook his head.

  “You hear not so good, Mr. Gregory.” He said the next sentence slowly, careful, and with a great deal of emphasis on each word. “Where is my fucking doll?”

  I explained that the doll was on the boat and I could take him and Bob right to it if they would only not kill me or beat me to a bloody pulp.

  Bob seemed only marginally disappointed at Dmitri’s promise to allow me to survive intact provided I delivered the doll. He spoke a quick phrase in Russian to Dmitri about the boat that indicated it belonged to Dmitri. So, Dmitri Petrov was also David Peters. That might be useful later. Of course, that assumed there was a later for me.

  I knew that Dmitri had no real interest in the doll. His interest was in the key. Perhaps, I could get some clue as to what the key opened. Again, the value of that information was based in the assumption I did not end up at the bottom of the harbor or Fed Ex-ed home in pieces. My imagination was working overtime and rather graphically on the means and method Dmitri could have Bob do damage to me if he was not satisfied with my level of cooperation. I decided then and there to cooperate to the absolute best of my ability. I even did my best to make anyone who might see us believe the Russians were welcomed guests and we were traveling together willingly instead of under pain of my death.

  We walked the short distance to the Old Seaport and boarded the “Anna Maria”, which I learned was the name of the boat I had spent the night, the morning, and a nerve wracking ninety minutes piloting. Dmitri checked the cabin while Bob stayed very close to me. With a Russian curse and fire in his eyes, Dmitri joined us on deck.

  “Chto bylo vnutri?” He shook his head and repeated the question in English. “What was inside?”

  I considered playing dumb. I considered it to be a bad idea. The only hope I had of getting out of this mess was to tell Dmitri ev
erything that I knew. I explained to him the doll was to be a gift to my mother. That was the only reason that I had pursued him. I had only discovered there was something inside the doll when I was looking for the ignition key for the boat. I told him I had found a small key inside the smallest doll. I was fully prepared to get rid of the object that had caused me such trouble. The only problem was, I no longer had the key. I remembered putting it in my back pocket when Customs released me. I had spent enough time staring at the mattress to avoid Bob and Dmitri’s gaze in the room to know it had not fallen out of my pocket while I slept. It was just gone. Dmitri smiled at me.

  “ Ya ponimayu.” Thank God. He understood. “I believe you. We searched your room before we woke you up. It was not there. Turn out your pockets, please.” I did as he asked. No key. He shrugged. “It will turn up.”

  “You’ll be the first person I call if I find it.”

  Dmitri laughed.

  “There is no need. If you find it, I will know. Then, Bob and I will find you again. Then, I will have my key and you will have your peace of mind. No harm will come to you. You have my word.”

  He smiled broadly and gave explicit instructions not to mention our encounters to the police. I began to have a glimmer of hope for survival. Then, he told me to turn around and walk down in to the cabin. I was not to look back. It brought to mind the Russian method of capital punishment. In the bad old Communist days in Russia, the condemned prisoner was walked to a basement room with a guard behind him. When they entered the room and the door was closed, the guard would execute the prisoner with two quick bullets to the back of the head. I could feel Bob behind me as I walked down the steps to the cabin. I had decided that I would not beg. I would not plead for my life. I hoped my body would be found in a somewhat recognizable state. I hoped my friends and family would not grieve for too long. I had lived a decent life. If this were to be the end for me, I would face it with as much courage as I could muster.