Beyond Cover 1: Chapter 4

Last chapter, Dwayne and Emily found themselves scrambling in the aftermath of Gustav’s murder. The diamonds are missing. Mobsters have questions. Scrutiny and suspicion befall our undercover agents. Emily and Dwayne spoke with Oliver Upton, their ICB colleague and lifeline. They found out an agent named Jeff Inger is hovering around their mission like a hawk on behalf of the assistant director, Dean Johnson. Emily spied on Inger that night and discovered he was giving money to a mysterious person. Does it all tie in?

January 28, 2016
Thursday

Business as usual. Hot coffee. Another nondescript apartment somewhere in Ottawa. The afternoon sun peeked through the blinds, making the winter chill seem warmer than it was.

Dwayne gazed from his mug of black coffee to the man sitting across from him, lighting a cigarette. Short, brown hair. Deep, hazel eyes. Grey t-shirt loose over his average frame. A leather jacket hung over the back of his chair.

“What was it you wanted to ask me after selling me these?” the man said, nodding towards the bag of gems on the table.

Dwayne leaned forward and cleared his throat. “Come on, Varlam. You heard about Gustav’s murder, right?”

“Who hasn’t?” Varlam said. He exhaled a breath of smoke that curled within the sun beams.

“Fair,” Dwayne replied. “I was curious as to whether you’ve heard anything new about it.”

Varlam frowned. “Why is that?”

“Well, whoever helped with the hit made off with the diamonds Kira and I were buying from him. That’s fifty-five thousand dollars we lose on that on which we could have made more of a profit on.”

Varlem leaned back in his chair and took another drag off his cigarette. He remained quiet.

“Look,” Dwayne continued. He leaned his elbow on the table and jabbed his finger into the air. “Why he was killed isn’t my business. I don’t give a fuck about that. I don’t want to know every grievance against him. Kira and I just want those diamonds back. That’s my only business with it.”

“I understand your loss,” Varlem said. “That’s a lot of money. Unfortunately, I know nothing of who wanted Gustav dead or who would have been hired to do it.”

“Can you think of anyone who would?” Dwayne asked.

Varlam shook his head. “No. But I wish you luck in your search, Mr. Maslow.”

Dwayne knew a verbal escort to the door when he heard it. He nodded. “Thanks. We’ll talk soon.”

He stood and walked to the door. Varlam’s silence followed him. Dwayne paused for only a moment at the door, expecting that click of a gun’s safety to echo in his ear as it had in his dreams for the last couple of nights. When it never came, he opened the door and exited Varlam’s apartment.

Frustration welled up within him at the lack of answers. He’d been asking around since the murder about who may have been behind it. Not that he’d expected anyone to talk; these were mobsters, after all. The code of silence stood strong in those who took the life so seriously. So where were the weak links, the creaks in the floor above a seemingly strong foundation? Who would talk the easiest when they didn’t suspect any law enforcement around to listen in?

That’s who he had to find if he wanted any semblance of the truth.

Emily sighed as the cardboard to-go mug of green tea and honey warmed her hands inside the coffee shop. Sunlight glinted off the snow when she stepped outside, surrounded by the hum of traffic, voices of people walking by, and bass from vehicle stereos.

She paused on the sidewalk, absorbing a moment of normalcy. People mindlessly going about life. Errands. Monotonous tasks. Grocery shopping. Day jobs. Driving kids to school or appointments. Browsing store windows with post-holiday shopping fatigue and debt. The aroma of coffee and fast food and car exhaust. Changing traffic lights. Stop and go. Go and stop. A rhythm far removed from the underworld. Obscuring it, even.

She sighed, then caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window. The dark wig. Knee-length black dress with a large red floral pattern under the plain black winter coat. Knee-high black boots. Somewhere in the disguise of Kira, Emily still existed, even if only at a fraction. Even if before this, she hadn’t truly been sure of who she was. A mirror shard of what she believed she could be still remained where it had been abandoned for the sake of this mission.

Emily began sauntering down the sidewalk, lost in thought until she looked at another window and saw the reflection of a dark-haired white man in a leather jacket and black clothing behind her. Long strides, deliberately towards her. She leveled her gaze at the glass. Her chest tightened and her heart dropped. One of these guys wouldn’t be brazen enough to try and kill her in public, would they?

He stepped up beside her.

“Walk with me, Ms. Maslow,” he said quietly with a Russian accent.

Emily remained calm, gave a slight nod, and fell into step beside the man. Up close, she recognized him. The curly, long dark hair that brushed his shoulders. The piercing blue eyes.

“To what do I owe this visit, Mr. Brusilov?” she asked.

“Please, just call me Kaz. I do not get addressed as formally as my father does,” Kaz said.

