The Petrov Ledger Read online

  Screw that. A courageous death still puts you on the wrong side of the grass. I spun quickly to plead with them to spare my life. The deck was empty. There was no sign of Dmitri or Bob. I collapsed on the bed in relief only to land on one of the matryoshka pieces.

  I have no idea how long I lay on the bed, stunned that I was still alive. At the risk of looking a gift horse in the mouth, I asked myself why I was still alive. Guys like Dmitri and Bob probably killed people with their morning coffee. It was possible they believed me and any offense I committed against Dmitri was not considered a capital crime. It was also possible they had left me alive knowing I would try to find the key and its meaning. I knew myself that well, at least. The key was important enough to hide. It was important enough to draw the interest of some very bad men. I knew I needed to find that key and figure out what it fit. It was a mystery that I needed to solve.

  My confidence at my ability to solve the mystery was bolstered by the knowledge that I had answered all of my initial questions of the day. I had drifted out in the boat after protecting the matryoshka Olga had brought for my Mom from Dmitri. Had Olga known what was inside? Why did her tale of my heroic exploits of the previous night seem off? It sounded like something I would do. But, could I do it? Dmitri was at least four inches taller than me and, even in my currently puffy state, outweighed me by at least 25 solid pounds. Could I possibly overcome that with my limited level of proficiency and lack of experience with physical combat? Why would Dmitri go into a situation like that without the man mountain known as Bob? The one thing I knew for sure is I was still alive and had a chance to find the answer to my questions.

  Finally, I got myself up and put the doll back together. It was for my Mom, after all. I stopped in the Customs office on my way back to William Street to tell the stunned and somewhat amused officers I was staying at the Key West Bed and Breakfast, also known as the Popular House on William Street if they had any other questions or needed to find me.

  My mind wandered on my walk back to the House. I needed to know more about Dmitri. As a big believer in the power of the Information Age, I decided to do a Google search on my laptop as soon as I got back. I also tried to remember where I had lost the key. I was in a state of flux after leaving the Customs office to be sure. Still, I had interacted with only two people before Dmitri and Bob showed up. I could have dropped the key, but I didn’t think so. I had secured it in my back pocket. Olga could have known about the key and taken it from me. She had several opportunities when we had hugged. Mary Jane had greeted me with a hug. Could she have taken it? Both were possible. But neither had a motive I could see. I would have to ask them later. I couldn’t conceive two such lovely ladies would have the level of duplicity required to have taken the key from me. We would see. I knew I would be seeing Olga later. I felt sure we would bump into Mary Jane somewhere along the way.

  I was stopped on my way upstairs by one of the House managers. She had an engaging accent. South African, I think. She wanted to make sure I was enjoying the house and to remind me breakfast was served between 8:30 and 10:30. I assured her that I loved the house and I would make it down for breakfast in the morning. I continued up to my room and, behind closed doors, began my search for information concerning Dmitri Petrov.

  It took a while, but I can search with the best of them. Although the official position of the Russian government was that organized crime did not exist in the former Soviet Union, they devoted an entire branch of their national police force, the FSB, to combat it. One of the major alleged players in their non-existent Mafia was one Dmitri Petrov. He was accused of murder, extortion, prostitution, illegal weapons sales, and a host of other unsavory activities in St. Petersburg, Moscow, Ekaterinburg, and all points in between. He was a very busy boy. Most of his activity was in the European part of the Federation. That’s probably where the money and power were concentrated. He had worked in the organization for years and recently attempted to move to the head of the class upon the death of his father, Andrei Petrov. Andrei Mikhailovich Petrov. AMP. Was that part of the answer?

  When his father died, presumably taking his power and influence with him, arrest warrants had been issued for Dmitri by a Judge Vladislav Tretiak. While the Family did not challenge his right to lead, evidently the Russian government had decided to add some doubt to the equation. Dmitri was under an arrest on sight order should he deign to show his face in the country. That would make his leadership of the Family difficult at best. It would also explain why he was in Key West. I had an idea, though, he showed his face wherever he chose, whenever he chose.

