The World in Reverse (18 page)

“And firing a good man is the right course of action, I suppose,” Carmen said infuriated.

“This is the way of the world,” Mr. Magnelli answered. “Do yourself a favor and don’t pick a man thoroughfare to kick someone’s ass on while you’re on duty and don’t get caught on fucking camera doing it. The guy was an idiot.”

“Would you have done something if a man knew the most intimate details of your life and threatened to kill us?” Carmen turned the tables on her father.

It didn’t take Mr. Magnelli but a second to respond. “I would have driven him out to the river, tortured him and put a bullet in his head.”

With that Collin stood up. “Well, folks. It’s been a blast, but I’ve got to be up early in the morning.”

“Don’t we all?” Mr. Magnelli asked.

Carmen glared at her brother with a susp
icious eye.

A smile tugged at the right side of his mouth. “And I have to go and see a nice young lady who is waiting for me for a night cap,” he said more to his father than his sister.

“The truth will set you free,” Mr. Magnelli said, nodding. “See you later. Call me if you hear anything.”

“Will do,” Collin said, bolting out of the house.

As soon as he was safely in his car and pulling out into the streets, he used his track phone and dialed the number he had memorized three weeks ago.

“Yeah,” Cane answered on the first ring.

“Agosto’s out. You don’t have to worry about him anymore,” Collin said with an evil grin. “But the bad news is that they want to bring you in for questioning about Twist.”

“Fin
d the bitch, will you,” Cane growled. “And get to DeMario. Christ! How hard is it to get to a fucking meth head at a hospital? I want him dead before he trips up.”

“I’m working on it. I’m going to need your boys to get it done though,” Collin said, pissed that the news hadn’t changed Cane’s attitude towards him.

“Good. Now that Agosto is no longer a boy in blue, we’ll get to his ass too. No more loose ends. This deal is going down in a couple of weeks, and I don’t want it fucked up by a renegade cop, a snitch whore or some meth-head gang banging nigger. Do I make myself clear?” Cane asked, nearly screaming on the phone.

“Crystal,” Collin answered, hanging up the phone.

***

Cane slammed the phone down and sucked his teeth. Without even looking across at his business partner, he knew that the middle-aged black man was seething over his nigger-comment. Picking a bag of newly manufactured pill in the weighed baggy, he passed it carefully over to the man as an unspoken peace offering.

“We don't have much time to pull this off, Ferris. I hope that you took heed to our previous discussion and will only use this shit on the adult-persuasion,” Cane said, looking over at Councilman Ferris.

Councilman Ferris took the small baggie and pushed it down into his suit pocket. “This won’t be used at all for the time being. I’m stockpiling for a rainy day,” he said with arrogance in his voice. “Outside of the loose ends so aptly discussed on the phone with Magnelli, are we on schedule for this thing to actually happen?”

“There is one other thing. I need guns…well more guns,” Cane corrected himself.

“Why do we need more guns?” Councilman Ferris asked, irritated by the amount of his own resources he had been forced to use since their partnership took effect.

“I’m about to take over the entire Molly drug operation for six states. We’ve got this huge fucking facility to run out here in the damn sticks and I need to be able to protect our investment.”

“So, what’s your plan?” Ferris asked, un
amused so far.

“There is a guy,” Cane said, wiping his hands before he walked away from the conve
yor belt. Ferris walked beside him with the bodyguards following closely behind. “His name is Anatoly Medlov. He’s a fucking Russian.”

Councilman Ferris stopped in his tracks. “He is the fucking Russian. I don’t know a damned thing about organized crime except that this scheme of yours is going to get me elected Mayor in the upcoming primary. But even I know that the Medlov family doesn’t make good bedfellows. Do you not remember the damn fiasco a few years ago? They reportedly blew up and/or burned down half of downtown in a crime war. Plus, word was that he was gone.”

“Well, he’s back,” Cane said, unmoved by the councilman’s skittishness. “And I’ve coordinated a meeting with him for tomorrow. I need to make a deal for some clean weapons. And he’s the only game in town, so they say. The son-of-a-bitch done ran out everyone else, ‘cept this up and coming good ole boy from Tipton county. I heard his prices are higher though. If Medlov and I can’t see eye-to-eye, I’ll go to him.”

