Nikolai
Chatter stops when I walk into the back room of Whiskey Run. Five of my men sit around a table, empty glasses in front of them and a bottle half empty in the middle of the table, cards strewn about.
Boris is the first to get up. “Nikolai.” Boris’ cousin owns the bar, so he lets him use the back room for poker games whenever he wants.
“Bit early, isn’t it?” I ask, eyeing the dark rings under a few of their eyes.
“More late, I’d say,” Yogi laughs and gets up from his chair. “Didn’t realize the time.”
I glance at the other men. They grumble as they get up, collecting their winnings and downing the last of their drinks.
I make a show of checking my watch. “It’s fucking eleven o’clock. Have you assholes been playing all night?” It would account for the stale stench of cigars and alcohol being so heavy back here.
“Oleg’s girl is pregnant. They found out it’s going to be a boy. So, we celebrated,” Boris explains. He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and starts to gulp it down.
Oleg grins; he’s missing another tooth since the last time I saw him.
“Congratulations,” I say with a nod.
It takes only another minute before they gather up their shit and head out, leaving Boris, Yogi, and me alone.
I pull a chair from the table and sit down, stretching my back out against the wood backing. It’s been a long week, not that I have an actual work schedule. I don’t have weekends off.
“So. What’s the concern?” I fold my arms over my chest. I’ve known Yogi and Boris for years. They worked alongside me when I was learning exactly what my father does for a living. Having them be the head of my own crew wasn’t a hard call to make. I trust them as much as I trust my two older brothers and father.
Boris sighs and hooks his hands on his hips. “I hope I’m wrong, Nikolai. I really fucking do.” He shakes his head and heads to where his jacket is hanging on the hook near the door. He digs out a small baggie and brings it to me, dropping it on the table.
“What’s this?” I pick it up and take a closer look. Pills. Purple tablets with a bear stamped on one side. “Why are you showing me our own product?” Ecstasy is a top seller, easy to move and always in demand.
“Found that yesterday while dealing with a defaulted loan.” Yogi pops open a pill bottle and shakes out a few aspirin. It’s going to be a long day for these fucks after spending the night drinking and playing poker.
“So?” I drop the baggie back on the table.
“So, he didn’t get it from one of our guys. Or at least that’s what he said,” Boris explains. “He wanted to save his left hand, so he offered information in exchange. He told us he bought those pills off a Polish guy on the subway.”
“Polish?” I lean forward again, taking another look at the stamp. “How did he know the guy was Polish and not Russian? The accents are easy to confuse by someone who doesn’t know better.”
“Because the guy had a Polish flag tatted on his fucking neck.” Yogi points to the left side of his neck.
We aren’t an equal opportunity employer; our cooks, our runners, our distributers, and our dealers all have Russian blood running through their veins. Almost all of them have strong ties to our families, or our allies.
“How’d this Polish guy get our product?”
“He didn’t know. He recognized the stamp once he got the shit home. He wasn’t going to go back and ask.” Yogi throws back the aspirin and chases it down with what’s left in his glass.
I wipe my hand across my mouth. “Someone’s selling on their own then.”
“That’s my guess. Unless this Polish prick just happened to have some of our stuff and was trying to get rid of it.” Boris plays devil’s advocate.
“Can this guy get us in touch with the dealer?”
Boris shakes his head. “It wasn’t a planned purchase. He ran into him on the subway platform and doesn’t know how to get a hold of him.”
“Okay.” I stand up. “Then have this asshole take you to where he bought it and see if the Polish guy is there again. If we’re lucky, like you said, he may have just had some from his own stash he was wanting to get rid of. If that’s the case, teach him a lesson in unauthorized resales.”
“And if not?”
“We need to have a longer conversation with him.” If that’s the case, we’ll have a bigger problem on our hands than some asshole reselling our product behind our back. “What do you two have going this afternoon?”
“Have a collection at two then we’ll track down our guy and head to the subway,” Boris says, though he looks less than thrilled. “So long as the collection goes easy. I sort of doubt it though; this guy’s a real dumbass. Thinks he can smooth talk anyone. If he doesn’t have the cash, he’ll give us a real song and dance.”
“Really?” I grin. “I could use some entertainment. I’ll join you.” It’s been too long since I went on a collection run.
Boris raises his eyebrows. “You want to go on a collection run?”
“I won’t get in your way, just going for the fun,” I assure them. I’d trust them with my life, and I don’t want them seeing me tagging along as a sign I don’t. “Why don’t you two go get cleaned up, have a cup of coffee, then swing by and pick me up. I have a meeting with my father, but we’ll be done by the time you come over.”
“Sure thing,” Boris grins.
“Good.” My phone’s ringing so I answer the call as I head out to my car parked in front. It’s going to be another long ass day; having a little fun with them will do me some good.