The Chronicles of Young Dmitry Medlov: Book One Page 6

  “Well, well. What do we have here?” one of them said in a Yorkshire accent.

  Dmitry stood up and slowed his breath. Locking his eyes on them, he yawned.

  “Did you get lost?” the mystery man asked Dmitry.

  “No,” Dmitry answered without moving. He stilled his feet, digging them down into the ground to fight.

  “Well, if you’re not lost, then you should know that you have to have certain permissions to be around here at this hour, bloke. Brixton ain’t no fucking gym.”

  Dmitry wished for water as his throat constricted. “I don’t ask anyone for permission to do shit,” he said with his hands gripping the knife in his right jacket pocket.

  “Sounds like he’s from the USS fucking R,” another man taunted. “A filthy commy.”

  Dmitry counted their number. All together there were four of them. Two stood in the street, one stood at the edge of the building and another stood behind the building but casted a shadow from the street light.

  Dmitry didn’t respond to the commy comment, although it pissed him off. Instead, he looked behind him, ensuring that there weren’t more men on his flanks.

  “I don’t think you want trouble,” Dmitry warned as he turned his head back to face them. “I’m just getting my nightly run in. Why don’t you just go about your way?”

  “Oh, he’s priceless,” the leader laughed, pulling out his small pistol. “How much money you got on ya’ tonight, Mr. Beanstalk?”

  Dmitry eyed the gun and gripped the knife tighter. “You get any closer to me and you’ll find out.”

  They all laughed at him and began to circle around. The man hidden behind the building maintained his positioned, serving as a lookout from the other side.

  “Think you can take all three of us, pretty boy?” one of the smaller men asked as he walked towards Dmitry.

  “I’m sure that I could take all four of you,” Dmitry said with a smile.

  “Sure about that?” the leader asked as his face lit up under the street light.

  “Positive,” Dmitry assured, pulling his knife from his pocket.

  With the flick of his wrist, he released the large blade from his hand and watched it fly through the air, cutting through the wind and land squarely in the leader’s chest. Quietly, the man dropped to his knees, gripping the knife and gazing out at Dmitry with a startled look in his dimming eyes. He fell over on his side in the street and then rolled over onto his back.

  The small gang stopped suddenly. Looking over at their leader, they all stepped back into the darkness when they saw Dmitry pull a gun from his other jacket pocket. He heard their footsteps as they turned and ran.

  “I’ll be here, same time, same fucking place tomorrow,” Dmitry screamed out while they ran away.

  Looking around first, Dmitry walked over to the bleeding man, who looked up at him and gurgled his last bloody breaths. Dmitry politely waited for him to finally pass. Then, he put his large foot on the man’s chest, bent down and pulled the knife from his wounded chest cavity. He wiped the excess blood on the man’s jeans, picked up the gun and put both weapons back into his jacket pockets.

  “Told you that I could take you,” Dmitry said to the lifeless body. With a chuckle, he turned and started to jog.

  At least now, he was awake.

  ***

  When Dmitry returned home, Ivan and his friends had the music blasting again and were poorly entertaining a group of women in the common area. He slammed the large double doors behind him and took off his jacket. Everyone looked over at him, curious as to what mood he might be in tonight.

  Ivan quickly jumped up and brought him a beer. Lipstick stains covered the young boy’s face, and he wore a devious grin. “Where have you been?” he asked, offering a bottle of lager.

  “Running. Where do I always go at this hour?” Dmitry looked over at the small gathering and sneered. They all looked away, hoping to become invisible.

  Ivan ignored his brother’s irritation. “You look flushed. I was hoping that maybe you went and got some pussy.”

  Dmitry waved off the beer and covertly tucked the bloodstained knife and gun in his jacket. Yawning again, he went to the kitchen and grabbed a dirty glass off the counter.

  A woman laughed loudly and then whimpered in the background. “That’s not the right hole,” she protested with a start.

  Dmitry rolled his eyes, poured himself a glass of water and leaned against the counter as he watched a large cockroach climb the wall across from him. Disgusting, he thought to himself as he grabbed a black plastic bag. Carefully, he put the jacket and weapons inside.

  “What are you doing?” Ivan asked, coming into the kitchen to get more beer.

  He opened the old refrigerator and grabbed a six-pack.

  Dmitry watched him with a grimace on his face. “You’re too young to drink so much,” he said, tying off the bag. “And it’s none of your damned business what I’m doing.”

  “I’m sixteen!” Ivan exclaimed, closing the refrigerator door with a loud clang. “I’m a grown man.”

  “You should be in school. You’re throwing your life away here.”

  “You couldn’t run this place without me,” Ivan said with a smirk on his face.

  Dmitry held his tongue. He knew the reality of their existence was quite the opposite.

  “I’m just saying that we have enough money now for you to go back to school, maybe even a private school. You could change the face of the Vory. We have to be more forward thinking. Education is the key. We can’t rule from the outside without knowledge,” Dmitry explained in a low, calm voice.