“Why would his prices be higher than Me
dlov’s? Seems like the smartest way to enter into a saturated market is to make your prices cheaper. But maybe that’s redneck logic,” Ferris said, getting back at Cane for his earlier comment.

Cane snarled. “I guess it would be because he can’t get them as cheap as the commy can. So, he’s got to still make a profit. I don’t know why I’m talking market price with you anyway. All you’re here to do is rape boys and get elected our next Mayor. Do your job and keep the powers that be occupied and off of my trail.”

“Well do your job and get these loose ends tied before the entire operation goes up in smoke,” Ferris said, walking out of the door. “By the way, I won’t stand for one more of your racist comments, okay? The way I see it, when I’m mayor, I’ll be the only thing between the cops and your short and red curlies. And one other thing, the boys like what I do, especially after they’ve had their medicine. It’s all about coming to an understanding.”

Cane spit on the ground and adjusted his itching balls. He didn’t give a damn one way or the other. “An understanding, huh?” he said, eye twitching. “Call it whatever you want. I just don’t want to have to send my boys to clean up anymore of your messes when you have those uppity pedophile parties.”

Incensed by Cane’s tone, Ferris stormed out of the re-enforced barn door and let it slam behind him. When Cane was certain that he was gone, he turned to his bodyguard and frowned. “How the fuck does that sick bastard know that my ball hair is red?”

17

On a small parcel of property in the heart of downtown Memphis that was neither of Memphis or the US, there was a place that only the most sinister of organized crime bosses dwelled. It was deceivingly attractively with intricate designs that spoke to old world opulence and newly acquired money. Outside of the three-story, black-bricked building with smoky-colored bricks and rod-iron enclosures, there hung black awning over authentic Tiffany windows bearing block-style, red lettering that simply said
Mother Russia
.

Nothing foreboding or intense radiated from the space; in fact it was extremely inviting to tourist and local Memphians seeking authentic Russian faire. But it wasn’t just the foreign cuisine or the top-drawer service that brought people to the restaurant; it was the urban le
gends that surrounded the name. Only a few years back, a blood war between the two Medlov brothers erupted onto the streets of downtown, killing tens of men, some of which were police officers, others who were mob bosses. The singular event caused the family to flee for years in order to repair the damage that was done. However, even in silence, the story only grew both in whispers and online. Photos of the Medlov men were plastered online, claiming ties not to the many businesses that they owned and their billion dollar-empire but to the Russian mafia both in the US and abroad.

Tourists stood outside taking photos of themselves in front of the restaurant and occ
asionally taking a photo with the Russian-only staff just to boast later about being at an authentic mob gathering. Coincidentally, it also was a cash cow for the Medlov family bringing in more money than any other restaurant in the city. And for that reason, it remained open.

Because of the spectacle that the place had become, most assumed that nothing illegal ever happened at Mother Russia anymore, but it was in fact still the place where most conversations took place. Checked daily by former Spetznaz soldiers and seasoned bodyguards for any and all forms of surveillance and wired with all the latest technology, Mother Russia was the safest place in the city for an illegal transaction. Every single room was wired for sound, filed with cameras watched 24 hours a day by Medlov staff and protected by some of the most dange
rous men in the world. It was Dmitry Medlov’s personal fort, nearly impenetrable by the law.

When Cane and his bodyguard pulled up to the front of the building and parked on Main Street, he looked across the street at the resta
urant and people sitting out on the street tables eating lunch and enjoying the unseasonably breezy afternoon. The first thing that he noticed was the well-placed bodyguards and security men who were mixed with in with the actual patrons.

Sitting under black umbrellas sipping beve
rages and eating, they watched from all vantage points, dressed in jeans and t-shirts and hiding weapons. The tattoos that lined the arms of some of the men spoke to their mafia ties, specifically the Vory v Zakone. Most of the men were tightly-muscled, in top-shape and seem to all carry a distinctly Eastern European look.

“Is this Medlov a homo? All of his men look like fucking butt-models,” Cane said with a hint of resentment in his voice.

His bodyguard chuckled and opened the door. Stepping out, he nodded across the way at one of the men who stood instantly as they made eye contact. “Homo or not, there is a lot of them, boss.”

“Don’t shit your shorts just yet,” Cane snarled. “There is quantity and then there is quality. This guy may have quantity but Ronny up in Tipton has quality.”

