Malkin Umarov thought about going through the drive-through at McDonalds, but decided he’d spent too much time in his car and needed to stretch his legs. Payson, Arizona was colder than Phoenix so when the sun went down, the temperature dropped quickly. There wasn’t snow on the ground like there was for his trip to Baltimore, but still heavy jacket weather.
The dinner crowd had died down, so he stood at the counter and ordered his favorite meal: Big Mac, fries, and a Coke. He couldn’t believe how delicious it tasted. Every time. How did they make it taste the same all over this country? There were no McDonalds in Chechnya, so every chance he got, he would find one locally and treat himself.
He got the bag of food and decided to stay and eat it there. He found a table in the corner of the room and took out his Big Mac and unwrapped the sandwich, his mouth already salivating. Malkin took a bite and thought about his wife. He missed her. And his daughter, Liza. Zelman had instructed him to go to Payson the moment his plane had landed, so he would wait an extra day to see his family. He thought giving Bracco’s kid a baseball with a Chechen flag was all he would need to do, but Zelman wanted more. He wanted revenge. So here he was, on the verge of firing a rocket launcher into the home of the FBI agent who’d arrested him. Without Zelman’s attorney, Malkin would still be behind bars in Baltimore instead of enjoying another bite of the warm sandwich. So, he certainly owed the guy.
He accidentally elbowed a packet of ketchup onto the floor and reached down for it. When he was upright again, there was a man sitting at his table. Malkin choked on his Big Mac as Nick Bracco stared at him, inches away.
“No sudden moves,” Bracco said. “My partner is watching.”
“How . . .” Malkin coughed up bits of meat and bread in his mouth.
“I will tell you, but first I need to know one thing.” Bracco leaned forward. “Are you the only one up here in Payson?”
Malkin thought about the question, trying to figure out if the truth was better than a lie.
“Before you answer, I want you to look outside,” Bracco said, pointing to a window.
Standing behind Malkin’s car was Bracco’s psychotic partner. The trunk of Malkin’s car was open, which meant they already knew about the rocket launcher. Bracco’s partner shut the trunk.
“Are you . . . um, allowed to search my car without a warrant?” Malkin asked, desperate for a sliver of hope.
“You want to know why the Fourth Amendment doesn’t apply here?”
Malkin didn’t know what the Fourth Amendment said, but he nodded anyway.
“You rented that car at Sky Harbor Airport using a fake name and identification.”
Malkin wondered how Bracco knew about the fake ID and the car rental.
“Once you were released from jail back in Baltimore, we put out a notice for all of your aliases,” Bracco answered his question. “When you rented the car in Phoenix, the system chimed and you broke your first law. That’s not including the fact that you violated your parole by leaving the state of Maryland without getting approval. You want me to go on?”
Malkin looked down at his Big Mac, suddenly losing his appetite.
“You want me to run down the laws you broke?’ Bracco said. “With or without the rocket launcher?”
“I did not have a choice,” Malkin said sincerely.
Bracco grabbed a French fry and shoved it in his mouth. “Right.”
“Do I get a phone call?” Malkin asked, recalling all the American law dramas he’d watched on TV since coming to the United States.
“That’s your question?” Bracco said. “Of all the questions in the world, that’s the one you’re interested in? Don’t you want to know how I found you?”
Malkin did wonder about that.
“Just tell me,” Bracco said. “Are you the only Chechen up here?”
The way he asked the question, Malkin didn’t see any reason to lie. He nodded.
“Good boy,” Bracco said. “Now, look, I don’t have time to dick around with you. Sal Perrino had all of you Chechens investigated, your history, your tendencies, and he put them into a book so we could have that information just in case he should reach an early death. That’s how I know you were born and raised in the Shelkovskaya district of Chechnya, a farm community where your family raised pigs and chickens and grew rice and vegetables.
Malkin worked hard not to look surprised, but the information was incredibly accurate. He remained still and searched for an escape plan.
“So, now you know what I’m telling you comes from knowledge and not bullshit. That’s how we discovered your favorite meal was a Big Mac at McDonalds. I had my partner stake out this place while I made a quick visit home to see my family. The ones you were going to try to kill tonight.”
“No, it was just meant to scare—”
“Save it,” Nick said, holding up his hand. Then he took out an official looking sheet of paper with fancy print and slid the Big Mac aside to place it in front of Malkin. “Here is your way out. It’s a document which will place you in our witness protection program. There’s a farm in Wyoming you can move your family to. The growing season is short, so you’ll need to plant hearty vegetables like cauliflower, radishes, cabbage, that kind of stuff. But you’ll be able to avoid prosecution for a myriad of charges.”
Malkin had a million thoughts running through his mind. The idea of running a farm with his wife and daughter seemed too good to be true.
Bracco held up his index finger. “You get one chance at this. Once you turn it down, I cuff you, bring you down to Phoenix and charge you with everything under the sun. You remember how I lowered your offense to impersonating an officer in Baltimore when you kidnapped my cousin? Well, now I will make sure you go inside for a couple of decades. There is no other option.”
