That seemed to satisfy Darya and she stayed quiet, but alert, all the way through Brighton Beach. I pulled off Neptune Avenue a few blocks from our destination.
I parked away from the apartment we were headed to. No sense in alerting everyone by driving an NYPD Impala, whether it was marked or not, into one of the tightest, most isolated communities in New York.
Darya said, “What are you hoping to find out?”
“I just want to see if anyone knows anything about Marat. These guys won’t have any loyalty to a terrorist. Terror attacks hurt their bottom line. They’ll listen for information if we tell them what to listen for.”
We walked up to the second-floor apartment, which offered a glimpse of the Atlantic if you angled your gaze just right.
I told Darya, “This guy we’re going to see goes by different names. I’ll wait until we see him to tell you what his name is now.”
A wiry man with a disturbingly dark tan and a cigarette dangling from his mouth answered the door and just stared at us for a moment. He was about forty but looked older. He said, “What a surprise. I have no idea why you are visiting me now. I’ve been a very good boy lately.” He ushered us inside. It was a surprisingly comfortable apartment, even if it did stink of cigarette smoke and beer. He plopped down in an oversize recliner while Darya and I eased onto a leather couch.
I said, “It’s nice to see you too, Mr.…”
“Vineyard. Lewis Vineyard. Good name, eh?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
The Russian said in accented English, “I like it. I figure I work on my English, no one will ever suspect who or what I am.”
I shrugged and said, “Except for the fact that you live in Brighton Beach, work at a Russian mob-run bar, and sell drugs and guns to Russian mobsters, I doubt anyone would ever suspect you of being a Russian criminal. I’m sure everyone will assume you’re Swiss.”
He gave me a smile and said, “That’s my hope.” Then he turned his attention to Darya. “And who’s this lovely creature you brought to my home? If you’re looking for a place for her to live, I agree. She can even have my bedroom.”
Darya didn’t s
ay a word and I immediately realized she didn’t want this guy knowing she was Russian as well. It was also useful for people to not realize she spoke their language.
He held up his arms to show off his tan and said, “You’d love it, baby. I sit on the beach every single day. You would, too, if you were raised in a place like Moscow.” He gazed into her face and said, “With soft, white skin like that, you could be a Russian beauty yourself.”
I said, “This is my colleague. And we’re here about something serious.”
“I’m listening.” Then he threw in, “And what’s in it for me?”
“We’re working with the feds on this, so there could be some decent reward money.”
He clapped his rough hands together and rubbed them. “Sounds good to me.” He stubbed out the cigarette in an overflowing ashtray.
I said, “It’s about the attack on the parade Thursday. I’m looking for any information about a Russian-speaking suspect. If there’s anyone unusual in the area. If there’ve been strange requests for guns or explosives. Anything you can think of.”
Lewis Vineyard said, “I deal mostly with people I know already. But I’ll keep my ears open. No one wants to see shit like that happen. There were little kids killed.”
“And we’re going to catch that son of a bitch.”
Chapter 17
We stopped at a few other places in Brighton Beach, but none seemed as promising as Lewis Vineyard. He knew everyone and dealt with everyone. I was confident he’d come up with something.
Darya said, “I can see why these people leave Russia. They left food lines, and found decent weather and good housing. It’s hard to compete with America head-to-head. Even your marketing is better than ours.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have land of the free or the streets paved with gold. We have plenty of land to farm if you don’t mind freezing in Siberia.”
I laughed at that.
She gave me a smile and said, “It would be interesting to work with you on a daily basis.”