Chapter Twenty-Five

In the black Cadillac SUV, parked at a right angle to the little cul-de-sac, in the parking lot of the Malibu Fitness Center, Yalta Yuri and one of his henchman sat in the front seat. Wedged in the backseat, between the two large Zelenkos, was his other associate.

From this position, they had a good view of the gate area from the side. “Okay,” said Yuri. “That makes fourteen. So we wait for the last one. Maybe the second guy comes in his own car and they go back together and get the last one. Or maybe, if they’re smart, the other guy comes in the last one to be loaded. Because if they’re smart they’ll have one of their own vehicles parked around here somewhere to leave in.”

“Okay. Let’s go and get them now,” said Volodya.

“Hey, we gotta wait till the last car comes back,” said Yuri.

“But if that’s the second-to-last one, we can deal with Cheep first and take care of Veek afterwards when he gets here. Is more efficient,” said Volodya.

Dmytro reached across the man between him and his cousin and punched Volodya on the arm. “Shut up!” he said. “Let Yuri organize the work however he wants.” Now Dmytro leaned forward and addressed Yuri in the front seat. “We’re just gonna beat them up, right? Just scare them?”

“That’s right,” said Yuri. “Because they cannot ever think they can fuck with us. It’s disgusting how you let them get away with this shit!”

“Well, it’s working out okay for you, because you’re getting all the cars,” said Dmytro mildly. “Not that I care if you get the cars, of course. But I’m not sure why my cousin and I even need to be here.”

“Because you need to learn how to run things properly,” snapped Yuri.

———

The surveillance van with Detective Chin and his partner was parked further away from Yuri’s vehicle, a little higher up in an alley, but it was also positioned to be able to view the main gate of Swanson Dry Dock, and with the aid of binoculars, to read the plate numbers as the cars waited to be driven into the dry-dock compound.

“Geez,” said Thompson. “That one’s stolen, too.” He had just called in the number of the Mercedes Vic had delivered. “That makes fourteen! How much do you think it all amounts to? I’m really stoked. Think it’s a five-million-dollar bust? I’d definitely call that grand theft auto.”

“Resale value depends on where the cars are ending up,” said Chin. “And judging from the writing on that ship, they’re going to Russia. They can probably get a heck of a lot more for them there.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t send one of those backup cars to tail those valet kids and find out where their stash of cars is?” said his partner.

“Why bother? They’re delivering them to us like clockwork. I don’t want to spook them.”

“So when do we move?” said Thompson. “I mean, we can round up these guys any time.”

“Yeah, the delivery boys. But I still want to know what our Russian friends are up to. It’s like they’ve got these kids under surveillance. They’re not helping or anything. Why do they need to be here? I want to see if they are going to participate somehow. And who knows how many Ivans are on that boat?”

“It would be nice to go over and ask those guys in the SUV some questions.”

Chin sighed. “It’s not against the law to sit in a car. They’re all lawyered up already. I would kind of like to see them take an active role.”

“That would make seven arrests in all. Nice night’s work.”

“Thank God we’ve got backup squirreled away in the gym parking garage,” said Chin.

———

When Victor Gelashvili pulled in to the dead-end street in the fifteenth car, a Lamborghini, he started to feel a little giddy. It was almost over. He felt a strong urge to laugh. He told himself to calm down, not to let down his guard until they were both back at Chip’s apartment.

Ahead, he saw Chip’s car, and then he saw that Chip was waiting for him just by the gate, still holding the chain that they had wrapped around it to make it seem locked. But then Vic had the strange sensation that something was different about the little cul-de-sac.

He looked to the right, and then to the left. There was a car here that hadn’t been there before. And, it was a car that looked familiar. As a valet, Vic had developed a photographic memory for vehicles, and Vic knew he’d seen this older Volvo before. He also knew, before he remembered whose car it was, that he associated it with someone who really irritated him. Suddenly, he remembered. It was that damn Tyler Benson, the one who’d tried to push him around at Alba. What the hell was his clunky old Volvo doing here?

