I’m sitting in my Mercedes on a street near Ping Tom Park. It’s a place I like to go and think, but right now I’m on a phone consultation with Valerie. She’s encouraging me to personally visit Dmitri, leader of the American Russians.
“Visit my enemy…” I say. “Maybe I should bring him a little gift, too. But what do you bring the man who wants your head on a platter? Fruitcake doesn’t seem quite right.”
She laughs. She thinks I’m using it as a figure of speech.
I told her that I’m in a rivalry with a Russian accounting firm. I told her how competition for some business got out of hand, right when I don’t need the extra headache.
“Your people stepped over a line,” she says.
“That’s one way of putting it.” I say. Another—more accurate—way of putting it would be that two of my guys got wasted on meth and shot some Russian mob soldiers. Managing criminals isn’t as easy as it might appear. A lot of them are hotheads and addicts. “Maybe I could bring him their heads on platters.”
“Is that what he really wants, though?” She thinks I don’t mean that literally, either. “What are Dmitri’s business objectives?”
“Operational expansion,” I say. “Conservation of human resources.” This is how Valerie and I talk. My guys would fall off their chairs if they heard us.
“What I’m getting at is, if you want to prevent more sniping between your firms, look at it from his point of view. Imagine you weren’t rivals. What becomes possible then? Who are you without this rivalry? What’s on both of your business bucket lists? What makes you both look good in the eyes of the rank and file? Is there any sort of joint venture you could undertake? Or a pooling of resources to catch a large account that you both want? Think out of the box here, Lazarus. Maybe you collaborate to put on a charity event for a cause you both believe in and the Russian firm name is at the top. You’ll make him look good.” Making people look good is one of Valerie’s go-to strategies.
“He’s gonna have some significant trust issues,” I say.
“Then overcome them, Lazarus. When was the last time you and Dmitri met face to face?”
Never, I tell her. No, not even at an industry function.
She’s surprised. “The first step is a meeting. Humanize yourself to him. Invite him to dinner.”
“Just the two of us?”
“Two guys. Who probably have very much in common.”
It’s an interesting idea. Insane, but interesting.
I imagine sitting down with Dmitri in an out-of-the-way restaurant. Something neutral—not Agronika, the Black Lion club. Not one of the Russki places, either. There would need to be guarantees of safety. “I don’t know. I don’t want him to think I’m fearful of his retaliation. Going to him on my knees. Kissing his ass.”
“In judo, a fighter uses his opponent’s energy against him. When the opponent pushes, you pull. Your Russian rival is in pushing mode. Instead of pushing back, why not surprise him? Why not find a way to pull him close? You let him know you didn’t sanction that action that your employees took. You’re disciplining them, right?”
“They won’t misbehave again.”
“Good. Let him know the steps you’ve taken toward bringing your team back under control. Then move forward—find some point of agreement and build.”
“It’s…out of the ordinary.”
“Guess what, Lazarus. You’re in control now. You get to decide what’s ordinary now.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Viktor
When I open my eyes again, it’s dawn.
Tanechka’s arm is still around me. I can barely move the fingers of my right hand, and my phone’s ringing from somewhere. And then it stops. I’m just stunned that it’s dawn. I can’t believe I slept through the night. I never do—not ever.
Tanechka mumbles from behind me.
I remove her arm from where it drapes over me and settle her on her back, gazing down at her sleeping form. Nobody ever held me like that. Nobody ever told me I was worthy—not even the old Tanechka. I knew she thought it, but she would’ve been too cool to say it.
It did something to me to hear this nun say it.
I got her drunk and seduced her and acted like a savage, and she held me. I want to lie back down with her.
I straighten. No, I don’t. This is the nun, not Tanechka. The very thought makes me feel as though I’ve betrayed Tanechka.
I scrub my face and grab my Glock from the floor. Then I rip the covers from the bed and tuck them around her. She always liked warmth, a heat-seeking creature.
I set a fresh pair of socks by the fire. She loved her socks to be warmed by the fire most of all. I sit on the end of the bed and check my phone to see who called, trying not to think of the night.