Page 45 of Volatile Waters

As he exited from where he had come, I quickly called Adrian’s phone. “He’s coming.”

After chastising Kirill for not paying attention to the business we were in America for, we left his child-like stripper and the dirty establishment behind to follow Harold Thompson. Kirill was in a foul mood since he didn’t get to buy the dancer for the night and was being forced to work. Reading a sign above a building, he snarled, “Mug and Pour? The owner could pick any name for his establishment, and he chose Mug and Pour?”

Scanning a parking lot for Harold’s blue Corvette, from our black SUV, I remarked, “As if ‘No Cherries Here’ is any better?”

He finally smiled. “Little Yury, clever is clever, you must admit.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Then I told Adrian, who was driving, “Circle the block. The Tracker says he’s here.”

Harold was. His blue corvette was sloppily parked in an alley behind Mug and Pour. Adrian was sure to drive slowly so we could gather intel with what we were seeing. On each end of the alley were two of the guards Harold had assigned to watch his son. I couldn’t help but smirk at the larger men, as if their size meant a damn thing. They were protecting a kid who could probably beat each one to the ground with his training. That is why it was disturbing to see Mr. Thompson punching Crash in the face. Crash had grown and filled out to be the man he now was, yet he still allowed his father to have the upper hand.

“Wait a minute,” said Adrian as he drove away from the alley entrance, only to pull back into the parking lot. I was about to ask what he was doing when he pointed to a dumpster. Crouched behind the dumpster was another young man, spying. He had dark hair and was very focused on the conversation in the alley.

Growling, due to witnessing yet another complication, I asked, “Now, who the fuck is this?” Suspecting Harold was yelling at Crash for his involvement with Whitney, it was easy to predict this new stranger was overhearing details to a situation I was in the process of taking down.

As the young man snuck back to his dark Beamer, Adrian commented, “Parents have money.”

Exhaling, hoping not to have to kill another unfortunate rich kid, I nodded. “Follow him.”

When the kid pulled to the security gate of Mr. Summers’ neighborhood, we all chuckled. Kirill said, “Security now in place? Check!” But my jaw dropped when he was waved through, clearly known by the guards.

I thought to myself, Who are you and what kind of a threat do you bring? My thoughts were interrupted when my cellphone vibrated in my pocket. It was my father. “Hello?”

“We have word that Uffe’s wife is becoming too friendly with a policeman here.”

“Shit. She is talking?”

“Or fucking, the whore. Either way, it is too close to business. I want that document of Seafoam’s spawn. But first, I have a client you must meet with. He has chosen the location ‘No Cherries Here.’”

Overhearing the conversation, Kirill practically cheered in silence.

“Now?” I asked,“I’m in the middle—”

“Of course, now! Big money waits for no one.”

“It is not a set-up? I prefer to stay out of jail tonight.”

“A man of his wealth is untouchable by police, Yury. Do as you’re told.”

After a long night of negotiations with a particularly nervous billionaire client, Kirill, Adrian, and I ate dinner before we made our way back to Mr. Summers’ home. Since there now was security at the entrance, we took our “off-road” vehicle off-road and made a rear entrance through the woods on the outskirts of the neighborhood.

Parked in a discrete spot still hidden in the woods, we made our way through the trees to find the lake. It was easy to recognize Mr. Summers’ home after that. There were only a few homes to choose from. So, we crossed the green grass of Whitney’s backyard. It was plush, thick, and extremely well-groomed. Money was present everywhere. More so than when I was there years earlier. Mr. Summers was doing quite well for himself. I guess that is one reason he was not willing to save his son. The sacrifice for future status was well worth it. He and my own father had much in common.

The problem with money? It offers more power. Mr. Summers was now becoming more than a legitimate threat to my family’s business. He was becoming a hurricane that could blow us away. Mr. Summers would soon have the resources and clout to come after us while keeping himself appearing as the savior, not an acquaintance.

No lights were on as we quietly studied the house. Unbeknownst to Whitney, her parents had another home in California. They claimed to always be traveling, but the truth was, they chose to live without her in their constant presence. It was a well-hidden secret that the media never caught wind of. Whitney was alone. Or, at least, that is what we had thought.

Standing at the edge of the back patio, the three of us stared at a tall, young man sleeping in a lawn chair. Dread filled my stomach as the three of us eyed each other in dismay. I shook my head, now completely convinced much had been overheard in the alley. This kid was here to protect Whitney. Therefore, he was neck-deep in a shit storm that had only begun for him. Again, or so I had believed.

Three Russians circled the sleeping form, wondering what to do with our new obstacle. I couldn’t help but somehow recognize that he looked familiar to me. I gestured for Adrian to go find the kid’s car in case we needed to dispose of him immediately. Kirill stayed with me, deciding it was time for an American “selfie.” He crouched behind the sleeping young man, then held up his phone while making faces by the kid’s shoulder.

I smacked Kirill.

Putting his phone away, he shrugged and mouthed, “May come in handy.”

Within moments, Adrian returned only to inform me no Beamer was present, not even in the four-car garage. Stumped and baffled, I crossed my arms while peering around, trying to figure out where the kid hid his car, and why. My only choice was to wait until he woke to see what he would do next, so we snuck back to the woods for cover and to get a few hours of sleep. Being from Russia, the cool evening air didn’t faze us in the slightest.

I woke as dawn made an appearance, lighting my face. Rising to my feet, I was surprised to see the sleeping guard now awake and swimming across the lake. I kicked at Kirill and Adrian to wake. Before the kid reached the middle of the lake, he dove under the water and disappeared. Kirill and Adrian stood in time to see him resurface and climb a ladder on the dock that was in front of the very large white home, directly across from Whitney’s home.