Val Karren - The Deceit of Riches

With my notes and research materials now stolen and, I could only assume, in the hands of a criminal who decidedly would use violence to reach his objectives, I felt the ill-boding of fate descend on me. In a way, I was relieved. Maybe now this would all end. If they were going to kill me, if that had been their design they could very well have beaten me further there in the secluded park. Would this escalate if they read and understood my articles and notes? I could only hope now that Mr. P. or his operatives couldn’t read English well enough nor discern my short hand writing to understand how far, or how close I was to what I had just learned about Mr. P’s father. Perhaps what eluded me in those flow charts and diagrams would be obvious to somebody with the missing piece of knowledge. Maybe they would just burn everything. Maybe they would still come after me. I had a distinct feeling that this was not yet over. I resolved to get to the Sannings’ place for some first aid and to tell Del about what I had learned about Mr. P’s father, Mr. P’s real family name and to ask for their help to get me out of Nizhniy as quickly as possible. Everything was now out in the open. The dance of masks had turned violent, and I needed to leave the party.

I limped and shuffled from Piskunova street to Bolshaya Pecherskaya where I waited for the tram to come past instead of walking a painful five blocks to Frunze street. Crossing Minin street on foot after a short ride on the street car I looked around to make sure there were no black Volgas or black Ladas or armed thugs wearing white trainers still following me. I continued around the back of the building to the parking lots and entrance to the building. By the last stairwell entrance, I noticed with a panic and shock two police cars keeping guard, backed up against the cinderblock wall. I did my best to walk calmly towards the entrance door but my approach triggered two policemen to step out of the cars and stand behind the open car doors, hands on their weapons. I stopped and held up my hands at chest level to show I had nothing. I was carrying nothing. One guard told me to stand still. I obeyed. They came close to ask my business and my name. They looked over my bloody hands and ripped clothes and growing blood stain at my elbow.

“Did you have an accident?” one asked me gruffly.

“No, I was robbed and threatened with a gun,” I admitted.

“Do you want to make a report? Do you know who it was?” the other officer interrogated.

“I only saw the backs of their heads,” I lied.

“Why are you here?” asked the first again.

“I have come to speak with Mr. Sanning on important business,” was my honest answer.

“Your name, please?” demanded the second officer as he reached for his radio.

I was permitted to go upstairs.

“Peter, what happened to you?” Was Els’ shocked reaction. She began fluttering around looking for bandages and disinfectant from the first aid box.

“Do I look that bad, Del?” I turned to his concerned face.

“Do you know who did it, Peter?” he asked solemnly.

“Exactly who,” I said with resignation.

“Well, I guess it’s time to stop before it happens again,” he instructed.

“I already have stopped. I told the University as much and besides that, they revoked my research privileges so that I can’t do anymore. I think as well that they will cancel my student status so that I have to leave, which at this point won’t be such a bad thing,” I complained.

“Peter, you need to take off that jacket and let’s look at the gash on your elbow,” Els instructed like an instinctive nurse.

I removed the jacket and could see that the dark green shirt I was wearing had turned black and was soaked through with blood. “That doesn’t even hurt!” I said.

“That’s a bad sign,” muttered Del. “Get that shirt off so we can take a look at the wound.”

I winced from pain in my ribs as I took off my button-down shirt. Del recognized the hesitation as I slowly peeled my arm free of my left sleeve.

“You get hit in the ribs too, kid?” he correctly questioned.

I nodded with a grimace as the shirt finally came free. Del took a look under my tee shirt at the left side and winced himself.

“Kid, that looks bad. You’re going to want to wrap those up tight. That’s going to hurt for several days. It looks you got kicked by a mule,” he confirmed.

The split in the left tricep was still bleeding. We wrapped it tightly with gauze and bandages. Del gave me a sweatshirt to wear.

Del sat down opposite me as I gingerly reclined the uninjured right side against the arm of the couch and asked, “What kind of trouble are you in, Peter?”

“I have evidently hit a nerve in Mr. P’s organization. The university suspended my research privileges, I have been followed and watched for about two weeks now, my notes from my meeting with Mr. P. were confiscated by Valentina Petrovna, and now the rest of the materials have been stolen. I’ve been beaten by mafia goons and had my life threatened this morning. So, yeah, I’m in pretty deep,” I smiled a resigned grimace.

“It’s time for you to walk away, kid. It’s time for you to walk away now!” he said seriously.

“Yes, that has been obvious now to me for about a week and I’ve been trying to make it obvious to everybody that is interested, that I have stopped my research and writing. I suppose they are now making it clear that I need to keep my mouth shut and leave town,” I confirmed.

“I told you that these types have long memories and once you cross them they don’t just let it go. You really need to walk away now. I can’t stress it enough, Peter,” Del remained very serious, “Listen, we have been able to put some pieces together as well since we left town last week that make this whole scenario a bit more dangerous for us all.”

“I have some new information as well that you’ll want to hear,” I added.

“OK, great, but let me tell you first what we learned about the arrangements for Mr. P’s hotel plans. The meeting for Monday or Tuesday next week will go through and there isn’t much we can do to stop what is going to happen. So, we are resigned that we will lose the hotel site through a collusion of the mayor’s staff and Mr. P’s organization. Evidently, the financials are being fictionalized to make his plan look more advantageous for the city and province than it really is. Once the place is built of course they can’t turn back the clock. Evidently, Mr. P. has made a deal with the devil and will take on partners for the hotel. The deal is that he, as a local in the region, will acquire the land and submit the project plans while it is almost fully financed by a larger mafia operation, a nation-wide group that is really known for its viciousness. It is believed that many former KGB agents are involved with this group giving it exotic expertise. So, Mr. P. is more or less merging his operations and inviting the big sharks to share his territory in Nizhniy Novgorod,” Del revealed.

“So, his entrance fee is to acquire the land, get approval for the casino and hotels and it turns into another money laundering base of a more or less legitimate local entrepreneur with the regional government’s blessing. They certainly have covered their bases!” I mustered all the outrage I could without hurting my ribs.

“Yes, and so Mr. P. evidently is hoping to contract my employer to build his hotel for his own consortium. So, this is why he has been muscling in on me a bit to learn how to get in contact with my chain of command and make an offer around me, since I won’t cooperate with the overtures from his organization. I didn’t realize that this fellow was behind the proposal until you pointed it out to me, but now we’ve been able to put all the pieces together,” Del concluded.