  Was the doll a Petrov family heirloom? What secrets did the key unlock? I would love to find out. The main thing holding me back from an all-out assault on this mystery was the knowledge that Dmitri Petrov was also looking for the answers. Did I really want to go toe-to-toe with a notorious Russian gangster? Could I really go toe-to-toe with a notorious Russian gangster? I doubted I had much of a choice in the matter. The laws of probability had been stretched to the breaking point already today.

  I felt just like I had felt when I woke up this morning. I knew I was adrift on the currents and this waterway would take me in the direction that it decided. I had no choice of my course or destination, but I could always make the best of it wherever it took me. It might even be fun. Of course, it might very well kill me. It was a moot point anyway. I didn’t have the key or any idea what it opened. This was the end of the adventure. So why was I researching Andrei Petrov?

  Andrei Mikhailovich Petrov was born in St. Petersburg, then known as Leningrad in 1932. As a boy, he survived the Siege of Leningrad at the hands of the Nazis by slipping outside the blockade of the city and bringing back food and supplies for himself and his family. He quickly discovered how much money could be made on the black market with the items he was able to smuggle in. He caught the eye of both the Communist Party and the local, non-existent Russian Mafia. He sided with the Mafia because, as he put it, it paid slightly better and was more honest work.

  He worked his way up through the ranks to eventually lead the vory v zakone by the mid 60’s. In 1974, his entire family was arrested in St. Petersburg while Petrov was in Moscow on business. His parents were sent to a Siberian gulag. His wife and children were sent to separate gulags. His entire family of in-laws and several cousins were also rounded up. He never saw any of them again. They all died in prison. Even with the money and power of the Russian Mafia behind him, he was unable to buy any of them their freedom. He remarried in 1976 and had a new family with a much younger trophy wife. His eldest was a son, Dmitri. There were rumors of as many as 4 other children, but only Dmitri was known due to his involvement in the family business. The name of his wife and other children was unknown. Evidently he learned from his earlier experience and protected his family with fanaticism.

  He was called Medved’ Uma, the clever bear, in part because of the measures he took to protect his family. In part because of the way he always seemed to be a step or two ahead of the Russian authorities. In part because he was a vicious bastard when crossed. Petrov and his bratva thrived in the era of Glasnost and rejoiced in the fall of the Soviet Union. By the new century, Petrov and his son controlled most of the organized crime in the Russian Federation. I could have admired the man if it weren’t for all the killing, theft, graft, and arms dealing.

  The elder Petrov’s health began to fail in 2004. He could no longer tolerate the harsh Russian winters. It was known he wintered in a far more tropical climate. The rumor said he spent his winters in Key West. He died of throat cancer in October of 2009.

  I felt the currents of fate move me again. If Andrei Petrov had a house in Key West, the answer to the mystery of the key could very well be there. That meant the answers could be right here with me. I just needed to find them.

  That, however was for another day. I had spent the entire afternoon on the computer and was ready to enjoy the great outdoors in Key West.

  Some people find the wea
ther in Key West to be hot and humid. I do, too, because it is hot and humid. The difference is, I love it. Maybe it’s the lizard part of my brain that takes over, but I’m always happiest when it’s warm and heavy. I’ve been to Key West many times and know my way around fairly well. It puzzled me why I would not stay at any of my usual places in Key West. I usually stay on Duval or no more than a block away from Duval. The Popular house was about four blocks away. I guess I had gone for the ambience of being in Old Town, while still being within walking distance of Duval. The B & B was certainly comfortable and quiet enough. I thought that since I now had what looked to be a future, I might just stay in the Popular House again sometime.

  I headed up William to Fleming and turned toward Duval. A quick stop at Fausto’s Food Palace got me something to drink for my walk to Mallory Square. One key to weathering the heat and humidity of Key West is hydration. Gatorade is your friend.

