He pulled out his cell phone and feigned taking a call while pausing until a suitable target walked by. He didn’t have to wait long. Three Asians he’d spotted moments earlier passed him unawares, two guys and a girl, strolling together, talking and laughing loudly, out on the town.
Heading toward the restaurant.
With no one coming up behind them.
No one to witness anything.
Still faking a casual late-night chat on his phone, he tucked in behind them.
Kept their pace, moving right up so he was merely a couple of feet behind them.
Selected one of the guys, the one walking alongside the shop fronts.
Timed it so he was behind him when they were about twenty feet from the Green Dragon, maybe ten from the first of the smokers.
Allowed the blade to slide down his wrist and into his hand.
And struck, lighting-quick.
His arm moved unnaturally fast, lashing out for a nanosecond, the powder-coated three-and-a-quarter-inch-long blade aimed to perfection, stabbing the man’s flank below his rib cage-a clean, deep in-and-out, the blade back up his sleeve before his victim had a chance to scream.
Which the young Asian did after stumbling and rag-dolling to the ground.
His friends leaped to his aid as he writhed on the ground, howling, his face a cascade of confusion and pain, the three of them in a sudden panic. They were all freaking out in loud outbursts of Korean and English, frantically trying to figure out what was wrong with him. The sudden commotion made the cluster of smokers outside the restaurant stir and take notice too, their curiosity drawing them in close to the fallen man.
It also drew in the bouncer, who threw a quick glance around the street before edging away from his post to see what was going on.
Koschey kept going, moving fluidly.
With the phone still stuck to his ear, he used the chaos to slip past the smokers and the bouncer and duck inside the restaurant just as a couple of patrons were leaving.
WE WERE CHURNING RUBBER heading uptown on Sixth Avenue in Aparo’s Charger when my phone rang. I glanced at the caller display. It showed PRIVATE CALL. I took it, heard her voice, and frowned. I hadn’t expected to hear back from her this late in the night, or in the game for that matter.
“Miss Tchoumitcheva,” I said as I took the call. “You’re up late.”
Aparo’s face lit up and he flashed me a juvenile, suggestive grin.
She said, “I heard there’s been some trouble in Brooklyn? More dead Russians?”
“You’ve got good ears.” Said with a side of sarcasm.
She didn’t flinch. “What, you think you’re the only ones with a finger on Mirminsky’s pulse?” A real pro.
But I didn’t like being played, and right at the moment, I wasn’t really in the best of moods. I decided to shake things up a little. “No, I’m sure we’re not. But I’m still surprised to hear from you.”
She seemed taken aback. “Why’s that?”
“Well, you really don’t need to keep up this pretense any longer, do you? You got what you wanted. Mission accomplished. Or are you just calling to gloat?”
Aparo swiveled around to face me, eyes wide, mouth forming a silent, surprised “What?”
She went quiet for a breath. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” she insisted, sounding put out.
“Come on. All that hogwash about us needing to work together. You were just pumping me for information about Sokolov. Well, you’ve got him now. What more do you need from me, aside from an update on how we’re doing in tracking your man down? ’Cause you know this isn’t over, right? You know we’re not gonna stop until we take him down. Him and everyone connected to him.”
I was tired and I was angry and I wanted to prompt a reaction, but I knew I might be venting pointlessly. Even if she was part of this, she and her colleagues at the consulate had diplomatic immunity. Getting to any of them would be tricky and frustrating, if not downright impossible. And even if we did take them down, they’d probably get traded for someone we wanted back and end up as pampered cheerleaders for the regime back home.
“I understand why you might think that,” she countered. “But you’re wrong. I was actually calling to see if you wanted to talk about us leaning on Mirminsky together. Seeing as he’s connected to this shooter. Maybe use him to flush him out. But hey, if we’re on opposite sides, then maybe it’s a bad idea. Anyway, think about it, and if you want to talk it through, give me a call in the morning.”
Then she hung up.
I stared at my cell for a moment in stunned silence. I glanced sideways at Aparo. He was looking at me like I needed a straightjacket.
He said, “Your chat-up lines need a lot of work, compadre.”
I was still wondering why she called. The big question was whether Ivan had Kremlin backing at some level, whether he was here doing official wet work or just freelancing for some mobster. If it was the former, then the consulate-and Larisa-had his back. It would also make them accomplices in the murder of American law-enforcement officers. And yet, something in her tone was off. I got this weird vibe like she was genuinely rattled. Which didn’t make sense, unless she and Ivan weren’t on the same team. Which meant he was a wild card. Working for forces unknown.
I’m not sure which scenario I preferred.
The Dragnet theme hooked my attention. Aparo picked up the call, listened for a quick beat, then floored the pedal and glanced over at me.
“Something’s going on outside the restaurant.”
41
Koschey scanned the busy restaurant with laserlike efficiency, his trained eyes quickly locking on to the pretty, petite figure in the green-dragon dress that Sokolov had described to him.
Ae-Cha. Jonny’s cousin.
Heading toward the back of the place.
He streamed through the tables, his movement smooth, his body language unhurried and discreet. He knew how not to attract attention and pass unnoticed, regardless of how crowded a place was. He caught up with Ae-Cha just as she entered the kitchen. Before she even sensed his presence, his blade was pricking her lower back, his other hand clasped firmly around her upper arm.
“Keep smiling and don’t make a noise or a lot of people will die and you’ll be the first of them. You understand?”
Ae-Cha froze, then nodded nervously.
Koschey shepherded her forward, his stance casual despite his viselike grip on her arm, directing her toward the stairwell, smiling at her and at a passing waiter.
“Let’s go see Jonny,” he added, low and to her ear.
She nodded again, more controlled this time, as they passed another waiter and pushed through the doorway and into the stairwell.
“Quickly now,” he hissed.
She led him up to the top of the stairs and knocked on the metal door. There was no answer. She glanced at Koschey, who knocked on the door himself, mimicking her tap.
Still nothing.
He pressed the fiberglass-reinforced-plastic blade to her neck. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” she stammered. “He must have gone out.”
He pressed the blade harder as he studied her, ascertaining whether she was telling the truth. “Try harder.”
“This is his place,” she insisted. “If he’s not in there, he’s gone out.”
She was shaking too much to be lying.
He asked, “You have his number on your phone?”
Ae-Cha nodded.
“All right. Let’s go.” He herded her back toward the stairs. “And let’s hope you mean a lot to him.”