CHAPTER TWO

THE RUSSIANS

 

Iakov and Arkadi Lenin sat at the ends of the table where three other bosses were also seated. The painted red bricks on the wall appeared to be on fire as the sun shined through the huge oval windows of one of the Lenins’ many hideouts. Every last one of the men invited was powerful in his own right and they ruled the most lucrative drug businesses around the country.

A large glass jug of thick red liquid sat in the middle of the table. Each attendee, with the exception of the Russians, wondered what it was.

In the corner sat Mellvue, Arkadi’s devoted fiancé. Most of her heart shaped face was covered by large brown Tom Ford glasses to disguise the blackened eye her fiancé blessed her with earlier in the week. Although scarred, Mellvue, a full-bred Russian, was both beautiful and intimidating at the same time.

Seated at the table was Vito Gambino of the Gambino Family, an Italian mob syndicate out of New York. Most of his facial features were unassuming except for his eyes. They were large and cold—the folds of wrinkles on his dark skin acted like open curtains surrounding them. He and his family killed many and they often broke code to seal their seat at the multimillion-dollar operation.

Next to him was Derrick Reaper from New Jersey. Although his money came from the drug business, his value lay in his access to soldiers. Under his command he possessed one hundred armed hoodlums who were affectionately called the Reapers. Although they were all cold-blooded, his biggest threat was Larry who had a reputation for killing his enemies and their loved ones no matter where they were, even in church.

A thug from birth, you’d never know it to look at Derrick’s features. His dark chocolate skin was smooth and flawless. In fact, the only distinguishing mark on his face was a black mole that sat ever so slightly under his left eye. It was said that he loved to kill with his hands so much that he kept them clasped in front of him, even at the moment, to prevent the urge to snuff out life.

Across from Derrick was Jim Rabiu, an African from California. He dominated the west coast in both muscle and cocaine. He was a womanizer who often used females for sexual gratification before putting them in servitude. In his personal life, he was a monster but in business, he made many hopeful dealers millionaires. So he was respected and revered by the vilest on the streets.

Unlike most Africans, his light skin, courtesy of his white father and black mother, was scarred from all of the knives taken to his face as a teenager by jealous villagers in the hopes of dismantling his looks. They were successful in their attempt because at the moment, he was a horrid sight to behold.

“I guess I’ll ask first,” Vito said as he ran a toothpick through the meat in his teeth. “What’s up with the red jar?”

Arkadi grinned. “It contains drop of blood from every man we’ve ever killed and soon it will contain blood of our latest enemy.”

Vito shook his head and tossed the soiled toothpick on the table. He leaned back in his chair and rested his hands on his large belly. “Well, let’s get on with it. Why are we here?”

“You’re here because I make you very rich men,” Arkadi responded as his piercing blue eyes stared at him across the table. His Russian accent both thick and strong. “Isn’t that what you want?”

“First off, I’m already rich,” he clarified. “And what I want and what it will cost me is another thing entirely.”

Iakov, the youngest of the Russian brothers, took a sip of his favorite vodka, which he never left home without. “We know whereabouts of powerful man,” he said. “A man with purest cocaine you ever come in contact with in life.”

“So what’s your dilemma?” Derrick asked.

“We can’t get to him alone,” Iakov said plainly. “And that’s problem.”

“So if you get this man, how does that benefit us?” Jim responded.

“If we have access to him, that means you do, too,” Arkadi replied. “This is win-win situation for everybody.”

Vito laughed. “Stop the games, Arkadi. You and I both know that there’s no such thing as something for nothing.”

“You’re right,” he admitted. “In order to bring this man in, we need your help. At moment, he is in the custody of a very powerful family. But the streets don’t know he’s been kidnapped because he’s still able to run business. Now if we can bring him in it means we’ll have access to his cocaine.”

“So basically he’s a golden goose,” Derrick responded.

“Not only that, this man has access to worldwide distribution methods,” Iakov said. “Due to a charity organization he runs, he owns planes and can fly across world without being inspected by government. We need this man for both his cocaine and his power.”

“If you get him, what makes you think he’ll work for you?” Derrick asked.

“We’ll put him in position where he has no choice,” Arkadi responded.

“So which family has him?” Derrick questioned.

Iakov hit the edge of a cigarette pack on the side of his finger. Removing one, he lit it with the gold lighter in his pocket. “Kennedy Kings have him,” he responded before blowing a cloud of smoke into the air.

Upon hearing Kennedy, the men moved around uneasily in their seats. As with all powerful drug empires of the time, they were fully aware of the clout the Kennedy Kings possessed. Although murder didn’t follow the Kennedy brand during the earlier years of their business, when their wives took over the operation during a period when the men were missing, all that changed.

“I’m sixty-two years old,” Vito explained. “And I have more money than I know what to do with. On top of that, murder within my organization has decreased one percent a year due to the understanding I have with people in and out of my operation.” He pointed a stiff finger into the table. “If I get into a war with the Kennedy Kings, that will change.” He unbuttoned the collared white shirt he was wearing under his blue blazer, exposing vines of thick black hair. “Now I’m not opposed to going to war but it has to be worth the risks. And I don’t hear the benefits yet.”

“I feel the same,” Jim responded. “Things are going smooth and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“If you help, I’ll offer you a thirty percent reduction per kilo,” Arkadi said. “Much better than what you’re getting from your current suppliers, yes?”

“Is that good enough reason?” Iakov asked arrogantly.

Vito and Jim were definitely impressed but drugs were not Derrick’s specialty. Judging by their expressions they were pleased but he needed more convincing. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t sell coke,” Derrick advised. “My first question is what do you need from me?”

“We need men,” Iakov paused, “from all of you, which is why you’re here. There is going to be war and we need available soldiers who can help us infiltrate Kennedy King operation. Your Reapers could do that for us, yes?”

“What’s in it for me?”

“For the use of your men, we will pay you one million dollars,” Arkadi responded. “Plus expenses.”

Derrick slammed his hands together and ran his tongue over his lips. “Me and my crew can work with that.”

“So what is your plan?” Vito asked.

“First, we combine forces, take down the Kennedy King organization and smoke Mitch out,” Iakov responded. “Once we have him, we give him ultimatum he can’t refuse. Work with us directly or die a harsh death.” He touched the top of the bloody jar.

“Derrick, do you have anyone who can move with precision?”

Derrick rubbed his hands together and licked his lips. “I have a killer with zero compassion. He would kill me if I failed to pay him enough.”

Iakov smiled. “Who is this man?”

“His name is Larry.”

Iakov laughed. “A simple name for such ruthless killer.”

Derrick nodded in agreement and asked, “So when do you want to start?”

“Why put murder off a day when you can do it tonight?”