Malkin’s brain was freezing up. Zelman was powerful but missed payroll last week. How much longer would he have that kind of authority? Malkin searched for answers, yet this seemed like the only reasonable option.
Bracco removed a pen from his jacket and placed it next to the paper.
When Malkin reached for the pen, Bracco slammed his hand down on top of the document so hard, the pen jumped an inch. He sneered at Malkin with a look of disdain. “You tried to kill my family.” He tapped the paper. “This doesn’t happen unless you give me something of value. Something that could help me get Zelman for what he did to the Perrino family. And it better be good. And it better be verifiable.”
Malkin looked around at a few customers who were glancing in their direction, while Bracco’s hand turned into a fist. Malkin stared at the paper as if it were a life preserver and he was standing on a sinking ship.
“Okay,” Malkin said. “There is something.”
Bracco remained still.
“The two guys who went to Charlie Perrino’s place—”
“The guys who killed him.”
“Yes. Their names are Sergei and Madril.”
“Go ahead.”
“Well, anyway, when they were in the backyard . . . um, finishing him off and throwing his body in the pool . . . there was this kid next door who peeked over the fence and saw what happened.”
“A neighbor?”
“Yeah, uh, no. See the kid disappeared and the guys ran after him. At first, they went to the front door and when a lady answered, they asked about the kid who lived there, but she said there wasn’t any boy in her family. The guys didn’t believe her at first, but then a minute later her car started from the driveway and she began screaming. The kid stole her car and took off.”
“The kid stole her car? Without the key?”
“I guess.”
Nick said nothing.
“Well, don’t you see? If you find that kid, he could be an eyewitness to Charlie Perrino’s murder. And if he identifies them, well they might plead up to get—”
“I understand how the process works, Malkin. Were the police notified about the stolen car?”
Malkin shrugged. “How would I know? I was in Baltimore when all this came down.”
“That’s it? That’s all you got?”
“Well, I know that Zelman is in bad financial trouble, I can tell you that.”
Bracco waved the back of his hand. “Yeah, we know all about the missed payroll. What else?”
Malkin desperately tried to think of something more he could offer but was succumbing to the pressure of the moment and his brain was sputtering.
Bracco leaned back and sighed. He neatly folded the paper in front of him and put it back into the inside pocket of his jacket. “I don’t know. I’m thinking you’re going to have to do your time.”
“Wait a second, I, uh,” Malkin stammered. “I gave you Sergei and Madril.”
“Sure, but without a witness, what am I going to do with that?”
It seemed like Bracco was toying with him now. Putting the idea of running a ranch in his head, then snatching it away from him just like that.
Malkin held up his palms. “Why don’t you put out one of those APB things? You know where the entire state is looking for this car thief. I’ll bet you could find him by morning.”
Bracco tilted his head. “What did you say to my boy when you gave him the baseball yesterday?”
“Nothing,” Malkin said. “I was pleasant. I did not say a threatening word.”
Bracco seemed satisfied, but must’ve already known Malkin was telling the truth.
A flicker of colored lights flashed across the window overlooking the parking lot. The sheriff’s car rolled up and parked behind Malkin’s rental and some deputy rolled down his window to talk with Bracco’s partner. All the McDonalds customers were gazing at the vehicle as Bracco’s partner pointed to Malkin’s table.
Bracco frowned, then gestured for his partner to join him.
“Wait.” Malkin saw his dreams vanquish right before his eyes and desperately wanted them back. “What if I get Zelman to say something for you?”
“How?” Bracco asked.
“I could, you know, wear a wire or something.”
Bracco’s partner was now walking into the restaurant and approaching their table, a pair of handcuffs dangling from his fingers. Bracco held up his hand to stop him.
“You would wear a wire and talk with Zelman? You could do that?”
Malkin wasn’t sure if he could actually get a meeting with Zelman, but it sure seemed possible. And anything sounded better than going to prison.
“Yes,” Malkin blurted, trying to salvage his dream. “I can do that.”
All this time Bracco never took his eyes off Malkin. As if he were able to see into Malkin’s soul and determine just how much to believe. Bracco’s partner stood there waiting impatiently. For a moment, it seemed like this was all part of an orchestrated event playing out in real time, as if it were somehow choreographed.
“Huh,” Bracco said, expressionless. He looked up at his partner and said, “What do you think?”
“I think he’d say just about anything to avoid going inside for ten years.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Bracco said.
“You do not understand,” Malkin said. “I can speak with him about the Perrinos and get him to admit he was the one who gave the order. Isn’t that a crime? Even if he didn’t do the killing?”
Bracco sat there tapping his index finger on the table, as if he were making up his mind. Malkin was afraid to say any more. Afraid he would seem too desperate. Which he was. Finally, after a minute, Bracco said to his partner, “Get him in the car. I need to make a call.”