'Til Death (Part five of fifteen)

‘Til Death

A Trick Molloy Mystery

©2009 Michael A. Stackpole

Part Five

First thing I did was give Lou a courtesy call. He didn’t like hearing that RT had been asking about him, but he appreciated the head’s-up. “I’ll take care of him, Trick. You just find Irina.”

I made a couple more calls, this time to folks on the vice squad. They were having a bad day. IAD was all over them. I expressed my sympathies. Of course, none of them were the mole I’d mentioned to RT. You never buy a mole in a particular squad, you buy the mole in the Command and Communication division. They know what’s happening because they set up the connections, or are warned off making any. Far more efficient and their job is to listen for things.

Through Vice I got a rundown on Peotr Turpeluk. Born in the Soviet Union before its collapse, he moved to Canada with his mother in mid-teens. After the collapse, he went back, entered the family business: the Russian Mafia. Did some time in jail, then returned to Canada and headed down here.

The Russian Mafia was a lot tougher than the Italians—second only to the Tongs in ruthlessness. The Soviets weren’t afraid of taking drastic action. Back when some Lebanese terrorists kidnapped Russian diplomats, the KGB kidnapped some Lebanese, did some radical, life-altering surgery on them, and told the terrorists they were more than wiling to play even tougher. The diplomats were released, and everything was good.

Criminals operating in that sort of country, with secret police and Siberian gulags, learned to be efficient. Russian Mafia methods for dealing with snitches made the KGB look tame. Using a lawnmower to do a pedicure ranked as safe when compared with dealing with the Russian Mafia.

Political and economic circumstances made everything worse. Little Moscow had grown up around the original Russian Hill enclave. Most of the old White Russians had died off, and the empty churches welcomed the new refugees. They all still looked over their shoulders, not really buying that the KGB had died. Given the folks running Russia, who could blame them? All that made for an insular and suspicious end of town where I wasn’t exactly going to fit in.

Turpeluk had his fingers in everything, from pirated DVDs to drugs, women, hijacking and protection rackets. The ‘Brides of the Old Country’ deal that had ensnared Irina was actually a legit business. Ditto some restaurant, bakery and club holdings. The latter were largely to launder the money made doing nasty things. And as his treatment of Lou showed, he wasn’t afraid of mixing the two sides of his empire.

The guys in Vice were willing to tell me all sorts of stories about Turpeluk, but they didn’t have evidence to back any of them. If they had leverage, they weren’t sharing—and this led me to believe they had nothing. Vice guys like to brag, and the only thing they bragged on about Turpeluk was how frustrated they were. They were more than willing to kick funds to me if I wanted to be a confidential informant. That offer reeked of desperation. With my past, I’m an impeachable witness.

Of course, they were hoping I’d get in and find a reason to off Turpeluk. I was kind of hoping things wouldn’t get that far.

I needed to make an approach. I ruled out his nightclub, Strana. He was king there. I’d be an easy target, and the place would be loud enough to cover a bomb going off. Turpeluk also played ice hockey at a local rink, but confronting him while he had blades on his feet and a stick in his hands would not have worked well, either.

Down in the heart of Little Moscow he owned a small bistro. It didn’t have a name per se. Its address was 605 Russian Hill Road, so some folks called it 605. Tiny and old world, it served Russian fare to tourists who didn’t know it was Turpeluk’s headquarters, and all the mobsters who did.

I took the CRAWL down and got off the train at the base of Russian Hill. Two blocks up I parked myself at the Tea Shop across the street. I ordered lunch and sat on the patio so I could watch 605. I wasn’t really sure what I was looking for, other than an angle on Turpeluk. I wanted to get a feel for him, so I’d have an idea of how much wiggle room Lou had.

Halfway through my sandwich, Turpeluk arrived. He had strong features—not quite a Stalinist hero, but close. Blond hair worn very conservatively short, strong jaw, a nose that had been broken at least once. Definitely athletic. He topped six feet, but not by much, and had enough muscle that he’d rattle the boards when he checked you into them. I couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but he did survey the street and the rooftops before he got indoors.

While he was doing his recon, I shifted over to magick to look at him. Most folks are black and white—mostly black. Talented folks show up in color. Turpeluk might as well have been the Oscar statuette come down from its base. Pure gold, all shiny and smooth, soft angles rendering him inhuman.

My heart sank. I’d seen powerful magickers before. I was no slouch myself. Turpeluk was about as tough as I’d seen. Could be he’d just had his Wheaties and was all triggered, but that wasn’t the sense I was getting. So, in addition to his being a stone cold sociopath, he had mondo-talent, too.

That changed things considerably.

I wondered if Lou knew just how nasty he was. None of the vice guys had even hinted. This was not leaving me feeling very good.

Two guys—two big guys—darted out of 605 and across the street toward me. I’d been made, somehow. I tossed a twenty on the table and started to get up. Right about then I realized the two guys from 605 had been distraction.

A hand landed on my shoulder.

“Mr. Turpeluk sends his compliments, Mr. Molloy. He begs you finish your lunch, then join him for after dinner drink.” My keeper, the one who completed the trio of henchmen, smiled. “It would please Mr. Turpeluk. Believe me, you wish to please him.”

If you are enjoying this story and were wondering how we got here, please visit the Stormwolf Store. The short story “The Witch in Scarlet” is the Trick Molloy tale that immediately precedes this one.