  I turned onto Duval Street right at the La Concha Hotel. I’ve always wanted to stay there. I could never afford it. Maybe if I hit the lottery or something. I made my way past the shops and bars of Duval Street knowing I’d be back after sunset. Well, to the bars, at least. One of my favorite spots to catch the sunset in Key West is on the patio of the Westin Hotel. You get a tremendous view of the sun as it dips under the horizon over Sunset Key. The masted ships usually make it a point to be in the water in front of the Westin when the sun sets. If it’s good enough for them, it’s good enough for me.

  Olga had staked out a front row table for sunset and was munching on an order of conch fritters when I arrived. She sprang out of her chair and ran to me to give me a hug. God, she felt good. She took my hand and led me back to the table where she resumed her conversation in Russian with our Ukrainian waitress. She knows I don’t speak very good Russian.

  At the Tehran conference of Allies during World War II, Churchill and Roosevelt discussed secret plans that did not include Russia openly in front of Stalin, knowing the Russian leader didn’t speak very good English and assuming he would not know what they were saying. He didn’t speak English very well, but he understood it extremely well. Uncle Joe played possum while they planned in secret, thinking he didn’t know what they were saying. After the conference, Stalin used the information they had so freely given and was always a step or two ahead of them because they had told him their plans.

  I took a page out of Stalin’s book for the current conversation. Olga was telling our waitress this was our first vacation together and while we weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend yet, it was very close. I hadn’t known we were close to being an item. After a pitiful start, this day was actually starting to improve drastically. When the waitress asked if I was rich, Olga answered I was a good man and that was more important. The waitress smiled at her sweet naivety and took our orders. I indulged in a severe cultural clash with mine.

  “Mojito, pozhaluysta.”

  The waitress smiled. Olga ordered the same.

  There are few things in this world that are better than a mojito at sunset in Key West. If you have never seen a sunset in Key West, I feel sorry for you. Put it on your bucket list if it’s not already there. The colors that exist in a Key West sunset cannot be duplicated anywhere else in nature. It was still thirty to forty-five minutes before actual sunset when I joined Olga. We didn’t say much. We just watched the show unfold before us, holding hands. The waitress brought our drinks. I closed my eyes at the first sip. How rum, sugar cane juice, lime, sparkling water, and mint can combine into something so much greater than its individual parts is beyond me. The memory of Dmitri and Bob went completely to the back burner. I was holding a beautiful girl’s hand and sipping a heavily rummed drink while watching Mother Nature tune up for a real show stopper of a sunset.

  From our perch on the Sunset Pier at the Westin, my morning companion, the Gulf of Mexico, stretched before us as far as the eye could see. Tiny islands dotted the water closer to the horizon. The beauty that is the exclusive residential neighborhood of Sunset Key lay 500 yards from us in the Gulf just to the north of the setting sun. The launch that runs constantly from Key West to Sunset Key moved lazily on the green tinted Gulf, which lay between the islands before us.

  The sun dipped behind a cloud throwing off spectacular shades of red and orange. The back lit cloud seemed almost to glow. A halo of gold surrounded the sun’s hiding place. Twin spires of sunlight shot up to the heavens through the cloud. A bank of clouds slightly to the north of us took on a purple hue at the lack of light. The clouds just to the south still floated like lumps of pure white cotton. The sun emerged from its hiding place, burning a warm orange as it began its final descent below the horizon for the day. The clouds flickered through various shades of impossibly deep purple. The sky itself seemed to be red and on fire in some places and made of pure gold in others. The colors flickered and brightened as the sun began to set in earnest. A two-masted schooner drifted between us and the sun, showing itself as a perfect silhouette.

  The colors muted, then faded away. In the half-light of a concluded day, a spontaneous round of applause broke out to show our appreciation for the just concluded show. I half expected God to pop out and take a bow. Then, the most wonderful thought crept into my mind. This would all happen again tomorrow. It might be as beautiful. It might be more beautiful, but it would happen all over again tomorrow. God, I love Key West.

