3 Bad Guys Get Caught (4 page)

“What do you know about Petr Kovar?”

“Officially? Kovar is one of the
wealthiest businessmen in Eastern Europe. Unofficially, let’s see: money
laundering, racketeering, prostitution, and the list goes on.”

“What would you say if Kovar had ties to
a potential candidate for the New York senator seat?”

“I’d say that I’d want that candidate
crossed off the list of potential candidates.”

“I’d say the same thing.” Dennis rubbed
his hands. “I’ve done some digging on Kovar; he owns a restaurant here in New
York. It’s called the Panther Restaurant and Lounge Club. Can you run a check
on the money flows from his accounts? See if there’s anything out of the norm?”

“Sure can. What exactly should I be
looking for?”

“If you could just get me a list of
ingoing and outgoing money transfers for the past year, that’d be a great
start.”

Laskin whistled. “A whole year? That’ll
take a while. How about we start with six months?”

“Whatever you can do, Peter.”

“I’ll get you six months’ worth by the
end of the week and the rest in a week.”

“Great. You’re a lifesaver.”

“A lifesaver who needs saving. Now
seriously, if you hear of any good investigators who don’t mind crappy pay, you
tell them to call me.”

“Will do, Peter.”

“I’ll call you as soon as I have the
information for you.” Laskin frowned. “There’s just one thing, and I’m going to
be upfront about it. If I find anything suspicious about Kovar, I’ll have to
escalate the matter. If our investigation interferes with your assignment—”

“I understand that and both Janet and I
would be happy to assist the Treasury in any way we can, but could you give me
a warning? I’m not asking for much, but let’s say a day?”

Laskin scratched his chin. “Yes, I can
do that, but more would be pushing it.”

“I’m not asking for more. I know I’ve
already asked for plenty.” Dennis grinned. “Thank you, Peter. One of these days
we should all go out to dinner: you, Aileen, Janet and me.”

“That’d be nice. Aileen would like that.
Now, I’d better get back to work.”

“See, that wasn’t so bad.” said Dennis
once they were standing outside of the Treasury building.

“No it wasn’t. Do you think Laskin will
be able to get the information we need? He seemed really swamped. Couldn’t we
get it ourselves?”

“Our systems don’t have the same level
of clearance.”

“I know that. Couldn’t you go to your
contacts with the Feds?”

“I could, but they wouldn’t even give us
the one-day warning Laskin agreed to. If they see a lead for a case, they’ll
pounce right on it. At least we can trust Laskin not to screw us over.”

“Yes, at least that,” was all Janet
said. In her mind she was mulling over a different option, but she didn’t want
to tell Dennis about it just yet.

Mila Brabec reluctantly lifted her head
off the pillow. It was time to get ready for her shift at the restaurant. She
glanced at Anton’s face on the pillow next to hers. God, she hated this man.
Everything about him repulsed her, but her fear of him was even greater than
her hatred. To think that she had thought that he would protect her: what an
idiot she had been! From beneath her lowered lashes she looked at the curving
outline of Anton’s full lips, his chiseled nose, his thick black eyebrows, and
the jet black of his hair. His eyes were closed, but when they were open, they
were the color of sea green. It was a handsome face, but there was also
something insatiable in it, almost cruelly so.

“You’re up, baby?” Anton Kovar mumbled,
patting her thigh.

She resisted the urge to recoil. “Yes,
honey,” she purred.

“It’s time for your cute ass to go to
work,” he grunted, pulling the covers up to his chin.

Biting her lip, Mila slid off the bed.
Revenge was a dish best served cold, and one day she would dine with relish.

Mechanically she showered and applied
her makeup. Her shift at the restaurant started at seven p.m. and lasted until
one a.m. It would be a long tiring night that she’d spend up on her feet,
catering to the whims of cantankerous customers. The fact that she had spent
the past hour satisfying Anton’s perverted sexual taste did not help matters
either. She was exhausted.

A few minutes later, Mila was heading
for the subway. She never took cabs these days. She would need every penny she
could get if she was ever going to get even with Anton.

“Mila! You’re late again!” The manager,
Anton’s younger brother Roman, yelled at Mila as she made her way through the
restaurant door.

