Hannibal returned his gaze to the bottles behind the bar to give Yakov some privacy, to let his grief and his guilt fight it out in peace. He had brought the Tolstayas into the picture, but he didn’t seem to have anything to do with Gartee Roberts. Tolstaya must have met the name-changing waiter in the club and seen something there he could use. Or maybe Roberts saw something he could use.
It appeared that Anastasiya’s suspicions were just her projecting her own weakness onto her husband. The more likely truth was that he tried to look after Nikita’s surviving wife and daughter out of guilt because, one way or another, introducing Tolstaya to Nikita had led to Nikita’s death. And now he had failed to protect poor Raisa. Now he, like Hannibal, was worried that Viktoriya would be lost as well, but where was she?
Beside him, Yakov Sidorov jumped as if he had received an electric shock. When he began fishing in his jacket pockets Hannibal realized he must have a cell phone set on vibrate. Yakov fished the phone out, glanced at the screen display, and then pressed it against his ear. He mumbled softly into it, but ended the conversation with, “Of course, child, as soon as possible.”
Hannibal could only imagine one person he might call “child” and faced Yakov with an expectant stare. The older man didn’t hesitate.
“It was Viktoriya. She needs help right away.”
“Is she OK?”
“For now, yes. But Dani Gana has been shot.”
24
Ten minutes later, Hannibal was merging onto Route 50 East. The good news was that once he crossed into Maryland he knew that even the higher speed limit, sixty-five miles per hour, was just a suggestion and the high occupancy vehicle left lane was in effect 24/7. With Yakov sitting beside him, the Black Beauty was now an HOV. The bad news was that Viktoriya had called from a hundred and twenty-five miles away.
“Why Rehoboth Beach, for God’s sake?” Hannibal asked.
“When she was younger, her parents would take her there in the summer,” Yakov said, clutching the seat as Hannibal pressed the Volvo up past eighty-five. “They vacationed at Rehoboth because Ocean City is too crowded. Are you familiar with the little town?”
“As it happens, I am,” Hannibal said. “Rehoboth beach is the biggest of Delaware's Atlantic resorts, part of a continuous line of seashore tourist areas, like Dewey Beach and Bethany Beach. They each kind of have their own personality. The Coffee Mill is in Rehoboth. That’s the little shop I order my custom ground coffee from. Without the summer beach traffic in my way, I can make it there in just about two hours.”
“Fine. As long as we get there alive.”
The wide, level road took them to MD 404, which turned into DE 404 as they crossed the state line. While the sun inched lower in the western sky, Yakov Sidorov talked about his youth in Mother Russia, his brief meeting with Nikita Petrova in Afghanistan, and his journey to the United States to make his fortune. His patients were almost all Eastern Europeans who paid in cash. He asked no questions except those related to their health and for their part they never argued about his rates or threatened to sue him for malpractice.
The sun was just thinking about surrendering to the night as Hannibal cruised down the wide Main Street, lined with most of Rehoboth Beach’s two hundred shops, twenty or so hotels, and about as many bed and breakfasts. He circled the big gazebo at the beach end, still not finding a parking space. When they did find a meter without a car in front of it, they were three blocks from the ocean.
Viktoriya had asked Yakov to meet her on the woo den boardwalk, a mile or so of eateries, games, hotels, and eclectic shops. Beyond the railings the umbrellas on the white powder sand beach were disappearing one by one, and lights winked on in front of shops as the night life was about to kick off.
“I see why so many vacation here,” Yakov said as they walked past colorful storefronts and restaurant tables on front porches. “The town is charming, with a certain artistic appeal.”
“Yes,” Hannibal said. “Quiet, clean and safe. Although maybe not so safe for everyone.”
Sharp salt air wafted in with the tide on a persistent breeze. The two men walked slowly, staring into the alcove entrances of the minigolf courses and arcades.
“Viktoriya should be easy to spot here,” Yakov said. “The style here seems to strongly favor short hair on women.”
Hannibal smiled. “Yeah, well you might not know that Rehoboth Beach is also becoming one of the mid-Atlantic's most popular gay and lesbian getaways. Think of it as South Beach, north.”
Yakov opened his mouth to respond but Hannibal stopped him with an elbow in the ribs. He pointed toward a food counter where Viktoriya stood with both hands wrapped around a container of boardwalk fries. She was balanced on heels with tiny straps circling her ankles. The shoes were wrong for the beach, and the satin shorts and camisole impled she had left someplace in a hurry. Her shiny black tresses whipped in the breeze, waving them in. Her mouth dropped open as they approached. When they were within reach, she hugged the older man, but her wary eyes never left Hannibal. The embrace was strong, but brief.
“How do you know Uncle Yakov?” she asked.
“I thought he could tell me a bit more about your husband,” Hannibal said. “We were talking when your call came in.”
“We need to see him,” Yakov said. “If Dani is wounded, he will need immediate attention.”
She drew back into the corner of the counter. “Dani’s gone and I don’t know where.”
“What do you mean gone?” Hannibal asked. “Is he alive?”
“He was when I saw him last.”
Hannibal nodded, and turned to Yakov. “We obviously have much to discuss. We need to go sit down someplace and have the girl bring us up to date. And I know just the place.
Rehoboth Mews was not much more than an alley a couple of blocks from the boardwalk. It was a narrow walking path from Main Street to the next street perpendicular to the ocean and held five or six small shops. Hannibal had an account at one of them, The Coffee Mill. He didn’t visit often, but the manager recognized his name from the monthly shipments.
“Hannibal Jones,” she said, barely tall enough to see over the counter. “It’s always a pleasure filling your orders. Rather a surprise to see you at this time of year.”
“Maybe, but I’m sure glad you stay open year round. I need drinks for my friends here, but mostly we need a quiet place to sit. And I think you can provide that.”
Within five minutes, Hannibal, Yakov, and Viktoriya were seated at one of the outdoor tables. Strings of oversized Christmas tree lights decorated the doors and crisscrossed from the buildings on one side of Rehoboth Mews to the other.
Hannibal would have felt trapped if they sat inside the coffee shop, but sitting in front of it was different. Despite having storefronts on both sides, Rehoboth Mews was little more than a narrow alley, reserved for pedestrians. That meant that people could only approach from two directions and Hannibal could watch both ways with ease. Hannibal had splurged on cups of Jamaican Blue Mountain for himself and Yakov. Viktoriya had requested a frappuccino.
“Now, tell us what happened to Dani,” Hannibal said.
She slurped at her straw, peeking out from under her hair at Yakov. He nodded. She spoke.
“Well, we wanted to go someplace to have a little sort of honeymoon, you know? Dani didn’t want to fly anywhere, said he was just sick of traveling and besides, there were nice places right nearby. I mentioned the beaches up here, where my folks used to bring me, and he thought that was perfect. So, he asked me to rent a car.”
“Didn’t want to do that himself, eh?” Hannibal asked.
“He had stuff to do, you know? Had to settle up with Mama and do bank stuff and, you know. Stuff. So anyway, I get this big old four by four because he doesn’t want to leave any of his stuff behind. We pack it all up and drive up here.”