Enraged, Vic set the hand brake, and flew out of the Lambor­ghini to take a look at Tyler’s car. Maybe he should do something to it to teach Tyler a lesson. Pull the distributor cap or something.

But when he went over to the car and glanced inside, he couldn’t believe it. There were two people crouching down in the front seat!

“Hey Chip,” he yelled, “come over here right away!” He ran over to the driver’s side. Sure enough, it was Tyler Benson.

Chip, carrying his chain, ambled over.

Inside the car, Tyler was horrified to see a face peering into the car. He pulled himself up on the seat—there was no point hiding anymore—and he was prepared to pull out right away, but the Lamborghini, its engine still running, was blocking his exit. He’d have to take a chance that there was some way to leave the area further up the short street—other than the waters of Lake Union. Maybe he could get into that parking garage that seemed to be attached to the Malibu Fitness Center from here, then find another exit out into the street.

“Stay down,” he said to Flavia, but she was sitting back up on the seat. “What’s going on?” she demanded.

“Oh, shit,” said Tyler. He had just spotted Chip coming toward them with a heavy length of chain. “It’s Vic and Chip.”

———

“All right!” said Yuri from his vantage point. “It’s Vic and Chip. Let’s go get them.”

“Yeah, but Chip is carrying a chain,” said Dmytro.

“Well, go take it away from him and then we’ll take care of them both,” said Yuri. He got out of the car and began striding forward in a purposeful manner. The others piled out after him, his two thugs flanking him, the Zelenkos following behind.

Meanwhile, Vic had started to yell. The men weren’t sure what he was saying, but it seemed odd. Who was he yelling at? Yuri stopped. The others all stopped, too.

Back in the cul-de sac, Vic was yelling at Tyler through the driver’s-side window. “Get out of the car now!”

Tyler had now decided he’d have to reverse out of the cul-de-sac, and if he floored it and went really close to a shed on the left, he might be able to squeeze past the Lamborghini. But before he had a chance to do that, Chip had swung the chain into his windshield. The windshield remained intact, but made a horrible, loud sound. Flavia let out a scream.

Yuri and his party had now begun to proceed cautiously forward. But at the sound of a woman’s scream, they stopped again.

Now Chip had moved to the driver’s side of the car. He bent down and looked at Tyler. Then he yelled to Vic, “Give me a goddamn ninja rock!”

“Listen,” said Tyler to Flavia in Italian. “Get into that other car behind us and take off—the engine is running. Get in there and get out of here! I’ll follow you.” He hoped he could. He knew that a ninja rock was what thieves called a ceramic spark plug when it was used to shatter tempered auto glass, and it wasn’t just an urban legend that it worked.

“Che?” said Flavia.

“Get into the other car!” He reached across her and opened the door. “Subito!”

He gave her a push, and she rolled out onto the ground, and he was vaguely aware of her scurrying toward the idling Lamborghini when he heard the spark plug hit the driver’s-side window. Suddenly, it looked like a spiderweb and a second later, Vic and Chip were punching it out.

Vic’s and Chip’s faces now filled the entire window opening, framed by broken glass. “What the fuck are you doing here? Is that Flavia? What’s she doing here?”

“It’s a long story,” said Tyler. “But we were just leaving.” Why wasn’t Flavia gone yet? “Go, go, go,” he screamed.

“I don’t know how to drive!” she yelled from the other car. “Aren’t you coming? You said you’d follow me.”

“Damn,” thought Tyler. He’d meant he’d follow in his car.

Vic was now kicking in the door panel on the driver’s side. “You’re fucking everything up!” he said.

Chip’s hand was now inside the car, fumbling for the button to unlock the door.

Tyler started to clamber over the gearshift to get to the passenger side and get out to the Lamborghini. He didn’t think he had a chance, but he couldn’t leave Flavia there alone.

Suddenly, he saw a group of men loom up behind Vic and Chip. Terrified, he assumed all of these guys were going to join the two valets and pile on him, but to his amazement, the new arrivals punched Vic and pushed Chip.