  “Save your self-enlightenment, brat. I don’t want to go to school, okay. I belong here with you. You know, you can’t always depend on Davyd. He’s not me,” Ivan said, growing angry. He rolled his eyes. “One day, you’ll realize that.”

  “So that’s it? You think Davyd has taken your place?”

  “Hasn’t he?”

  Dmitry threw the plastic bag in the bottom of the garbage can. “No. But he doesn’t fill my place with whores as soon as I walk out of the door. And he thinks ahead. Maybe you should be more proactive, so that I can feel as though you can handle more responsibility.”

  Ivan’s brow spiked. “Do you know what your problem is, Dmitry? You don’t live. Those women in there aren’t technically whores. We didn’t buy them. They came here voluntarily to hang out with us and maybe do a little screwing.”

  Dmitry stared at him in wonder. “Like I said, whores. Discounted whores. Free whores. Paid whores. What’s the difference? At the end of the night, they still are whores.”

  “You really need to lightened up and get laid,” Ivan said, walking out of the kitchen. “You’re a fucking killjoy.”

  “Get them out of here before five. I don’t want them near the pickup,” Dmitry reminded in a loud voice, sure that they could hear him.

  “Da, da, I’ll kick them out by five,” Ivan answered. “But not before I screw one first.”

  The women laughed, adding insult to injury.

  ***

  With the showerhead pointed as far upright as possible, Dmitry cleaned himself in their impossibly compact bathroom. The previous day’s grime washed off and rushed into the rusty drain below. Hot water soothed his aches and filled a strange void that had emerged. He always welcomed this part of his day, when he could start anew. It was a reminder that he had another chance to get life right.

  After a hot shower and a shave, Dmitry felt like a new man. Resting on his perfectly made, king-sized bed with three pillows under his head, he read World Literature Since 1945 and drank a cup of herbal tea.

  Under the dim lights of his room, he felt at peace for the moment learning about short-story masters like Poe and Hawthorne. What a life they provided him. He could sneak away from his reality and dwell in a world designed to bring constant intrigue. Licking his thumb, he turned his page and felt his eyes grow heavy.

  Not yet, he reminded himself as he shifted in the
bed. It was almost five, almost time for the pickup. Then, he could get some rest. As his eyes flitted, his thoughts raced back to Moscow, back to Alexandria.

  He wondered what she was doing at this hour, where she was now that her fiancé was no longer in the land of the living. He had taken care of that for her. No man should ever beat a woman, especially one who had been with him. He had hated to leave her resting in the hotel after making love to her. He would have loved to awaken beside her the next day and talk on and on about all that he had missed while in prison. But that had never come to past for him. When he got on the plane that night one year ago to head to London, all contact with her was lost.

  As his eyes finally closed, he imagined that she was there. Her petite body curled up beside him, her smooth legs brushing the side of him, her long hair splayed out over his arm. She would look up at him with her perfect, wide blue eyes and pouty mouth to receive the sweetest kiss. And she would tell him that she loved him.

  “Alexandria,” he said aloud as he drifted off.

  Chapter Two

  Before Dmitry could get into a deep sleep, his bedroom door flew open, and Ivan barged in with a bottle of beer in his hand. He flipped on the light, knowing it would irritate his big brother and sat on the end of the bed.

  “Wake up,” he said, nudging Dmitry’s large arm. “Hey, fuckhead, get up. It’s time.”

  The slits of Dmitry’s eyes opened and gazed up at Ivan. With a growl, he sat up. “What time is it?” he asked gruffly.

  “Five thirty,” Ivan answered, taking a swig of his beer. “The bitches are gone. The boys are up and waiting. I figured that I’d let you get some rest before The Free Right got here to collect their shit.”

  Pulling himself off the bed, Dmitry slipped on his pants and a shirt. Even 45 minutes of rest after being up as long as he had felt wonderful. Yawning, he checked his watch and slipped on his boots. “Where’s Davyd?”

  “Downstairs waiting on you,” Ivan answered shortly. “Look, you don’t have to ask me where everyone is or what they’re doing. I know my job,” he said, standing up.

  “You’re right,” Dmitry said, pacifying him. “Good job.” It was too early in the morning to get into a pissing match with Ivan. All he wanted to do was ensure the pickup and get back to sleep.

  Ivan looked over on the bed and saw the book. Picking it up, he flipped through the pages and shook his head. “Why do you read this shit?”

  “I keep telling you,” Dmitry said, tying his black, steel-toe boots. “Self-enlightenment.” He quickly pulled his pants down over his boots and stood up. “Let’s go. She should be here soon.”

  Within thirty minutes, the same woman from the cemetery the night before along with a redheaded man in his twenties and a quiet man in his thirties with a long, black ponytail showed up at the garage. Davyd opened the door on their first knock, escorted them in at gunpoint and patted them down.

  The redhead woman still had a fiery look in her eyes as she glanced over at Dmitry, who sat in the corner watching. When Davyd cleared her, she walked over to him and nodded.

  “You look rested,” she said, wiping her own eyes.

