“Maybe when Mr. Lepke was advising they just stood at attention,” Val said.
“You know, based on his taste in decoration it’s probably safe to say he wasn’t on the cutting edge of current. But, wouldn’t you think that even someone who was just advising would have a computer? A typewriter? Something?” I asked.
“He did, or does,” Aaron was walking behind the desk. “You can see dust on the desktop where the keyboard and screen were positioned and there’s an indentation back here under the desk. I’m guessing that’s where a terminal was located.”
He slipped a pen under a drawer handle and pulled it open.
“Surprise, surprise, empty.” Then proceeded to open all the drawers, all empty.
“A clean office, as in cleaned out,” I said.
More indentations on the carpet suggested the recent removal of two file cabinets.
“Just a wild guess but unless Marvin went on an unplanned vacation somewhere without his bride, I’d guess the odds might be pretty good he’s not doing so well right now,” Hale said.
“All roads still seem to lead to Braco Alekseeva,” Aaron offered, and so we took one.
Chapter 79
Armed with the laundry list of offenses and now the missing Marvin Lepke under seemingly suspicious circumstances Aaron secured warrants and a swat team for the arrest.
Braco’s red Lexus, the apparent recent recipient of bodywork, was parked and gleaming in its reserved spot in the parking garage beneath his condo building. Gleaming two parking spots away was the dark blue BMW registered to the Lee-Dee guys that Kerri drove around town.
“Just to be on the safe side, I’ll have these vehicles towed to the crime bureau and checked for signs of Marvin Lepke,” Aaron said.
“Maybe check for Da’nita Bell and her wheelchair on the Lexus,” I added.
“That too.”
We rode the elevators up to the thirty-fourth floor, then had to get out and take a private elevator the final two floors up to Braco’s penthouse on thirty-six. Aaron had a small army assembled in the lower lobby before we moved on Braco’s penthouse unit.
His private elevator was paneled in some elegant kind of wood, definitely not knotty pine, a plush red carpet on the floor, and framed mirrors with beveled glass on three walls. There were enough of us that it was going to require at least three waves, plus additional guys creeping up a fire stairwell.
Just as we were beginning to load into the private elevator Aaron’s phone rang. I heard one side of a conversation and heated, garbled responses emanating from his phone.
“Agent Peters, nice to finally hear from you. Thank you for returning my calls from the past week,” Aaron calmly said.
“Yes, Agent Dziedzic is here, in a courtesy role only. She is viewing the operation, from a distance,” Aaron said, nodding at Val.
“Little late for that, I’m afraid, we’re set to go in.”
“No, we will not stand down. I have warrants. I’m in the process of dealing with what we suspect is at best a kidnapping and what we fear could well be a murder. Time is of the essence.”
“Oh I see, well, let me rephrase, Agent Peters. At this point you’re wasting my time, which means you’re endangering the lives of my people. Good day,” he said and clicked off his phone.
“Let’s go,” Aaron nodded to his swat guys and entered the private elevator.
When the doors opened I guess it was more a combination of Scar Face meets the Big Lebowski. I wasn’t allowed up until the third wave and only then because they assumed I had to be someone of authority, since I was up there to begin with.
No shots had been fired. By the time I got up there, a Swat team guy wrapped in Kevlar was reading Miranda rights to two thugs with shaved heads who were handcuffed and facedown on the floor of a hallway. Val was there, translating. Across the hallway large paneled doors opened into a massive living room with skyline views on two walls. Even with all the windows the room seemed dark. Despite the summer sunshine the fireplace was roaring, stacks of files about three feet high were lined up next to the fireplace. Remnants of burning files flew up the chimney. Hale, hobbling in his walking cast, was busy pulling singed files out of the fireplace.
Three long black leather couches were arranged in a large U in front of the fireplace. A massive coffee table about the size of a double bed sat in the middle. The table was trashed with empty vodka bottles, dirty glasses, some serious stacks of cash and what I assumed was a mound of cocaine next to a mirror. A couple of rolled-up bills were stuck in the mound like haphazard birthday candles. A pistol lay on the floor between the couch and coffee table.
Kerri was there, wearing a black negligee that perfectly complemented a swollen, nearly closed black eye. She seemed catatonic, with heavy powder residue on her upper lip, chin, and dusted across her chest. Her head lolled to the side and she drooled slightly, I guess in acknowledgment.
Further back in the room, close to what was a wet bar area a group of officers stood around a fat little bald man with a wispy ponytail lying on the floor. He had a Van Dyke style goatee and was clad in a blue and gold paisley robe that looked to be silk. The robe was disheveled and exposed a very fat, very pink rear end. Although I hadn’t heard a shot he appeared to be wounded, one of the officers was applying a compress to his head as I approached.
“Stupid bastard ran straight into the doorframe at full speed and cracked his head open,” the officer was explaining to Aaron.
I noticed there was an empty gun holster belted over the silk robe beneath a massive beer belly.
“The infamous, Braco the Waco,” Aaron said as two swat guys raised the paisley-clad troll to his feet.
I’m not sure what I expected but it wasn’t this. I’d been thinking maybe someone around six foot five. Braco couldn’t have stood much more than five and a half feet. Instead of lean and muscled with piercing eyes that shouted a warning, he had triple chins, bags under his eyes, florid cheeks, and looked more like an Elizabethan English professor than some Russian gangster in a human trafficking scheme.
Aaron smiled, took out his Miranda card.
“Agent Dziedzic, if you’d help with translation when you have a chance,” he called over to Val.
Chapter 80
Suddenly there was shouting from one of the back rooms, followed quickly by three or four shots. Everyone flinched and ducked, except for Braco, who wobbled for a moment, then just dropped to the floor. He hadn’t been shot, he just flopped over or passed out.
Aaron moved forward with four officers, crouching as they went.
“Just stay put and don’t get in the way,” he directed me.
I followed at what I assumed was a safe distance.
The shots seemed to have come from a dining-room area, and the shooter had retreated into the kitchen. Swat team guys were crawling along the side of the dining-room table. Once they were in position the team leader waved two more into the room along the opposite wall. I took Aaron’s advice to heart and hung back, way back, halfway down the thick carpeted hallway.
“Tell whoever it is to throw their weapon out,” Aaron said to Val.
She called out in Russian, then repeated the sentence.
We waited.
“Again,” Aaron said after what seemed a very long time.
We waited awhile longer and then someone suddenly grabbed my collar from behind and yanked me to my feet. Shouted something in Russian as a pistol barrel cracked into the back of my head.
“Don’t fucking shoot!” I pleaded just in case someone didn’t get the message.
Aaron’s eyes were wide, Hale looked deadly serious, and Val said something in Russian.
A response hurled back from behind me. I had other things to worry about just now but I was keenly aware of garlic breath. The hand on my collar forced me forward, repeated a growled phrase in Russian again and again, all the while using me as a human shield. We slowly made our way toward the elevator, our backs against the wall.