TUNA LIFE (39 page)

“We’re ready,” one of the hitchhikers with a cowboy hat said. “It’s time these Russians learn whose land this is.”
The others around the table laughed.

“How do we know the police are not gonna interfere?” one of them asked.

“They’ve got other things to do today,” Frank said, with a smile. He knew the police were busy searching a farm outside Lismore. Frank had called in an anonymous tip earlier in the day. There were enough marijuana plants on that farm to keep them going throughout the night. A small sacrifice to get rid of the police for the evening. The owner had been generously compensated.

Frank’s phone rang, and he brought it up to his ear. “They’re on their way,” he said. “One car, a green KIA. We’ve got fifteen minutes to get ready. Good luck everyone.”

Suddenly there was a lot of activity. People were running off to pre-organised positions. Everyone seemed to know exactly what to do. Everyone except Andrew. He just stood there. Wondering what his role was supposed to be.

Frank pulled Yvonne to the side. “Yvonne, he wasn’t certain. It was pretty dark and the car was moving fast. But he believes there were three people in the car. Roman, his bodyguard Andrej, and one of the bouncers from Crazy Kangaroo. Someone with a bandage across his nose.”

“Vladimir,” Yvonne replied quickly, before leaving the Nimbin Hotel.

“What do you want me to do?” Andrew asked. He still couldn’t understand why Frank had contacted and brought him to Nimbin.

“We all have a role to play today,” Frank said. “I mentioned that I have something Roman wants back.”

“Yeah?” Andrew answered.

“I’ve got all his money. Every single cent. When I hacked his systems, I also stole all the money he had stashed away in tax havens. Roman is broke, poor as a church mouse.” Frank said with a smug smile.

“And my role?”

“I told you, Andrew. You will get a second chance. A chance to either become rich or get your revenge. You will get the opportunity to give him his money back, or not. The final decision will be yours,” Frank said.

83

Roman was sitting in the passenger seat of the green KIA. He couldn’t go back to a life without money, a life without luxury. He had become too accustomed to spending money as if it had no value, to buying drinks for everyone he knew and didn’t know, to not only flying first class, but in his own private jet.

He had been poor when he grew up, and he knew how it was to get by on little money, to eat oneself full on a few dollars each week. But he didn’t want to return to that life, he couldn’t go back to that life.

Frank Geitner had stolen all his money. He had ruined his reputation. He had destroyed him. Even if he managed to get to Thailand without being caught by the coast guard, he wouldn’t survive for long. Not without money. He had too many enemies for that. And in addition he had been made a laughingstock for the whole world to see. All the respect he had built up over the last twenty years of ruthlessness was wiped away. Made to look like a fool by a former employee. Filmed as he masturbated. No, there was only one way this could end. He had to get his money back. And he had to take revenge. Set an example, show the world that no one fucked with Roman Bezhrev and got away with it alive. He should probably have waited for Andrej to assemble a team, a small army he could send out to do his dirty job. But he wouldn’t risk it. Andrej and his colleagues weren’t exactly refined, and he would risk Frank getting killed before he got his money back. So there was really only one alternative left; he had to do it himself.

Andrej turned up the volume on the police radio placed between his legs. He looked over at Roman, who stared blankly out the window. They had just overheard a conversation between two police officers. It was now confirmed that there had been human remains found in Roman’s house. Roman Bezhrev was now officially wanted for the possible murder of several Gold Coast women over the last five years.

Roman turned to face his bodyguard. “It’s not true, Andrej. They haven’t found a single thing at my house.”

Andrej just gave a short nod back, and returned to focusing on the road. He had never questioned why Roman did the things he did before. Andrej just followed orders. In the eleven years he had worked for Roman he had done many things he wasn’t particularly proud of, including murder. But he usually did bad things to bad people. People who didn’t pay what they owed, people who tried to steal from Roman, people who deserved what they got. Andrej knew Roman was a dark person. But he always had a reason to do the things he did; it was how business was done. Now Andrej didn’t feel so sure anymore. On the news they talked about ten young women having been murdered by Roman. That he was a serial killer. That wasn’t what Andrej had signed up for.

And now they were on their way to Nimbin, a hippie-village where Roman claimed the person responsible for all this was hiding out. No, Andrej wasn’t so sure anymore. Roman was falling apart. The old Roman would never have attempted to explain himself to Andrej.