As Tyler scrambled toward Flavia, who was sitting in the passenger seat of the Lamborghini, one of the thugs grabbed the chain from Chip and started swinging it. Now the two valets started screaming and hit the ground. Volodya pushed past his cousin Dmytro and started kicking them in the ribs, and the man with the chain joined him.

Yuri stood behind them all, overseeing the operation, and noticed Tyler moving from his car to the Lamborghini. “There’s another one! In the same jacket!” He thumped Dmytro on the back.

Tyler now slid behind the wheel and threw the Lamborghini into reverse. With Flavia’s passenger door still open, he started backing out fast. The engine protested, and he released the emergency brake, an operation which caused them to careen from side to side. She managed to pull the door closed at the end of the cul-de-sac. He turned onto a curved street that presumably led to Leary Way, the main road out of the area, yanked the car into first, and headed right. He wasn’t sure where these back streets that seemed to snake among various industrial sites led, but he didn’t care.

“He’s getting away,” said Yuri. “Come on. We’ll get him, too. Get in this car.”

Dmytro dutifully crawled inside the open passenger door of Tyler’s Volvo and opened the driver’s door. Yuri clambered in behind the wheel.

Flavia was now sitting up, clutching the headrest and staring out the back window. “Those guys are following us! In your car!”

———

Detective Chin was on the radio yelling at his backup patrol cars. “All hell is busting loose! Get down there and seal off the cul-de-sac! But don’t turn on your sirens and lights. Thompson and I are going down there on foot on the water side. At least two guys in valet jackets, and a bunch of other guys—I think five. I want ’em all. When you’re in place we’ll move.”

Tyler had just realized that the winding alley he took had now dead-ended in a large gate with a sign on it that said MARINE ­ENGINE REBUILD. QUALITY WORK SINCE 1954. DOGS ON PATROL.

“Damn,” he said, spinning around 180 degrees to get back out and clipping a Dumpster and a pile of bricks. Even in his adrenaline-laced state, the old valet instincts kicked in, and for a nanosecond he worried about how majorly pissed off the owner of this Lamborghini would be when he got his car back. He was driving halfway on what appeared to be some kind of sidewalk with a curb. “Put on your seat belt!” he yelled.

Now Flavia was looking out the front window. She was speaking Italian way too fast for Tyler to understand her, but it was clear what had agitated her. Tyler’s car was headed right toward them. He floored the Lamborghini and managed to pass it on the left. “Oh my God!” she said, now in English, fumbling with the seat belt.

“This Lamborghini is way faster than my Volvo,” said Tyler.

He tore back down the little lane. Flavia was now reporting from the rear window again. “They’re turning around!”

Tyler got the Lamborghini to the end of the lane and headed back to where he had emerged from the cul-de-sac, then made a sharp right toward what he hoped was a short spur to Leary Way.

“Can they see us?” he yelled. “Can they see which way we turned?”

“Not yet,” said Flavia.

But he knew they would in a few seconds. So when he saw the parking garage entrance of the Malibu Fitness Center, he turned into it and executed a quick series of corkscrew turns. Damn! The car handled them beautifully. But at this rate of speed there were some amazing squeals coming from the tires. “Maybe we can hide here,” he said, pulling his phone out of Chip’s spare Elite Valet jacket. “And maybe we should call 9-1-1.” He was pretty sure whoever was following them would fly right past the entrance. But did he really want to call the cops? What would he tell them? That Vic and Chip messed up his car window?

———

“Where the hell did they go?” demanded Yuri as he emerged onto Leary Way.

Dmytro said, “Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe we should get out of here.”

As Tyler executed his final turn up onto the parking garage roof, he was amazed to see a police cruiser heading straight toward him. And there was one more right behind it.

He threw the Lamborghini into reverse, and corkscrewed back down almost as fast as he’d come up, his head over his shoulder. Flavia stared straight ahead, making eye contact with the two policemen in the patrol car. The front bumpers of each car seemed about ten inches apart and both of them were hurtling in circles toward the street.

