On Best Behavior (C3) (7 page)

Ricker laughed as Tank dipped his shoulder, trying to break free. “The family is real tight, huh? They don’t give a fuck about you. Madsen either, at first. Barberi was letting me have that beautiful ass, just handing him over to me. Too bad the door slammed shut once the boy got out of solitary. No idea why.”

Tank pondered that, careful to keep his face neutral.

“I repeat—why is Barberi in the hole?” Ricker wrenched his wrist. “You think you can fight us off with a shattered wrist?”

“I don’t know why!”

“Bullshit.” Ricker twisted harder.

Despite the frigid wind, Tank felt beads of sweat on his forehead.

“Out with it!”

“Why don’t you ask Madsen?” Tank managed.

“Why the hell would I do that?”

“Grant…” Tank rasped. “He’s Enzo’s son.”

The arm Ricker had been jerking back abruptly snapped free, and the others stepped away. The three con blonds circled around to stand before him. Ricker’s eyes flashed with excitement. “Madsen is the son of Barberi? Why the different last names?”

Tank took a step back and pulled down his jacket, smoothing the crumples. “Grant’s uncle adopted him when Enzo came here, twenty years ago.”

Ricker rubbed his hand down his chin. “He is his son. Of course. Very interesting.”

Ponytail pouted, speaking for the first time. “Madsen ain’t here anymore—who cares about him?”

Tank watched Ricker’s eyes cloud with hostility, and Elf stammered, “Shut up!”

Ponytail’s mouth clamped closed.

A loud buzzing noise preceded an announcement that yard time was over. Tank wasted no time returning to the cellblock.

“You did not answer my question!” Ricker called after him. “I’ll be back.”

“I’m sure you will,” he muttered, fighting the urge to rub his throbbing wrist. He could see Enzo’s men shuffling into line far ahead of him. Why the fuck hadn’t they come to his rescue?
Had
Madsen ratted him out to Enzo? That once-gnawing fear now exploded and chomped him in the ass. If Madsen sang, Tank would hang.

***

Grant held the last note extra long, looking into the eyes of a platinum blonde in the audience. She gave him an alluring smile. Then she turned to her boyfriend and spoke in his ear, likely yelling to be heard over the roar of applause as he and Andy finished the set.

“That’s Andy Beecham on piano.” He extended his arm, and Andy gave a little bow from the bench. “We’ll take a short break now—the perfect opportunity to try our special drink for a cold night: Russian coffee!” He held up his mug and took a sip as the applause dissipated. Only the bartender knew there was no vodka in
his
drink.

“I’m gonna catch a smoke.” Andy ducked out to the rear exit.

Grant barely heard the piano man, he was so keyed up. The blonde he’d sung to was Andrei Kebin’s girlfriend—this time he’d made sure not to miss the Russians when they arrived.

At the bar, he met Larry the bartender’s eyes and lifted his drink.

“Another Russian coffee coming your way,” Larry said, taking his mug.

He slid onto the lone empty bar stool, wishing he could turn around to see what the Russians were doing. Then something touched him, and he looked down to find a manicured hand on his forearm. Next to him he found a brunette woman who applied makeup like Ben buttered bread: thickly and haphazardly.

“You’ve got an amazing voice,” she said, removing her hand and cupping her mug. From her breath, he could tell she was a
big
fan of the Russian coffees.

“Thank you.” Normally he would find an excuse to retreat to the broom-closet-slash-dressing-room at this point, but this was no normal evening. “What brought you out on such a cold night?”

“You, of course. Don’t you recognize me? I’ve seen you perform dozens of times.”

Gulp.
“Really? How kind of you.”

Her hand snaked back to his arm. “I missed you when you were gone in December. How could you leave us like that?”

“I, uh…”

“Excuse me.”

He looked up to find Andrei Kebin nudging in between them, casting a shadow across the bar. The consigliore to the Russian don had slicked back his jet black hair and appeared tidy and confident in his maroon button-down shirt and black jacket. “Come sit with us, Mr. Saylor.”

“Mick’s fine. And you are?”

“Andrei. My girlfriend wishes meet you. And what Innochka wants, Innochka gets.”

“Hey,” Coffee Breath protested, pouting her thin lips. “
I
was talking to Mick. Buzz off.”

Grant watched Andrei bristle. She obviously had no clue who she was dealing with.

“I was indeed talking to…um…” He looked at her for help.

“Sandra.”

“Sandra,” he said, looking at the Russian. “Perhaps I could meet your lady friend another time?”

Any lingering pleasantness vanished from Andrei’s expression. “
Now
is best time. Bartender!”

Sandra jumped on her barstool.

“Another drink for
lady
,” Andrei commanded, looking at her with disgust, when Larry came over. “And send round of
Stoli elit
shots to table. Come, Mick.”

Grant hesitated, glancing at Sandra, then shrugged. “Sure. Pleased to meet you, Sandra.” As he stood, ignoring her disappointment, he noticed he was a couple inches taller than Andrei.

They weaved through the crowd. Before reaching their table, Andrei confided, “Not sure I introduce you to Innochka. I believe she quite taken with you.”

He nodded with a plastic smile. The last thing he needed was a mobster thinking he might steal his girlfriend.

“May I present Vladimir Federov?” Andrei nodded toward a well-built man with neat gray hair and piercing eyes. Vladimir stayed seated.

Grant held his breath as he reached over to shake the don’s hand.

“Good entertainer,” Vladimir said, elongating the vowel sounds. His roll on the “r” was more pronounced than Andrei’s.

“Isn’t he
so
good?” Innochka gushed, batting her thick eyelashes.

Vladimir’s girlfriend, a waif-like brunette, was less enthusiastic. “Some modern songs you sing next, yes? No more old singing.”

