“Oh really, an organizational adjustment, that you just happen to know about,” sigh.
I smiled innocently, thought why do you have to be such an insufferable prick? then said, “Yes, sir. The number two man in the Alekseeva organization, Sergie Alekseeva. I believe he was killed about forty-eight hours ago.”
I glanced over at Aaron, his eyes were trained, target-like, on Peters, which told me to go for it.
“We’re aware of those reports but there hasn’t been any confirmation. There has really been nothing of a concrete nature to indicate the victim in that particular incident was indeed Sergie Alekseeva.”
“You think he was Andrew Quinn? The name on the guy’s driver’s license? He had Russian navy tattoos, that suggest his last name was Quinn?”
“We deal in facts here, Haskell. Not speculation or innuendo. We can’t rush to a conclusion simply because it might be convenient. As I said, we are waiting for corroborating evidence. Now if there are no more…”
“So, if someone from inside the Alekseeva organization confirmed it was little Sergie who is laying on a block of ice down at the morgue, that would help?”
“What do you intend to do, ask them?” Peters said, tossing a pencil on the table.
I think Aaron gave me the slightest of nods I wasn’t sure, but I went with it.
“I’ve already done that, it’s been confirmed, twice.”
“By who?”
“A woman named Karina Vucavitch, goes by Kerri. I’m sure you’re aware of her, she’s Braco’s main squeeze, or one of them.” That got pages shuffling as people sought out Kerri’s name on the Alekseeva flow chart.
Someone at the end of the table muttered, “Like Vlad Vucavitch.”
“The other is Tibor Crvek, the butcher.”
“You know who ‘The Butcher’ is?” some guy I didn’t know asked across the table. I thought I might have picked up on a little south side Chicago in his accent.
“Where in God’s name do you come up with this fiction?” Peters asked shaking his head.
“Fiction? I got a bullet hole in my windshield that adds some credibility to my claims. I had a bullet graze my head about a week ago compliments of the charming Ms. Vucavitch. And as for Tibor Crvek, I was up close and personal with him the other night.” I looked at the guy across from me, “you know he plays the cello, pretty well actually. He is ‘The Butcher.’” I neglected to add “at the Moscow Deli.”
Peters looked like he had a put down ready to go on the tip of his tongue but the guy I’d guessed was from Chicago spoke first.
“Back up a minute here, son. Are you saying you know Karina Vucavitch. You’ve talked with her, recently? And that you spoke with ‘The Butcher’ as well?”
“Yeah, I was with her last night, actually she had been looking for me. Fortunately I was able to dodge the carload of thugs she brought along for company.”
“We have no idea if it’s the same individual. For all we know you’re making all this up, Haskell,” Peters said.
“How well did you get to know Karina Vucavitch?” I was sure he was from Chicago, now.
“How well?” I asked, not following.
“Any identifying characteristics you might remember?”
“Oh yeah, well, she’s very attractive, speaks at least three languages, Russian, English and some German. She can drink vodka like a fish, and she’s trimmed, not shaved, a real blond if that’s what you mean.”
“Jesus Christ, how many people do you have on your surveillance teams?” The Chicago guy asked.
“Just me.”
“And you’ve infiltrated these people?” a voice asked from the end of the table.
Aaron looked at me wide eyed. I shrugged my shoulders suggesting I couldn’t help myself.
“Anything else, any markings on the Vucavitch woman?” A voice asked from somewhere down the table.
“Markings? You mean the tattoo on her butt? It’s a little angel sort of sitting on a cloud, looking off to the side like it was thinking or something. It had wings, sort of old fashioned looking, like a Victorian valentine or something. And it had writing but I couldn’t read it.
“Agent Dziedzic?” he said to the woman sitting behind Peters.
She cleared her throat, spoke a short phrase in what I assumed was Russian, then said, “Lord forgive me for bringing tears to my mother.”
“Thank you, that’s Karina Vucavitch all right. If she said the body was Sergie, I think we can take that as gospel,” my new best friend from Chicago said.
“I’m not at all convinced,” Peters scowled. “I’ll take it under advisement. Thank you for sharing your conquests, Mr. Haskell.”
“I’m not sure who was doing the conquering,” I said.
There were chuckles around the table, except for Peters who just stared at me. Dziedzic smiled behind his back. Aaron gave me a look that suggested “are you kidding!”
“If we can get back to where I left off,” Peters said red-faced, looking at the papers in his hand. He then proceeded to drone on about all the good things that were going to happen because he’d taken the time to put together the two charts. Ever the corporate type he gave a short Power Point presentation basically regurgitating all the information included in the handouts.
Eventually the meeting wound up. Peters couldn’t seem to get out of there fast enough. He had two other Federal toads traveling with him. It looked like it was left to pretty Agent Dziedzic to clean up the conference room.
Chapter 50
“Agent Peters,” I called to him out in the hallway. A couple of people were leaving, others hanging around in groups of two or three. The mood didn’t suggest a lot of business.
“Did you want to meet with me at five?” it was already five forty-five.
“I think I’ve heard enough from you for one day, Haskell.”
“So we’re cool, on the tire I mean. I don’t want to get a surprise AAA bill in the mail.”
“You know, Haskell, you might find destruction of government property funny, I don’t. My agents have a lot better things to attend to than chasing you all over town. You might think it cute, maybe even funny to hop in and out of bed with known prostitutes. I find it reprehensible and not at all the sort of conduct I deem appropriate in this or any other investigation.”
“I came across your kind of appropriate conduct this morning. Those two stiffs you had watching me. If that is your idea of undercover surveillance we are all in trouble.”
“The trouble with people like you, Haskell, is that for some unknown reason you think you matter.”
I just smiled at him, which got him even madder.
“Gentleman,” he said as he turned and headed for the elevators, tweedle dumb and tweedle dumber followed like little lap-dogs.
“Way to smooth things over for me,” Aaron said from behind.
“You think that guy is gonna really do anything with Braco the Whacko Alekseeva and his gang of merry men? You’d be better off going after them with pea shooters instead of having that guy on your team.”
“There might be some manpower and budgetary considerations you’re glossing over there,” Aaron said.
“Quite possibly,” I agreed.
We spoke for a few minutes more. Aaron directed a couple attendees into his office, two of them Chicago guys. I noticed agent Dziedzic still back in the conference room packing up, so I poked my head in. She looked tired.
“Long day?”
“You can say that again,” she smiled.
“Where’d you learn Russian?” I asked.
“Home, my family’s from Kiev. I was actually born there but we came to the US before I was one. It was my major in university, grad school,” she said, then closed her briefcase, picked up another case, which I presumed held the Power Point stuff.
“Let me help you,” I said and grabbed the larger of the two cases.
“Oh, not necessary but thanks. Hey, I hope you didn’t take it personal, not giving you the handouts, that was Peters. He instructed me not to give you either of them at the meeting. I have to follow orders,” she shrugged her shoulders.