Tea Leafing: A Novel (21 page)

Sitting forward on the
cheap leather couch was none other than “Hot Guy” from Lena’s funeral.

“Evening, ladies. Have
a seat. Would you like something to drink?”

CHAPTER 42

On paper, Fedya was a
successful business entrepreneur and an upstanding citizen. He donated large
sums of money to charities, and several political funds. Fedya was a shining
example of what democracy and free trade had to offer the average hard-working
man. Starting young and staying focused, he was able to establish himself as a
successful player in the global import-export market. To pave the way for
bigger things, Fedya had purchased a small chain of banks in Yekaterinburg some
years back. This had grown into one of the largest banking enterprises in
Russia, in spite of the fact that your average Russian citizen would have
burned their rubles before entrusting them to a bank. Fedya’s grand plan had
nothing to do with helping the masses build a nest egg. Instead, it provided
convenient cover for his many shell and holding companies and gave him easy
access to the transfer of large sums of money into numbered offshore accounts
without detection.

Fedya was smart with
numbers, but even smarter when it came to devising ingenious ways to navigate
around international law. His little strip club in Atlanta was nothing more
than a place for him to relax and run cash through from some of his smaller
ventures. His schemes were complicated and well planned. Fedya saw himself as
the conductor of the underworld orchestra of organized crime. He connected
several of the world’s most dangerous criminals. And he loved every minute of
it.

Easing back into his
favorite overstuffed leather chair, he slipped his loafers off and stretched
his size thirteen feet onto an ottoman in front of the massive, stacked river
stone fireplace that took up a large portion of one wall in his library.
Getting the permits and approvals required to build such a thing in his
penthouse had been a daunting task, but now that everything was in place he was
pleased that he’d stuck to his guns.

The leather creaked as
he scooted his hips deeper into the chair and drew on his cigar. His mind ran
through the litany of transfers and exchanges scheduled for this week. He was
quietly pleased with himself. There was no one who could outsmart him. Keeping
a close eye on his businesses while juggling those close to him was something
Fedya enjoyed. It calmed him to think about punishing traitors. He was
paranoid, or perhaps realistic in his belief that people were out to get him.
When he caught someone in the act, he felt as though his wisdom had protected
him — yet again.

The cell phone sitting
next to him on a mahogany Louis XVI side table played the 1812 Overture. He
rested his chin on his chest, smiling, and picked up the call.

“Hello, my love.”

“Hello, Fedya, I miss
you.”

The two spoke Russian in
voices that made the otherwise guttural language sound like a soft, romantic
song.

“I miss you too. I’ll
be home next week and I’ll stay for a while with you and the girls. Maybe we
can go to Sochi and relax, or to the Alps and do some skiing?”

“Yes, yes, the girls
will be delighted, Fedya.” The voice paused. “You remember Galina’s birthday is
next week?
She turns sixteen, dear.
She would love to
have her father here for the celebration.”

“I will be there. I
wouldn’t miss it for anything, Nastya. I’ll see you next week.”

The line disconnected
and Fedya thought of his birds in their gilded cage. He wasn’t capable of
loving anyone but himself, but his Russian wife and daughters held a fond place
in his heart. He thought of them as one would think of a favorite sweater, with
appreciation but nothing more. Fedya had married Anastasiya, or Nastya as he
affectionately called her, when they were both young. She understood his wild
moods and brooding, calculating mind. And she gave him the space he needed.
Nastya was under no illusions about where Fedya spent his nights, but she loved
him anyway. Staying in Russia, close to her family, was the life she preferred
and it gave Fedya a home base from which to operate.

Replacing the phone to
its position on the table, he slid a manila envelope from the drawer beneath.
He flipped the clasp on the back and unsheathed the large glossy photos from
their sleeve. He flipped through the images with only a half-hearted interest.
Glad Nikki had made the decision easy for
him,
he
placed the photos of her and Gio on the tabletop. Using them as a trivet for
his vodka, he turned his attention back to the crackling fire.

CHAPTER 43

“So me mum had a her
colon checked last time I was home and she was LOOPED! Thought I was a mind
reader, she did. In recovery she kept asking me what we was havin’ for lunch.
Aftah about the third time I asked her what she wanted. Shepherd’s Pie, she
said. I waited a few more minutes until she asked again and I told her I was
thinkin’ we’d all have a bit of pie and chips. She was delighted. Stumped her I
could name the very thing she was hungry for.” Birdie flashed her innocent
smile and picked up her Scotch.

