“Hard to believe,” Dan said.
“Shit, yeah. I saw that drawing on the news last night and it didn’t even register that it could be him. Damn, I still can’t believe it.”
“It’s a shock,” Dan said.
“Yeah, man, it sure is. Any idea what he was doing in Lynn?”
“With Gordon, who knows?”
“The whole thing is just so fucking bizarre. Listen, I talked to Gordon’s parents. The funeral’s going to be this Saturday. You’ll be there, right?”
“I’d like to, I just don’t know if I can make it-”
“Shit, Dan, you’ve got to come. Gordon’s parents are in their eighties. It’s got to be tough enough for them to bury their son, but I’m beginning to think no one else is going to show up. Tell me you’ll be there, okay?”
“We’ll see.”
“Man, I expect to see you there.”
Peyton gave him directions to the cemetery and hung up. Dan was still staring blindly at the phone when it rang again. From the caller ID he could see it was Shrini. Reluctantly, he picked up the handset.
“Hey, dude,” Shrini said angrily. “I’ve been waiting for you to call back.”
“Sorry, Shrini, I just got home.”
“You heard the news, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, dude, we’re on for tomorrow as agreed, right?”
“I think we should wait a few days-”
“Fuck that! You gave me your word before. And believe me, with or without you I’m seeing that little peacock-”
“Okay, okay,” Dan interrupted, afraid Carol or one of his kids might pick up the phone and hear Shrini ranting. “I’ll stop over tomorrow morning at nine.”
“You better, dude.”
After Shrini hung up, Dan thought about how he was going to explain this to his wife. At some point the lies were going to have to stop. How many could you keep piling up, one on top of another?
After he had settled on a story, he waited until he could muster the strength to get up, then joined Carol so he could add still more lies to all the rest.
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…