In the back seat the bouncer from Crazy Kangaroo was fondling his nose. He looked forward to killing Frank Geitner. He didn’t hate his job as a bouncer, but he felt it was getting monotonous. He always had to restrain himself. If he fought back against an unruly guest, he was sent straight to jail, even though it sometimes was clearly self-defence. The police were always after the bouncers. Every single week he had to silently accept that drunken patrons verbally abused and provoked him, trying to pick a fight with him. He had to hold it in, even though he knew he could probably kill most of them with a single punch.

He had worked up a lot of aggression over the last few weeks, especially after that asshole of a journalist had head-butted him in the face. Vladimir had wanted to take revenge, but Roman had put his foot down. He had even denied Vladimir pressing charges against the journalist. Too much media noise, Roman had said. So instead Vladimir had had to accept that a guest, almost unprovoked, had broken his nose. He would draw on that aggression when Roman wanted to get this Frank Geitner to talk.

Out of the left side window, two sharp rock formations climbed towards the night sky. It was the Nimbin Rocks. Andrej opened the glove compartment and pulled out a gun with a silencer. Vladimir looked down at the seat next to him. A baseball bat was placed next to a sawn-off shotgun.

“Leave the shotgun,” Roman said. “Too much noise. Bring a knife and some rope.”

Vladimir nodded.

84

A solitary man in his early seventies sat playing a guitar on the curb. He had a bottle of rum in a brown paper bag placed next to his legs. He hardly noticed the green KIA, which slowly slid down the main street. A couple of elderly women, clad in colourful hippie-outfits, were strolling along on the other side of the road. Roman observed the street-life, or rather the absence of street-life. Roman didn’t have any reference points to draw on, he had no idea what a normal Friday night in Nimbin looked like, but his instincts warned him that something was off. He had ducked for cover when they passed the police station further up in the street, but it had looked abandoned. The lights had been turned off, and there had been no police cars in the parking lot. Where were all the people? It couldn’t be this quiet, not on a Friday night, could it?

Andrej, the bodyguard, located a parking space, and was about to back in when Roman told him to wait. There was only one road in and out of Nimbin. Much like it had been at his home at the Sovereign Island. Roman wanted to have the easiest possible escape route if something didn’t go as planned. He therefore told Andrej to find a parking space on the other side of the road. Andrej did what his boss commanded, and parked behind a Volkswagen minibus. It was covered with graffiti and slogans for a more open drug policy, peace and the ending of wars across the world. Roman opened the door and stepped out. He was still wearing the blue golf shirt and the beige khaki pants. He looked like any other tourist devoid of fashion sense when he stood next to the boring and anonymous car. Andrej had also attempted to make himself blend in, and was clad in dark blue jeans and a black T-shirt. It wasn’t easy, however, to not stand out when you were 1.95 metres tall, and your upper arms required a weapon permit. Vladimir had the same problem.

“Where did the signals come from?” Roman asked.

“It wasn’t possible to get an exact address. But the Moscow team thought they originated from the hotel.” Andrej pointed to the Nimbin Hotel, which was wall-to-wall with the Hemp Embassy.

Roman waited for Vladimir to collect a backpack from the trunk, before giving a signal to Andrej to enter the hotel. Andrej was used to it. To always be in the firing line for his coward-bosses.

On the roof of the building, on the opposite side of the road, an old hippie with a cowboy hat had Roman in the crosshairs of his rifle. It was more than forty years since he had shot a person, but he didn’t think he would have any problems pulling the trigger again if Frank gave the order. This Russian scumbag didn’t deserve to live. He could live with the fact that he was a crook and a drug dealer. He didn’t always stay on the right side of the law himself. But if the rumours were true, then the Russian was a serial killer. He had killed at least ten young women over the last five years. Who knew how many women he had killed in his home country before moving to Australia. Roman Bezhrev had to die today. That was a given. But he had promised Frank to not do anything until he got the order, or if Roman for some reason fled the hotel after a shootout. And he would keep his promise. He was there just as a security precaution, if something didn’t go as planned.