His bodyguard was not convinced, but quieted down. He knew that his boss was used to being the big man in the room and although he had never seen the Medlov men, he gathered very quickly that today they were surely out of their realm. He had heard things about the Medlov men, things that people in their circles didn’t whisper if they didn’t carry some truth.

Cane slid on his shades and walked with his men across the walkway of the cobblestone street. “If these commy bastards try to waste my time, we are out of here in ten minutes flat,” he told them under his breath.

“Sure thing,” his bodyguard answered, noticing two more men who rounded the corner of the building as they approached. These two were even taller, even bigger, and even more Russian. His confidence waned with every step towards the restaurant. He felt as though they were entering into a hornet’s nest and that maybe his boss might need to be more careful with his words, though he dared not say so aloud.

One of the men lurking towards the front opened the door for Cane and smiled menacin
gly as they walked past him. “Welcome to Mother Russia,” the man said, voice a deep, raspy baritone.

“Yeah, thanks,
” Cane said, taking off his glasses. Normally, he was a bit of a sucker for hospitality but coming from this lot, it just seemed off.

The air was chilled in stark contrast to the sticky humidity of Memphis summer weather outside. The aroma of hot, delicious food filled
the building. The interior walls were black brick and the floors were black marble. Each of the tables were black wooden with black chairs and red linen table cloths. Each table was topped with votive candles and a single red rose. On the far wall was a picture of Putin and two flags - one American and one Russian. He looked around the restaurant and realized it was much bigger on the inside than it appeared from the outside. Russian music played while redheaded waitresses made their way quickly to tables in black uniforms of pant and black tops. It extended very far back and had rooms carved out for special events. Unlike anything in the city, this four-star restaurant was what others had accused it of being. It was old world and full of mystery.

“Someone will be right with you,” the hos
tess at the front said with a thick accent and cunning smile as the door closed behind them. She was a tall woman, very shapely with fire red hair and crimson red lips. Her blue eyes were like sparkling gems glinting at him. Simply put, she was devastatingly beautiful, more beautiful than any hostess he had ever seen.

“He sure knows how to pick them,” Cane’s bodyguard said as he watched the woman walk away. “I wonder how much it would cost to have her served up on a plate.”

“She’d probably cut your fucking throat before you could blink,” Cane answered seriously. “The bitch is packing. Did you see the bulge behind her shirt? They’re all assassins. The whole lot of them,” he said narrowing his eyes at the other women. “He thinks he’s the only one who arms his women. Shit, Twist and I were doing that shit before it became cool.”

The bodyguard raised his brow. Their wo
men were nowhere near as beautiful as the Medlov women. And nowhere near as well-mannered. Cane and Twist had hired old battle cats, but these women were femme fatales, someone who he wouldn’t mind being shot by. Looking over behind the bar in the far right corner, he saw a sign that instantly made him laugh. No guns allowed. He found the sign rather amusing considering the place was front for illegal gun running activity.

A wide-chested, muscular man standing
-6’4” walked out of the double doors of the kitchen in a black suit and a low buzz haircut that barely showed the blond in his hair. With blue eyes that matched the hostesses’ but a dead glare that rivaled any of the worst criminals that Cane had met, the man approached in a slow, intentionally stalking stride. Almost theatric, he approached the men and then pointed at the bodyguards who flanked them.

“Are you Cane?” the man asked, trailing his gaze over the bodyguard.

His look sent a chill up the man’s spine.

“In the flesh,” Cane answered with inte
ntionally more southern drawl in his voice. “And you are?” he asked, insinuating that he was not at all intimidated by the man.

The man turned his lip up and tilted his head. “I am Vasily,” the tall man answered almost as if he were shocked that Cane had asked. He paused for a minute and then gave a clever smirk. “Come with me,” he said, turning on his heel.

“I’m ‘bout done with this shit already,” Cane said as he walked with his bodyguard and the group of men down the middle of the restaurant to a hallway that led into a private dining room in the back. He thought this little outfit to be Mickey Mouse. After all, they hadn’t even bothered to pat him or his man down for weapons or wires. No wonder they had nearly been run out of town.