Her customer laughed,
“Yeah, they usually give a drug called Versed for a colonoscopy. It causes
short-term amnesia and alleviates anxiety. I bet your mom didn’t remember a
thing did she?”

“Not a nibble.”

One of Birdie’s regular
Monday night customers was a nurse anesthetist. He’d obviously forgotten that
she’d gotten him drunk, with another short-term amnesia drug called tequila, a
few weeks ago and managed to extract the same information. Dosage was what she
was after tonight.

“Is all that really
safe, Brian?”

“It’s like anything
else, you have to make sure it’s administered correctly or the results can be
lethal. It’s what’s called a benzodiazepine, like Rohypnol, the date-rape
drug.”

“So those geezers
coulda’ messed ‘round with me mum and she wouldn’t have remembered?”

“I don’t think they did
anything inappropriate, Birdie. I’m sure she was in excellent hands. She came
out of it just fine, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, a couple hours
later she’d returned to her tired, cranky old self. I hated to see it since
she’d been so happy on the . . . whatever you call it.”

“Versed.” Brian smiled
and took a drink of his Tequila Sour.

The DJs voice sounded
the change of stage dancers and Birdie leaned in close, “Wanna see me nekid?”

Brian smiled and
returned his glass to the table in front of him. “You know I do.”

Birdie popped up out of
her chair and began twisting out of her dress in front of him. She locked eyes
with him and tossed her hair so it brushed her shoulders. Turning in a small
circle, she rolled her hips and pulled her torso up to show off her abs.
Raising
her arms over her head she danced as if taking a
slow-motion shower. When she glanced back at Brian it was clear he was lost in
a Birdie-induced trance. Keeping her mask in place, she let her mind wander to
the objective at hand.

Birdie wasn’t the
nervous type and she didn’t fret about much of anything. She was, however,
highly aware of the stakes in this little adventure they were planning, wondering
if the other girls really understood what they were getting themselves into.
They could still turn back and continue on with
life
as they knew it. It thrilled her to think about the excitement of it all. Never
having been a real ‘no I in team’ kind of person, it made her insides warm in a
strange way to think about doing something like this with her closest friends.
She knew she could trust them, but could she count on them to come through in a
pinch? Part of her self-reliance stemmed from past disappointments. She’d been
taught that if you want something done right you had to do it yourself. Letting
go and turning control over was a tough one for Birdie, but she knew if there
was anyone in the world who would cover her back, it was Sam, Grace, and Mary
Jane.

The song ended and
Birdie stared at Brian with haunted eyes while she pulled her clothes back on.
One of the things she hated about dancing was all the dressing and undressing.
She’d rather walk around naked than have to take the same thing off and put it
back on like someone caught in a weird Twilight Zone. It didn’t matter how good
something looked, if it wasn’t easy to get off and on it was no good. One
nightmarish outfit was all it took for a new dancer to learn that clasps of any
kind were a no-go.

Brian watched as Birdie
slipped back into her red tube-dress. She settled herself back into the seat
next to him and he slid a twenty into the garter she wore twisted at her ankle.

She smiled her thanks
and gave him a peck on the cheek, reaching across him to retrieve her Scotch.

“So, I didn’t see them
give ‘er a pill or anything. How’d they slip her the Mickey?”

Brian threw his head
back and laughed, “You’re a persistent little thing aren’t you?”

Birdie sipped her drink
and tilted her head like a dog with a question.

“There are a couple
ways to give it but the easiest way is to add it in her IV. It’s the easiest
way for them to control the dosage and since they were probably giving her
fluids anyway, it just makes sense.”

A waitress appeared and
began clearing empty glasses from the small glass table in front of the two.
“Birdie, you’re wanted in VIP 12. Do you want me to tell them you’re busy?”

Brian leaned forward to
pull his wallet from his back pocket. “I gotta run anyway, little Birdie. As
always, it was a pleasure.” He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it
gently.

“Same time next week?”

“You’re on.

CHAPTER 44

“You?” Birdie stopped
in her tracks as she stepped through the doorway of the VIP room.

“You!” Mr. Hot shot
back at her.