Andrej pushed the big white door of the Nimbin Hotel open and entered the dark pub of the hotel. It almost seemed abandoned. There was only one single person seated in the restaurant, he was sitting at the far end. Andrej squinted. There was something familiar about the person. It wasn’t Frank Geitner, but it was a person Andrej had met multiple times before. A person who had been to Roman’s home. It was Andrew Engels, the former CEO of Tuna Life. Andrej turned around and waved to Roman. He didn’t bother securing the room. Frank would have no idea that Roman’s team had been able to track the cyber-attack. If this, however, was a trap, he would have to wing it. He wasn’t particularly worried that would be a problem.

Roman stepped into the pub and was just as surprised. Andrew Engels didn’t have the brains to pull something like this off. He was a nobody. It had to be Frank’s doing. With brisk steps he walked across the floor and over to the table Andrew was seated at. Somewhat to his surprise, it appeared he was expected. On the table there was a walkie-talkie and a laptop.

“How are you, Roman? Has it been a bad day?” Andrew asked with a shaky voice.

Roman stared hard at Andrew, while Andrej and Vladimir scouted the pub.

“Where is Frank?” Roman asked.

“No small-talk. Not a: Hi, how are you, Andrew? How have you been since I fired you and stole all your shares?” Andrew said. He remembered the first time they had met. How Roman so masterly had played interested in his life, how he had made Andrew feel important and good about himself, made him believe he could become a rock star, a new Mark Zuckerberg. Andrew now knew it all had been a sham, but it had felt so indescribably good. Now there was no time for small-talk. Roman wanted Frank.

Roman Bezhrev didn’t answer. He just stared at Andrew with two small, almost pitch black, eyes. If the purpose was to intimidate Andrew, he was doing a damn good job.

“Frank is here,” Andrew said with a voice that was about to break. “He is willing to meet with you. But it will have to be a meeting under four eyes. Or six.”

“Neither you nor Frank is in a position to make demands.” Roman spat the words out.

Andrew had almost looked forward to the meeting. The roles had been turned. The last time they had been sitting around a table, negotiating, Roman had forced him to borrow a million dollars. When Andrew had accepted, he had in effect signed his own resignation. He who has the gold, makes the rules, Richard and Roman used to say, and back then Roman had had the gold. All the gold. After Frank had emptied all of Roman’s bank accounts, he didn’t have the gold anymore. Frank had the gold. But Andrew didn’t feel any joy. He only felt fear. Fear of what Roman and his goons could do to him.

“If you want your money back, then you should listen to what I have to say,” Andrew said.

For a second it looked like Roman was going to jump the table and strangle Andrew. Frank and Andrew were playing a high-stakes game here. Roman had an uncontrollable anger. Frank assumed that Roman would act rationally, but there was nothing rational with Roman. He did irrational things every single day. What would he do when he was being threatened by two former employees?

“Ok, I’m listening,” Roman said, making an obvious effort to act calm.

“Frank wants to speak to you alone. He wants half an hour with you, alone.”
“Why?” Roman asked.

“You’ll have to ask him about that,” Andrew said. He knew, however, why Frank wanted to speak to Roman alone. Frank wanted to get closure. He wanted to get an answer to why Roman had kidnapped and killed his daughter five years ago. An answer to where the body was hidden. Andrew knew Roman would never give Frank what he wanted, but there was no point arguing. Frank wanted closure. He deserved closure. And Andrew would give him closure.

Roman considered Andrew’s proposal. He wasn’t comfortable with being left alone, without his bodyguards, in some unfamiliar hotel in Nimbin. Frank and Andrew had proven to be much more resourceful than he had given them credit for. They had managed to hack into his accounts and empty all his companies of assets, and they had managed to spread a smear campaign to several million of Tuna Life’s users, effectively destroying his reputation. When you broke it down though, all this had been the result of two geeks trying to exact revenge on him. But, no matter how you looked at it, Andrew and Frank posed no real physical threat to him. They had lived protected lives. An accountant and a programmer. Roman had grown up in a Moscow where you were taught to fight for every breadcrumb. He had lived, weapon in hand, since puberty. He decided he would accept Frank’s demand. Frank Geitner would not live to see the morning anyway. Roman was more unsure about Andrew’s role in the whole thing. It didn’t matter though. He couldn’t let this kind of thing go unpunished. They both had to die, tonight. They both had to suffer for the damage they had caused Roman.