  “About 45 minutes in the last 36 hours,” he answered.

  “Really? I was grateful for an hour,” she smiled at him.

  “What’s your name anyway,” Dmitry asked, standing up to lead them out to the garage where their shipment waited.

  “Emma…Emma Hutton.”

  He liked her name. It sounded as petite and feminine as she was. Looking down at her out of the corner of his eye as they walked, he noticed that while she looked like barbwire, she smiled like cherries.

  “Who are your guys back there?”

  She looked back and pointed. “The redhead is my baby brother, Moses, and the other fellow is one of the brothers of The Free Right, Cain.” She glanced back up at him. “How does it feel to be on top of the world all the time?”

  Dmitry grabbed the knob to the garage door and opened it for her. “It’s awkward,” he said, allowing her to pass.

  She pulled out her keys and unlocked the back of the broken-down, green van to check the boxes in the back. As promised, two hundred AK-47s with a clean history were boxed up and ready. Her eyes lit up at the sight of them. Trailing her fingers over the large brown boxes, she looked back for her brothers, who quickly came to inspect the weapons themselves.

  Moses pulled one of the weapons from the box and held it in his hands. “These are beautiful,” he said in awe. “Just what we need to put those fucking bastards on their backs. Excuse the language, M.”

  “You’re excused, dear brother,” she grinned.

  From a far, Dmitry watched on as the group talked then strode over to open the garage. The entire time, he made sure to keep his eyes on them. However, he could have cared less for the men; it was Emma who vexed him.

  Barely five feet tall, the compact woman was about twenty-five years old, and even though she tried to hide it under her scruff exterior of no make-up and green fatigues, she was clearly educated and poised.

  It was the way she pronounced every word, every syllable correctly. Her erect posture, her confidence, her focus made him know that she was one of those women whom he had often met from good families, harboring a very nasty beef with the entire world about the very privilege that she was afforded.

  As they loaded into the van and started it, she rolled down the passenger window and called out to him. “Spasiba, Dmitry,” she said with a glimmer in her eyes.

  “No problem. Just come back and do business with me again soon.” He waved.

  “We will,” she answered with a smile, giving a brisk nod.

  The garage door lifted, and they pulled out into the foggy streets of Brixton, mingling in with the other cars that littered the road on the way to work in the early morning haze. Dmitry hit the button and the garage door closed. Alone now, his thoughts zoomed back to the bed that awaited him.

  As Dmitry stepped towards the entry, Davyd stuck his head through the door and waved the phone his way. “It’s Kirill,” he growled. “There’s a problem.”

  Dmitry ducked his head in frustration and made his way to Davyd. Taking the phone, he tilted his head and looked down at him. “What kind of problem?”

  “See for yourself,” Davyd said with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

  “Hello,” Dmitry answered, closing the door behind him as he went back inside of the warehouse.

  “Brat, I’ve spoken with my contacts here. There’s a lot of shit going down. The country is crumbling. Getting the product will be more difficult now, and the price is going to shoot up about thirty percent,” his old boss Kirill explained.

  Dmitry stopped in his tracks. Gripping the phone, he tried to control his growing temper. “That’s ridiculous. What do you mean that the country is crumbling?”

  “Haven’t you been watching the news over there?”

  “No,” Dmitry said, eyeing his men, who sat on the shabby couches eating breakfast. “What are you talking about?”

  “Do you have a television set?”

  “Of course I do.” But he never watched it. Television was meaningless to him most of the time. He walked over to it and bent down to turn it on.

  “The USSR is virtually more, brat. The official announcement has not been made, but military contacts are scattering fast. We’re going to have a problem getting guns now.”

  Dmitry shook his head in disbelief. Changing the channels, he found a news station and sat down on the recliner across the room. “But there is a bid coming, and I need this.” He looked at the television blankly.

  “I’ll call back with more information if I can get another source, but currently, the price goes up by thirty percent. I’m sorry. You’ll have to raise the price on your buyers.”

  Dmitry hung up the phone and put his head back. As he looked up at the gaping ceiling, he dropped the receiver on the floor and clenched his jaw. “Kirill is playing us. You were right,” he said to Davyd.<
br />
  “I know. I told you. I was hoping now you would consider what we discussed earlier. There is a guy I know, an old friend. He’s tied to the brotherhood, and he can get us what we need, probably at a better price. He has contacts.”

  “If we do this, you realize that we might make an enemy out of Kirill.”

  “If we don’t do this, you realize that we stand to be pushed out,” Davyd said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Dmitry contemplated his actions for a moment then sat up. “Fine. Make the call. I’ll deal with Kirill later.”

  ***

  A week passed quickly, and Dmitry found himself the subject of many inquiries as Davyd roamed about trying to find suitable suppliers for their munitions needs. They lost the bid with Camille and much needed clout due to their hold up. And so far, there had been no takers after a few hard-pressed questions about the Medlov Family operation. Everyone was leery of dealing with such a young group, even with Davyd promising that he would facilitate the buy.