“And you.” She looked
at Grace and Sam on either side of him.

“Um, yeah. We need to
talk.” Sam patted the seat next to her.

Birdie glanced out the
doorway into the club before she headed for the couch.

“Where’d you find him?”
Birdie asked as if the stranger wasn’t right in front of them.

“Actually,” Grace said,
“He found us.”

“Roight. Spill it
then.” Birdie moved to the glass coffee table directly in front of the mystery
man and stared him dead in the eye. “What ‘ave you got to say for yourself
Gov’nah?”

Fishing the lime from
his drink, he took a moment to appraise Birdie before he began.

“Lean in, and please
keep
your voice down. I swept the room before you ladies got
here but there’s no guarantee this room is clean.” He paused, “I’m Joe. I work
for the FBI’s division on organized crime.”

“Joe?
 
The shaggin’ Lena Joe?”

Joe dropped his gaze to
the ground for a moment and cleared his throat.

“Yes. I was . . . um,
shagging Lena.”

“Did’ja kill her?”

Jerking his head up,
Joe met Birdie’s stare straight on. “Hell no, I didn’t kill her! But I think I
know who did.”

Sam watched the
exchange like a tennis match while Grace gnawed her swizzle stick.

Birdie nodded. “Let’s
be ‘avin it then. Who did it?”

Joe looked from one
face to the next. All eyes were fixed on him, waiting for a name to cross his
lips. The club had never seemed so strangely quiet. He blew out a long breath
and leaned his head in, “Look, the only reason I’m here, and I could be fired
for this mind you, is because Lena was helping me. She’d seen some things she
shouldn’t have and agreed to help my investigation. The people we’re dealing with
are very bad characters. Make no mistake about it. This isn’t the Sopranos or
some loveable group of guys who are just a little rough around the edges. These
people are the real deal and they mean business.”

“Well no shit! Thanks
for clearin’ that bit up for us. We were thinkin’ Lena’s killer must have had a
bit of a rough upbringin’ and was some poor misguided bloke.” Birdie gave Joe a
stupid stare. “Thank you, Captain Obvious!”

Joe wasn’t about to
lose his standing by being the first to look away. “I can pack it in and
disappear into the woodwork, Birdie. I’m taking a risk by being here so say the
word and I’m gone.”

Birdie dropped her eyes
and straightened her dress. “Yeah. Sorry. Go ahead.”

Grace and Sam glanced
at each other, then back to Joe, “She’s just a little keyed, that’s all.”

Joe nodded.

“I’m guessing you saw
me at the funeral. You three and Mary Jane were hard to miss, in spite of your
efforts. So yes, I’ve had the three of you followed since then.
For your protection more than anything else.
I was worried
if anything went awry, well, you know.” Joe paused as if choosing his words
carefully, “Lena wasn’t out of our sight for more than twenty minutes when they
snatched her. We were about to take her into protective custody when it
happened.”

“How could she have
kept something like this from us?” Sam seemed hurt, “How long was this going on
and how exactly was she involved?”

“She was protecting
you.” Joe sighed. “Lena was in the Skybox one night at Fedya’s behest and as
you may have already guessed, he’s the one we suspect is behind all this.”

“I fackin’ knew it!”
Birdie slammed a stiletto'd heel down.

“Shhhh, please Birdie.
Let’s keep it cool. We’re in the lion’s den.” Joe held out his hand in a
soothing gesture. Birdie nodded as her face turned crimson with rage.

“So anyway, she’s in
the Skybox and saw some transactions she shouldn’t have between Fedya and some
other men. Fedya realized it and had been keeping very very close tabs on Lena
for several weeks. I guess he didn’t realize that not all the dancers were as
high as his plaything, Nikki. We’ve been investigating the club for almost
seven months and have a mountain of surveillance footage. Lena kept appearing
at odd places and times, usually with Fedya, Gio or one of the goons. She always
looked nervous but composed. Once we were able to ID her and trace her file we
realized she was probably just someone who was in over her head. The first time
I approached her was here in the club so she wouldn’t be nervous. Once we
started talking, the details poured out. She didn’t tell you because she didn’t
want to put you in jeopardy. By the time she realized what was going on she
knew she was in too deep. We hoped she would be able to get the confirmation we
needed to lock Fedya up before he got to her.”