Brad Thor - Full Black

Ralston let her have a few more seconds of soaking up the sun. The years had been kind to her. Being a mother, a wife, a successful attorney, it all seemed to agree with her. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. She had long, black hair and green eyes just like Ava and the same long, dark eyelashes. She kept herself in very good shape, but the sex appeal she radiated was different than her sister’s had been. Alisa’s sex appeal came not so much from her looks, but from her self-confidence. “How about a walk?” he finally said.

She nodded and they walked along the water’s edge, away from the pier. Ralston seemed to have trouble deciding what to say, and it was Alisa who broke the silence. “I’m billing you for the new clothes, as well as my travel time.”

Ralston smiled. “Fair enough.”

“You want to tell me what happened?”

He did. He wanted to tell her all of it, but he needed to be careful. “Last night would have been Rachael Salomon’s twenty-first birthday. Rachael was Larry’s daughter.”

“Wasn’t she killed on a trip to Israel or Egypt?”

Ralston nodded. “Israel.”

“Did they ever catch who did it?”

“The Israelis had their suspicions, but no, they never did catch who did it.”

“That must have been very painful for him.”

The irony of the two situations wasn’t lost on him. “Rachael was the Salomons’ only child, and it ended up destroying their marriage. Elizabeth left Larry and moved back to Manhattan.”

“That’s very sad,” said Alisa.

“I don’t think she liked L.A. and the movie business much anyway,” replied Ralston. “But it is sad.”

“As my father says, The truest test of gold is fire.”

“How’s he doing?”

“He’s fine. Still practicing law.”

Ralston smiled again. “I know. I see his name in the papers all the time.”

“Without promotion,” Alisa said with a smile as she quoted him again, “something terrible happens… nothing!”

Ralston chuckled. “Your father has always been a smart guy and he makes sure everyone knows it. I remember that joke he told me the first night I came to the house.”

Alisa rolled her eyes. “The whole It takes at least two Jews to outsmart an Armenian?”

“He’s definitely proud of his heritage.”

“My mother’s Jewish and she absolutely hates that joke.”

“I know,” said Ralston. “Ava told me after we left that night. Your mom puts up with a lot, but deep down she loves your father’s big personality.”

The mention of Ava brought a lull to their conversation. A wave broke and washed up onto the beach. Neither of them moved out of its path. The wet sand was heavy and difficult to walk through.

“You know, my parents liked you a lot,” Alisa said.

“I liked them, too.”

“You were the first person that Ava brought home that my dad didn’t complain about as soon as you were out the door. Everybody else tried to impress him. You didn’t. He liked that.”

“He wasn’t crazy about me being older than Ava, though,” said Ralston.

“True, until my mom reminded him that they had the same age difference.”

Even though it was small talk, the conversation was good for both of them. They both needed to heal. As Ava’s older sister, Alisa had felt partly to blame for Ava’s death. That guilt had been projected onto Ralston for not testifying. She needed to stop blaming him for the pain she felt over Ava’s death, and Ralston needed to stop blaming himself. They both needed to let go and to be let go.

“How’s Brent?” Ralston said, changing the subject to Alisa’s husband.

“He’s fine.”

“The kids?”

“They’re good too,” she replied, “but we could have done the whole How’s your family thing over the phone.”

Ralston knew that wasn’t true. They needed to see each other. They needed to acknowledge together that Ava was gone. They needed to close that chapter and, as painful as it was, put it behind them. It was the only way they could move forward. It was the only way that he could be sure that she would help him.

Alisa noticed that Ralston was limping. “Are you okay?” she asked. “What about Larry? Is he okay?”

“We’re both fine,” he replied.

“But you’re limping.”

Ralston waved it off. “My hip acts up from time to time. Don’t worry about it.”

“What happened?”

“It’s a long story.”

Alisa pointed down the coastline. “It’s a long beach.”

Ralston looked at the ocean and then back at her. As they walked, he told her everything that had happened.

“Why haven’t you called the police?” she asked once he had finished. “No district attorney, no matter how publicity hungry, would bring charges in this case. You need to turn yourselves in.”

“We can’t. Not yet at least. And that’s why I need your help,” said Ralston.

Alisa looked at him. “I don’t understand why you can’t turn yourselves in.”

“Because the men who came to kill Larry were professionals. Whoever hired them not only can afford to send more, he probably will.”

“You know who sent them?”

“We have an idea,” said Ralston.

“Then tell the police. Tell the district attorney. They can help protect you.”

As another wave rolled up onto the sand, Ralston stopped and turned to look at her. “The men who came to kill Larry were Russian Special Forces-Spetsnaz. I don’t need to tell you how influential the Russians are in Los Angeles.”

No, he didn’t need to tell her. There was a large Russian community in L.A., and a part of it was composed of Russian Armenians. Because of her father’s heritage, he’d attracted a lot of their business. His reputation as the toughest criminal defense attorney in Los Angeles attracted the rest of the Russians, especially many of the most colorful and less than virtuous.

“You don’t think the police can protect you, do you?” she said.

“I know they can’t. There are just too many foxes in the henhouse.”

“So what are you going to do?”

Ralston didn’t need to think about his answer. “For starters, I’m going to find out who sent that team to kill Larry.”

“And let me guess,” she said. “That’s where I come in.”

Ralston nodded. “Those three hitters inside Larry’s house were fresh off the boat. Somebody local had to set it all up. They needed to be met at the airport, given their weapons, driven to Salomon’s. That’s the way these things normally work.”

“What do you want me to do?” she asked. “Take out an ad in the Russian Kurier newspaper?”

“I’d like you to talk to your father. I’m guessing that there’s only a handful of people in L.A. who could have put this together. Most likely, it’s someone who worked for the Russian FSB or its predecessor, the KGB.”

“Hold it,” said Alisa. “That my dad has represented some unsavory people from that community doesn’t mean he knows who to go to for contract killings.”

“I’m not saying he does,” replied Ralston. “What I need is for you to ask him. He knows enough people. One of them is going to know who could have put something like this together.”

“And what happens when word gets back to this person that my father is asking questions? What’s to say they’re not going to come after him? Or my mother?”

Ralston tried to set her mind at ease. “Your father’s well-respected in that community. Nothing is going to happen to him and nothing is going to happen to your mom.”

“I’m glad you’re so confident.”

“Ali, your dad’s a smart guy. We both know that. He knows how to ask questions without getting himself in trouble. There are probably a hundred people who can tell him what I need to know, and very likely, they all owe your dad a favor. I’m just asking for him to cash one in for me.”