  The sun having set and our glasses being empty, I paid the check and we joined the throng heading toward Duval Street for the after-party. Duval Street, for those unaware, is one of the main north-south roads in Key West. It starts near Mallory Square at the north and runs all the way to the Atlantic at the south. Duval is packed from one end to the other with shops, restaurants, and bars. Especially bars. No one goes thirsty on Duval Street.

  Oh yes, there is such a thing as the “Duval Crawl”. It entails starting at one end of the street and stopping to have at least one drink at every bar you pass. The goal is to make it from one end of the street to the other. Good luck with that. I personally have never tried. I have my favorite bars and my traditional stops and I am generally not a big fan of barhopping. I prefer to sit and enjoy my drinking. So it was that I introduced Olga to my traditional first stop on Duval when exiting Mallory Square after the sunset party; The Hog’s Breath Saloon.

  You’ve got to love their slogan. “Hog’s breath is better than no breath at all”. That’s Key West for you. Never take yourself or much of anything else too seriously. Key West is all about rest, relaxation, and having as much fun as you can cram in before your money and time run out. Olga followed my lead and ordered a Havana Hog Punch. We listened to the live band and soaked up the atmosphere of Key West while enjoying our drink together. We found plenty enough to talk about, laughed a lot, and were rarely out of physical contact with each other. Not the way you’re thinking. Get your mind out of the gutter. We just felt more comfortable and natural holding hands, or draping an arm over the other’s shoulder. It was all very chaste.

  The reason for Hog’s Breath being the traditional first stop is it’s the closest major bar to Mallory Square on Duval. I have another tradition concerning Hog’s Breath and I have no idea how this one got started. I stay only for one drink at Hog’s Breath. I don’t know why. It’s a very comfortable place. It’s never boring. I keep saying I’m going to spend more time there, but somehow never do. We finished our Punch and I paid the check.

  We started down the sidewalk of Duval Street. The sidewalks can be a show in and of themselves. At any given moment, you can find someone looking for donations for their exotic animal rescue foundation complete with some of the rescued animals, or buy a hand-made reed hat, made while you wait. You can even see Spiderman playing the sitar. I did. No, I was not drunk. No, it was not FantasyFest. A guy in a Spiderman suit was playing for change on the sidewalk on Duval Street.

  We stopped at Sloppy Joes, the Hard Rock, and had dinner at the Grand Café. After dinner, Olga apologetically, had to go back to h
er room. We made arrangements to meet at Jack Flats when she returned. It was the height of baseball season and I needed my fix. Jack Flats has at least 15 TVs and usually has the game on that you want to see. I decided to head on down to Jack Flats and try to catch the ballgame while Olga took care of what she needed to take care of.

  I noticed Mary Jane from the doorway. She was riveted in front of a TV showing the Cleveland Indians playing the Seattle Mariners. She had to be an Indians fan. There was no other earthly reason to watch that game. I filled an empty seat beside her. She smiled when she noticed me. She told me her father had taken her to Indians games when she was younger and she was still hooked. I matched her with tales of the Cardinal games my parents had taken me to in my youth.

  Between innings, she turned to face me. She had a rather sheepish look on her face. I would not have expected that look from that face and that girl. She reached into her clutch and pulled out a key. Not just a key, the key. She apologized, but she had taken it when we hugged. She slipped a hand into my back pocket and thought it might be my room key. I thought I had enjoyed her hug a bit more than usual.

  I didn’t necessarily believe she had any interest in my room key. I felt it was far more likely she went for my wallet and missed. The fact she would own up to it impressed me enough to forgive the slight. She even bought me a drink to apologize further. I gratefully accepted. I slipped the key once more into my back pocket. I had forgotten the Cardinals had an off day, so I contended myself with watching the Indians game with Mary Jane.