“Jesus!” said the cop at the wheel. “He’s got a female passenger.”

“Whoever he is, he sure knows how to drive fast backward,” said his partner. He grabbed the radio. “Got some kind of exotic Italian car right in front of us. Male driver, female passenger. Want us to proceed to the cul-de-sac or follow this vehicle?”

“You get over to the cul-de-sac, and the other car should stop the Lamborghini,” said Chin. He and Thompson had now run on foot to the yawning chain-link gate of Swanson Dry Dock and unholstered their guns. They crept up behind the group of men. There seemed to be three assailants who had now dragged the two guys in matching windbreakers to their feet and were backhanding them across their faces. Chin drew his gun, while Thompson looked up at the looming trawler. “There could be more of them in there. Wanna wait for backup?”

———

“He’s gone,” said Dmytro to Yuri, the wind from the broken window ruffling his hair. “We can never catch a Lamborghini in this car. Let’s go back.” He tugged plaintively at Yuri’s sleeve.

“Goddammit!” said Yuri, executing a U-turn and heading back to the trawler. “You people fucked this up real good!”

Tyler had now pulled onto Leary Way from the parking garage and headed in the same direction he assumed his pursuers had taken, away from the cul-de-sac. One police car was behind him. The other went in the opposite direction.

“The police are right behind us!” shrieked Flavia.

“I know, but I want to lead them to those guys in my car. I don’t want them to get away. In this car, I can definitely catch up to them. We can explain later.” Behind them they now heard sirens.

“Wait! There’s your car,” Flavia screamed as Tyler’s Volvo shot past them in the other direction.

Tyler made a sharp U-turn and headed back after his own car. The patrol car executed the same turn, but not so tightly, and followed Tyler and Flavia in the Lamborghini, with the Volvo ahead of it. “I’ve almost got him!” said Tyler.

As the trio of cars tightened into a closer formation, right at the head of the cul-de-sac, a twenty-foot auto hauler with California plates crossed their path, headed toward the Kapitan Zhukov to take on a load of high-end stolen cars for delivery to California. It was empty and loose and jangly, and because it was very long and the entrance to the cul-de-sac was narrow and at a sharp angle, it had slowed down considerably, so that it was practically stationary.

The driver of the car hauler noticed three cars coming toward him from his lofty cab and jammed on the gas to get out of the way. The front of the carrier hit a darkened patrol car blocking the cul-de-sac, and fishtailed slightly to the left on impact, but the driver had just managed to avoid getting hit from the side by the elderly Volvo carrying Yuri and Dmytro. Instead, the Volvo crashed into a second car carrier that had been following the first one.

Close behind it, Tyler took in the sight of the two car carriers, one tangled up with the police car, the other with his own car. He managed to pull the Lamborghini slightly to the right so it bounced off his Volvo and ended up crashing into the tail end of the second empty carrier.

Just then, the police cruiser that had been pursuing the Lamborghini plowed into the back of the Volvo, then ricocheted into the side of the Lamborghini.

In a matter of seconds, the night was filled with the sounds of engines, squealing tires and brakes, a total of six crunching ­collisions of metal on metal, at least one car alarm, and two police sirens.

Suddenly, there was silence. Smoke rose from the collection of overheated and mangled vehicles. Tyler helped Flavia out of the passenger side past the airbag—the door on his side was caved in. They stood there, hand in hand, as police officers got out of both patrol cars looking dazed. The drivers of the car carriers were hanging out of their cabs looking at the four cars that were now entangled with parts of their vehicles.

“Are you okay?” Tyler said to Flavia.

She nodded.

Tyler looked over at his car. Yuri was getting out of the driver’s seat. Blood trickled down his face. He looked shaky until he saw Dymtro emerge from the other side of the car, then he started yelling at him in Russian, and pounding on the roof of the car.

“I can’t believe it,” said Tyler. “My car got hit three times. And the windshield is messed up, too.”

Flavia turned to him and put her hand on his chest. “I didn’t know Americans could drive that fast!” she said.