“Very well, Kaz,” Emily said. “I repeat my question.”

“Ruslan would like a word with you and your father,” Kaz replied.

“Ah, I figured that was coming. When and where?” Emily said.

“Tomorrow. The Garnet Lounge. Two p.m. Whatever you do, don’t be late. I’ll tell you this but you didn’t hear it from me. Things already don’t look good for you two,” Kaz said.

“Hmm,” Emily said as she sipped her tea. Letting it calm her nerves. “I thought as much.”

“You don’t sound concerned.”

“I am concerned, yes, but not surprised. Panicking does little but cause one to make mistakes. Tell Ruslan we will be there.”

Kaz went quiet beside her as they continued walking. Emily waited for him to continue speaking or leave. He strolled with his hands in his jacket pockets, gaze drawn to the sidewalk.

“There is something else,” he said.

Emily nodded. “What is it?”

Kaz slipped into an alley and motioned for her to follow. She hesitated, then stepped behind him. He stopped and leaned against the wall. His eyes darted to both ends of the alley before landing on Emily again.

“You are not so much in trouble as your father is. His temper must be reined in. Some are not happy with his behavior,” he stated.

Emily tilted her head. Anxiety welled up within her. She thought of how Dwayne had spoken so little of that meeting with the higher ups. “Again, I am not surprised. I am aware of his temper towards others. You speak as though something happened more recently.”

Kaz frowned. “Did he not tell you what happened at the sit down with Sydor, Borya, and Fedar?”

“He informed me it happened,” Emily replied. “And that we are being accused of being cops. Nothing more.”

Kaz huffed and shook his head. “They interrogated him. Borya… held a gun to his head. Russian roulette, you know. Only one bullet in the gun…”

“Yes, I know what it is. They did that to him?” Emily said, no longer able to hide her concern. She frowned and crossed her arms, staring down Kaz.

“Borya did. Sydor stopped him. Fedar flipped out. Typical for my brother. Nikolai apparently flipped out, too. Threw a chair against the wall. Caused a scene…”

“So, my father reacted in hostility to having a gun put to his head and he is blamed for acting out?” Emily said.

At her stern, questioning tone, Kaz shifted on his feet. “Look, I don’t make the rules here. It’s insane, I know. But it looks to them like a rebellion against unwavering loyalty.”

“Hard to be loyal to someone who is okay with holding a gun to you. I understand things work… a certain way in the bratva,” Emily replied. “But we didn’t come from this. We came from a thieves’ ring. What my father did, in our world, would have been justified. Borya would have been cast out real quick. The inability to question a leader without backlash only causes division. Your organization, Kaz, is rife with it.”

“You’re not wrong,” Kaz said. “Things are out of hand and this war with the bikers is only making everyone more on edge. Paranoid. Ruslan will do no such interrogation with you two. He simply wants to ensure this wasn’t an inside job before he accuses the bikers of this murder and lashes out.”

“Did Gustav have trouble with the bikers?” Emily asked.

Kaz shook his head. “Not that we know of. But he was quite paranoid in his final days, so we know something was going on with him. We just don’t know what.”

“I had a meeting with him the day before,” Emily said. She took a drink of tea. “He had also heard a rumor about my father and I supposedly being cops and questioned me on it. If that was his focus, perhaps it wasn’t the bikers he worried about. Ruslan’s concern about it being an inside job would be justified, it seems.”

“You two aren’t the only ones rumored to be cops,” Kaz said. He pulled a cigarette pack and a lighter from his pocket. After lighting a cigarette, he took a long drag before exhaling the smoke. “But you were there when his murder happened. Ruslan wants answers.”

“As any leader would,” Emily replied. “I understand. Please tell him we will be there.”

Kaz nodded. “You two be careful out there. Keep your father out of trouble. If you can.”

A slight laugh escaped Emily at the thought. “Oh, I will try.”

“Have a good day, Ms. Maslow.”

“You as well, Kaz.”

Emily fought every urge not to look over her shoulder as she left the alley and stepped back onto the sidewalk. So, that’s what happened at the meeting Dwayne had avoided discussing. How terrifying of an ordeal it must have been, even for her gruff and disgruntled partner who usually didn’t fear much. Anyone with a fragment of sanity left would flinch by instinct at a gun to their head. And if Dwayne had simply internalized this instead of talking about it, then future confrontations with mobsters didn’t bode well.

It meant there hung before her and Dwayne a meeting where she had to worry whether he would fly off the handle at a misperceived sleight or a hint of accusation. If Ruslan approached with a calm demeanor, then perhaps they would all get out unscathed.

She had to convince Dwayne to do the same.

Photo by Illia Horokhovsky on Unsplash