Mila checked her watch. It was ten to
seven, but Roman insisted that all the waitresses got to work twenty minutes
before their shift to have ample time to change and make themselves
presentable. Technically, this rule was not supposed to apply to Mila; she was
a hostess manager, a position to which she had been elevated after she started
sleeping with Anton. It was supposed to be more prestigious than waitressing,
but in the end it turned out to be a ruse. Mila had thought she’d make tons of
money from patrons desperate for a table, but she didn’t get to decide on the
seating; Roman did and he made a nifty profit from it. It wasn’t like she got
to manage anyone. Anton and Roman called all the shots. Of course the real boss
was Anton’s uncle, Petr Kovar. Mila didn’t really know him well since he’d only
stopped by the restaurant a few times since she had started working there. Petr
Kovar was one of the richest men in Eastern Europe. The press called him a
self-made billionaire. Officially, Petr Kovar’s business interests spanned from
manufacturing to fast food to real estate, but it was also said that he was
involved in money laundering, prostitution, and even drugs. If that were the
case, Mila hadn’t been able to get her hands on the evidence to support it. She
had tried her hardest to find some dirt on the Kovars; until she did, she’d be
stuck slaving away for Anton. “You’ll just have to fill in for me while I
change, Roman,” she snapped.

“Oh, I’d love to fill you in, honey.”
Roman stared at her breasts, scratching the stubble on his chin.

“Why don’t you concentrate on more
realistic objectives, like getting a shave?” Mila pushed past Roman, making her
way to the changing room downstairs.

She slipped out of her clothes and
grabbed her uniform from a hanger; it was a sleek black dress with an expensive
designer label. Mila shook her head, remembering the excitement she had first
felt when wearing this very dress. Back then a job at the Panther Restaurant
and Lounge Club had seemed like an opportunity of a lifetime. How could she
have known that it would lead her to a dead end?

Focus, Mila thought. Take it one day at
a time. Yes, you’re sleeping with a man you can’t stand, and yes, you’re stuck
working in this hellhole, but you will find a way to get out. When you do,
you’ll be very rich. She’d been reciting this mantra for what felt like an
eternity. It was shocking to think that just a little over eight months ago her
life had been perfect. Mila zipped up her uniform and threw back her shoulders,
catching her reflection in the mirror. She mustn’t let all this stress take a
toll on her looks. After all, her looks were her main asset, and a considerable
one at that: long legs, slim hips, ample breasts. Her chestnut hair fell over
her shoulders in luxurious waves; men found the blue of her eyes alluring and
the fullness of her lips inviting. Too bad there were no serious takers, but
then Anton Kovar had a way of cutting off competition. Not that Mila would
leave him, not before she made Anton Kovar rue the day he turned her into his
personal slave.

“Hey there, Mila, how is it going?”
Susan, one of the waitresses, greeted her.

“It’s going,” Mila grumbled. “Did Roman
chew you out about being late?”

Susan nodded as she pinned up her red
mane into a loose bun. “He tried, but he had to take his words back when I
threatened to quit on the spot. Tonight is my last night. Jake proposed. We’re
going to Monaco for our honeymoon.” Susan proudly displayed an enormous diamond
ring on her left hand.

“Wow,” was all Mila could manage. She
knew that jealousy wasn’t healthy, but at the moment she was incapable of
stifling the crippling emotion. Susan had met Jake during one of her shifts
less than three months ago. Instantly he’d started lavishing her with expensive
gifts, taking her to fancy restaurants, and had even rented an apartment for
her, and now he was putting a ring on her finger. Of course the fact that Jake
was in his mid-fifties, bald and pudgy, with three failed marriages behind him
probably had something to do with it, but so what? Anton was handsome and hung
like a horse, but he was a cheap brute, and Mila hated his guts.

“Don’t you worry, honey. Your day will
come too!” Susan assured her. “If I can land a good guy, so can you.”

“I know. Thanks Susan.” Why was it that
beautiful women always liked to downplay their looks? Mila took pride in
assessing her competition; there was no denying that Susan was drop dead
gorgeous. She looked just like Julia Roberts had looked in
Pretty Woman
,
minus the trashy clothes. Men went wild for her. Still, even Susan had to
settle for an old geezer. Maybe Mila was asking for too much after all. “Well,
I’ll see you upstairs. Send me a postcard from Monaco.”