The room was enclosed by two double doors that were also covered in Tiffany glass. Vasily opened them quietly and stepped to the side for Cane to pass. As his bodyguard walked into the room behind Cane, Vasily put a hand out and placed it square on his chest. “Why don’t I take you into the next room and get you a bite to eat,” Vasily said,
eyes narrowed.

Cane looked back at Vasily and his man and rolled his eyes. “He’s with me, big guy.”

There was a man sitting at the large dining table reading quietly. Putting down his newspaper, he cleared his throat. “Which one of these men is going to pay for this proposed transaction?” he asked, voice a deep, foreboding Russian baritone that made Cane look over.

“I’m paying for this transaction,” Cane a
nswered. Locking eyes with the blond man, who seemed too tall for the table that he sat at, he quickly changed his aggressive disposition.

“Then you are the man that I would like to talk to,” the man said with lighter tone. He motioned towards the chair across from him and then picked up his shot glass. “Vasily, bring us a bottle of vodka, will you?”

“Yes, sir,” Vasily said, hand still on the man. “Would you mind coming with me,” he asked the bodyguard again.

The bodyguard nodded, realizing that the request was really a command. Stepping back from the door, he watched as Vasily closed the door behind him and escorted him to the adjoi
ning room. “You can sit here,” Vasily said, snapping. A hostess quickly came in with a menu.

“Welcome to Mother Russia,” she said with a gentle smile. She quickly set the menu in front of him with silverware wrapped in a red linen napkin. “I’ll be your waitress for today. Should we start you with something to drink?”

“Order whatever you like. It’s on us. I’ll be back to collect you once the meeting is over,” Vasily said, closing the door behind him. Two of the Medlov bodyguards quickly took their post standing at the door. He stopped and looked at his watch and then leaned into the men. “If he comes out of that room and heads towards the boss, kill him,” Vasily ordered.

“Da, da boss,” the men answered in unison without taking their eyes off the wall in front of them.

Sure that Vasily had made his point, he walked toward the kitchen.

***

There was something very regal about the man in the linen suit sitting in front of Cane. With the air and grace of Lord, he sat relaxed and sure of himself, like the entire world lay at his feet. His demeanor only pissed Cane off more. He hated Eurotrash.

“So, I am told by my men that you requested an audience with me,” Dmitry Medlov said, running his large hand over the smooth surface of the table.

Cane sat straighter. “Yeah, I need guns and I was told that you were the man to see.”

Dmitry smiled proudly. “I’m the only man to see.”

Cane turned up his lip. “I wouldn’t say the only…”

Dmitry raised a long finger, interrupting Cane. “I am the only man to see,” he said again. It wasn’t his words that corrected his visitor but his tone. While still gentle, there was a hint of aggression. “Some people confuse what is with what they want it to be. But I would just say this…reality is something that can’t be changed just because one wants it to. It has to be changed with action. And in the world of arms dealing, the only action is where I say it is.” His eyes were cold like eyes and his tone softened again.

Cane bit down on his lip. “Look, I don’t know a hell of a lot about arms trafficking, but I do know a little something about drugs. And they tend to go hand-in-hand.”

Dmitry raised his brow. “They can. I’ve found that weapons tend to go with ever
ything…drugs included.”

“So if we were to move away from your first point to why I’m here…” Cane said frustrated.

“But how can we, when they so closely align?” Dmitry looked over as the door opened and Vasily brought a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses. Setting them down on the table in front of the two men, he opened the bottle and poured a shot for both.

“Thank you, Vasily,” Dmitry said, lifting his shot glass. “To good health.”

Cane realized the threat but still raised his glass and took the shot. The strong contents burned as they slid down his throat, wrenching his esophagus. “Back to what I was saying. I’m looking for guns, military grade.”

“Are you preparing for war?” Dmitry asked.

“War? No, you could call it occupation.” Cane sucked his teeth. “I want to buy about 500 to 1,000 semi-automatic weapons from you. AKs if you gottem.” He scratched his nose and waited.

Lazily, Dmitry looked up from his glass u
nimpressed. “That’s an awfully small quantity for an occupation,” Dmitry said with a grin.

“Well, I can always take my business els
ewhere,” Cane snarled. He didn’t like the smug Russian nor his insinuations.

Dmitry smiled. “How is Twist?” He picked up the bottle and poured another shot. “I liked Twist, but I heard a dirty rumor that he was…dead.”