Kelley Armstrong - Exit Strategy

There were a half-dozen men in the diner/bar, but only one even looked our way, and just to ogle me as we passed. At a sharp look from Jack, the man returned to staring at the empty chair across the table, and lifted his coffee mug, taking so deep a swig I suspected it wasn’t filled with java, which would explain why I couldn’t smell fresh brewed coffee despite the mugs at every man’s table. For that matter, I couldn’t smell much of anything, just a faint whiff of mildew, as if the customers-even more disheveled and shabby than the tavern-were too well pickled to give off any odor.

Without so much as a glance around, Jack navigated to the darkened back hall.

“You’ve been here before, I take it,” I whispered. “Please tell me it was on business.”

“Yeah. Order a burger for a mark? Chef does your job for you.”

The hall was nearly pitch-black. An exit sign at the end gave off the only light. After my eyes adjusted, I could see a chain on the rear door. The management must have been more worried about customers escaping without paying than escaping a fire. Although, from what I’d seen, I doubted they’d go anywhere even if the chairs under them were ablaze.

Jack led me to a phone booth, picked up the receiver and held it to my ear. Guess that meant I was doing the talking. I presumed he was holding it because he was wearing gloves and I wasn’t, but I was glad of it for any reason. The receiver was so filthy I could barely bring my lips close enough to it to talk.

He dialed. Evelyn picked up on the third ring.

“Hey, Auntie E,” I said, cranking my voice up a few octaves. “It’s me!”

Not so much as a beat-pause. “Deedee, why hello, dear. So good of you to call. And how’s Jackie? Taking good care of you, I hope.”

I looked around at the grunge-streaked walls. “You bet. He takes me to all the best places. So, auntie, remember how we were going to visit cousin Will? Before that thing came up? Well, Jackie and I thought we’d pay him a visit. But first, we wanted to see whether you wanted to join us, since it was your idea.”

“Oh, that’s very sweet of you, dear, but you kids don’t want to travel all the way over here to pick me up. Go and see Will, and give him my love. Then you can stop here on the way back. I’d love to see you.”

I glanced at Jack, who’d been listening in. “I’m not sure-”

“Really, I must insist.” Her voice was still light, but her tone had taken on a steel core. “We have so much catching up to do.”

Jack hesitated, then nodded. I told Evelyn we’d be there late this afternoon, then signed off.

“Jackie?” Jack said.

“She started it.”

He shook his head and led me back into the bar.

At the jail, Jack didn’t even bother with a cover story-just gave the guard his fake name and ID and said we wanted to speak to Nicky Volkv. Volkv agreed to see us. I guess after years in jail, he was just happy for a visitor.

From the moment we entered the jail, Jack became someone else, sliding into his aging-biker character as he hadn’t bothered to until now. His head went higher, shoulders squared, stride taking on a hint of a swagger.

We sat on the visitors’ side of the Plexiglas barrier for five silent minutes before the door opened and the guard ushered in a tall man with graying dark hair and a milky-white left eye. Volkv squinted his good eye at Jack.

“I know you?” he asked.

“You should.”

The briefest hesitation, then Volkv sat down. He folded his hands on the counter, gaze darting from Jack to me. It lingered on me, hungry.

“Leon Kozlov,” Jack said.

Volkv reluctantly pulled his gaze from me. “You know Leon? How is the old son of a bitch?”

We’d expected Volkv to know about Kozlov’s death. Even in jail, he shouldn’t be that cut off, but from his open smile as we mentioned his friend, he was obviously serious.

“He’s dead,” Jack said.

Volkv blinked, then leaned forward, resting his mouth against his open hand. It took a moment before he looked up again.

“How’d it happen?”

“Hit.”

I expected Volkv to laugh, or at least ask Jack to repeat himself. Someone paying to off an old thug who’d been out of the business for twenty years? Waste of ammo.

But Volkv just gave a long slow shake of his head. “Dumb fuck. I warned him. Last time he was here, he sat right there-same chair you’re in, as a matter of fact, and I said, ‘ Leon, you dumb fuck, that ain’t a retirement package, it’s a death sentence.’ You don’t screw with those guys, you know what I mean?”

Jack nodded.

Volkv leaned forward. “Now you and I, maybe we ain’t picked the kind of careers our mamas would want, but those guys? A whole other league. Not even part of the human race, if you ask me. Fucking psychos, every last one of them. You don’t blackmail a psycho.”

“Not unless you want to end up six feet under.” As Jack switched to full sentences, I noticed the brogue had been replaced by a faint drawl, like a southerner who’s worked hard to lose his accent.

Volkv jabbed a finger at the Plexiglas, earning himself a glare from the guard. He lowered his voice. “That’s exactly what I told Leon. You don’t fuck with a hitman.” Grief flickered behind his eyes again. “Did he get a good funeral?”

“A big one. Standing room only.”

“Really? So those Nikolaev bastards came around to show their respects, did they? I always told Leon he was smart not to tell them what happened. If they knew, they’d have bumped him off themselves, just to be safe. No loyalty, those fucks. I got this on the job”-he pointed at his blind eye-“they wouldn’t even pay my doctor’s bill. Fired my ass ’cause I couldn’t see right no more.”

By now I could almost hear my toe tapping with impatience. It was like seeing the carousel brass ring zipping by, as you try to reach a little farther, knowing that any moment, the music could stop and you’d lose your chance. Jack just sat there, hands never leaving the reins, as if, by being patient enough, the ring would come to him.

For the next ten minutes, he chatted with Volkv, letting the old con take the conversation where he liked, around and around, never veering any closer to the prize. I held my tongue only by clamping my mouth shut so hard my jaw ached.

“Russians ain’t so bad,” Jack said, relaxed in his chair, one arm hooked over the back. “I had to pick, I’d go with them over the Yakuza any day. Look at those bastards wrong, and it’s permanent retirement time.” He stretched his legs. “Speaking of retirement, I don’t suppose Leon ’s retirement plan is up for sale.”

Volkv laughed. “So that’s what you’re after? You got balls, buddy. My advice would be the same I gave to old Leon: buy yourself a lottery ticket instead. Odds of cashing in are a hundred times better.” He leaned forward. “You want the truth? Plan’s not mine to sell. I never asked Leon for the details-my life might not be worth much, but it’s all I got. All I know is that he saw something he shouldn’t have. Some one .”

Jack let Volkv ease back into small talk. Five minutes later, the guard announced our time was up. I made it as far as the parking lot before I let out a growl of frustration.

“Goddamn it! We were so close. A few more minutes…” I took a deep breath, retaking control. “Well, let’s analyze what we’ve got. Kozlov crossed a hitman back in his mob days. As for how he crossed him-”

“He saw him,” Jack said as he opened the car door.

I stopped, fingers grazing the handle, and looked over the roof at him, but he just climbed in and started the engine. As I slid into my seat, he continued, “Kozlov witnessed a hit. Probably the one that got him fired. Didn’t just let his guy get whacked. Saw the hitman. Maybe even recognized him. Been sitting on it all these years.”