Mila assumed her position at the hostess
stand and plastered a welcoming smile on her face. The Panther Restaurant and
Lounge Club clientele was exclusive, and they expected to be treated
accordingly. It was seven o’clock, which was early for the more fashionable
crowd that would start arriving around eight-thirty or nine. Personally, Mila
disagreed with habits of the elite; she never ate after six o’clock.

“Good evening. Welcome to the Panther
Restaurant and Lounge Club,” Mila greeted a middle-aged couple. Probably an
anniversary dinner, she thought. Dressed in a gray suit, the man looked tired from
a day at the office. The wife, on the other hand, had the carefully
put-together look of a woman who had spent the whole day preparing for a night
out. They’ll be on the train to the suburbs at ten o’clock, Mila thought. “Let
me show you to your table,” she said brightly.

Mila made her way to one of the tables
closer to the entrance. There were plenty of better tables available, but the
policy was to stick the less important patrons with crappy real estate. More
than half of the time people sheepishly agreed to what they were offered; as
with everything else in life, the ballsier ones got better options.

The husband was about to slide into one
of the chairs, but the wife frowned with disapproval. “Couldn’t we get one of
those tables in the back of the room?”

“Certainly,” Mila replied succinctly,
turning on her heels. It was obvious who wore the pants in that union.

After she had finally gotten rid of the
finicky wife and her doormat husband, Mila returned to the hostess stand.

“I’m going to need you to do double duty
tomorrow,” Roman said. “Susan quit, so you’ll have to take her shift.”

“How am I supposed to waitress and host
at the same time?” Mila snapped. Roman was even more annoying than his older
brother.

“I’ll do most of the hosting, but you’ll
split the tips with me.”

Great, Mila thought. As if lazy pig
Roman were not getting paid enough already.

“I gotta take a crap,” Roman grunted and
sauntered off.

Mila clutched the edges of the stand
until her knuckles turned white. One day at a time, she thought, take it one
day at a time. Her attention was diverted to a young woman entering the
restaurant. She looked to be about Mila’s age. Brown hair, green eyes: good,
but not spectacular body. Mila made a quick tally that she always did when
encountering a member of the female sex. A blind date probably, Mila concluded
based on the woman’s slightly nervous look. Mila glanced at the bar section and
wondered which one of the men was the woman’s date. The pickings looked slim;
unless of course the individual in question didn’t bother to show up at all.

“Excuse me,” the woman addressed Mila,
“I was wondering if you have any openings?”

“Pardon me?” Mila asked, surprised at
the question.

“Do you have any job openings? I’m
looking for a job.”

Objectively speaking, evenings were not
the best time to show up in a restaurant looking for work, but tonight the
timing couldn’t have been more perfect. “Do you have waitressing experience?”

The woman blinked. “Um, yes, I
waitressed all through college. I recently lost my job as a marketing
assistant, and I need the income. I’m sure I could brush up real quick.”

Mila grinned. Good thing that Roman
wasn’t there to hear this winning pitch. He’d send the girl packing in no time,
but Mila didn’t intend to wear herself out with waitressing and hosting when
she had to give half her tips to Roman, so the girl was getting hired. “Good.
Come tomorrow at five o’clock. Your shift starts at seven. I’ll show you the
ropes. Say that you worked at Pastis for a year. I know a manager there, her
name is Amy Walsh; she’ll back up the story.”

The girl’s eyes widened with surprise at
this unexpected kindness. The poor thing had no idea that Mila’s response was
driven by purely selfish reasons. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“What’s your name?”

“Janet … Janet Maple.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Janet. I’m Mila.”

“Very nice to meet you, Mila, and thank
you.”

“See you tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

Just then Roman reappeared by Mila’s
side. “I thought I was going to clog the toilet.” Mila pretended not to hear.
“Who was that?” he added.

“Our new waitress. Her name is Janet
Maple and she starts tomorrow.”

“You hired a waitress without checking
with me first?”

“I didn’t want to distract you from your
important task.”

“You good for nothing— You think that
just because my brother is screwing you, you can give me lip? Just wait until
Anton hears of this!”

“I’m sure Anton will be happy to know
that I found Susan’s replacement on such a short notice. The girl is pretty and
she’s got waitressing experience. She’ll fit right in.”

“Where did she work?”

“Pastis.”

“I’m going to call them, and if the
references don’t check out—”

“The references will check out,” Mila
cut Roman off. Amy was a good friend; the only friend Mila had in New York, and
she would do anything Mila asked.