Vladimir laughed heartily, gesturing to the open chair. “Sit.”

As Grant and Andrei took their seats, Vladimir tugged his girlfriend from her chair onto his lap, where she barely made a dent. “You must excuse my Katya. She quite rude.” He snuggled his lips into the nape of her neck as she shied away. “Perhaps she need spank tonight.”

There was a second of terror in her eyes, and probably nobody at the table caught it but Grant. Katya quickly recomposed her mask and wrapped her arm around Vladimir’s neck. “Promise?” she purred.

Vladimir cocked an eyebrow, placing his hand possessively on the curve of her bottom. “She kinky too. Lucky me.”

Innochka seemed to look to Andrei for permission before asking, “How long have you been singing, Mick?”

He peeled his eyes off Katya, forcing himself to focus.
Breathe
. “Not that long, actually.”

“Really,” Andrei said. “You seem like pro up there.”

“I’ve got an excellent poker face.” He drummed up his most charming smile.

Dumping Katya back in her chair, Vladimir studied him. “And you use poker face off stage also?”

He thought for a moment. “I call on my poker face all the time. Gotta keep your cards close to your chest.”

“Such wisdom,” Andrei said. “Ah, drinks are here.”

Grant took one look at the waitress and realized she must be new. A strand of dark hair had loosened from her bun, and her hand trembled as she lowered a shot glass from the tray.

Vladimir waited until she’d distributed the five shot glasses and departed. He raised his glass, and his guests quickly followed suit. His eyes shined with mischief. “To poker faces.”

Expecting to knock back a shot of water, Grant almost choked when the sting of vodka drenched the back of his throat. As the heat of the liquor warmed his chest, he flinched when Andrei slammed his shot glass on the table.

“Water!” he yelled. “What the fuck?” He shot out of his chair, scanning the bar for the waitress. Upon locating her, Andrei darted over and dragged her back to the table by the elbow. Several bar patrons stared, and Grant’s heart thumped.

“What the fuck is this?” Andrei pointed to his shot glass. “You give me water, not Stoli!”

“I’m, I’m sorry,” she stammered. Grant could see Andrei’s grasp digging into her flesh. The waitress gave him a pleading look.

Andrei continued to fume. “You better damn well be. How the fuck you serve shot of
water?
You think I not notice? They fire you now.”

Grant calmly looked over at the waitress, now close to tears. “Mr. Remington would want you to bring another round, on the house. Go get that for our guests.”

She nodded shakily and disappeared.

“Sorry ’bout that,” he said. “I think she’s new.”

“And useless,” Andrei seethed.

“You know Alexander Remington?” Vladimir asked, eyeing him.

Grant nodded, feeling a delicious buzz from the vodka. “He’s my boss.”

“He like you?”

“I think he has a soft spot for me, yes.”

“What this means—‘soft spot’?” Katya butted in. The lines around Vladimir’s eyes tightened at the interruption, but crinkled with amusement when she added, “He goes soft?”

Vladimir skimmed his thick fingers down her cheek. “My Katya not know word
soft
, of course. Means fond, darling. Mr. Remington
fond
of Mick.”

“And why is that?” Andrei asked Grant.

“He’s proud of himself for ‘discovering’ me. I started at this hotel as just a bellman, but he overheard me singing in the lobby one day, joking around with the guys. He asked me to try some Sinatra and Bennett. And here I am.”

“What a story.” Innochka let out a dreamy sigh. “What song were you singing in the lobby?”

He scrambled to think of a song. “Uh, ‘OPP’?”

Andrei’s forehead creased. “What?”

He swallowed. “One of the bellman’s girls had cheated on him, and we were giving him a hard time about it. The song just popped out…”

“What this means ‘OPP’?” Katya asked.

Grant blushed.

Innochka started giggling. “Oh, I know this song! It means other people’s p—”

“I’m so sorry for my mistake.” The waitress had returned, this time holding a tray of double vodka shots.

Grant was thankful for the interruption. For a moment he hoped he’d get vodka again since the first drink felt so good, then he quickly chastised himself. He was on assignment.
Keep it together, McSailor
.

“Please have this round on me,” the waitress offered, carefully passing out the drinks. “This is our finest vodka:
Kauffman
.”

Andrei chuckled. “Oof, that will cost you.”

Grant vowed to repay the waitress.

Innochka gestured to the shot glass, looking at Grant. “Will this bother your singing?”

“Please,” he replied. “I’ve already had three Russian coffees.”

Andrei frowned. “They think Russians actually drink that shit?”

“You don’t?”

Vladimir leaned forward. “
Never
dilute vodka. Is sin.”

“I’ll let Mr. Remington know,” he promised.

“
Budem
,” Vladimir said, raising his shot glass.

When Grant knocked back water this time, he was disappointed, but also relieved. Wiping his mouth, he noticed Andy returning to the stage. He met Andrei’s eyes. “Thank you for inviting me to your table—I’ve enjoyed it. But it’s time to get ready for the next set.”

“Wait,” Vladimir ordered. Grant froze. “You come my place tonight.”

“Really?” He forced a smile, swallowing the nausea pressing at his throat. He hadn’t expected the meet to happen so soon.

“Tonight. After sing.”

“We show you
real
vodka,” Andrei said.

“And test poker face,” Vladimir added, winking.

“I—I’d like that,” he replied. He was indeed about to be tested.

***

“Texas Hold ’Em,” Andrei announced as he shuffled the cards. His eyes never left Grant’s.

Grant hoped his slight smirk masked the panic he felt. He wished he’d paid better attention to the Navy guys’ games back on the aircraft carrier, but he’d been so disgusted by Logan’s gambling problem that he’d steered clear completely. Rules for all the games of poker swirled in his mind as he tried to remember the crash course he’d taken in Quantico.