23:00: Miguel had been in his kitchen when a
few of his heavies from Oxnard and Santa Maria arrived. Besides Yuri and
Dimitri, he had only four others with him since the kidnapping. He needed to
establish a physical perimeter around the house as well as an exit strategy, so
he called in support from East LA. His assumption was that Adrienne’s cohorts
wouldn't let the police know what they knew, and he hadn’t counted on Ryan’s
connection with long gone Harry Baker or Alesandro, hog-tied on a cot in his
tower, to be anything of real concern. He hardly knew his opponents and that
was a weakness that brought down so many of those who, because they held sway
over so many, ignored admonitions that go back as far as the ancient Chinese
General Sun Tzu.
Miguel let Yuri direct his men to various posts
around the property. This was a military action and only Yuri and Dimitri had
any military experience, but Dimitri was a Regular Army street thug while Yuri was
special forces Spetsnaz. The T.J. gangsters were murderous maniacs whose brains
were located somewhere between their gonads and their trigger finger. Yuri
called these kids his Boyos because he was picking up on English and it sounded
good to him. He didn’t care that they might not like it and could care less too
about their misguided machismo. That kind of shit got men killed, and because of
this, he assessed Arellano-Felix’s Tee-Jay boys as tactical idiots.
Yuri also could see through Miguel. The guy was
good with turning a profit, but he wasn’t a natural leader. Had he been born in
the USSR, he would have been an apartment manager at best. Had he been born in
the USA he might have been on his way to becoming the manager of a legitimate
McDonalds. The streets of Tee Jay bred survival into him through natural selection.
His instincts, though at time murderous, were smart enough. But he was best at
counting the cash and delegating the rest to Yuri’s experience.
Adrienne heard the extra feet treading above
and was aware that something was finally going to happen. She was resigned to
whatever would come down the pike and still held out the hope she would be
rescued if she survived long enough. Resignation and hope; the dichotomy of a
prisoner’s despair. It was Yuri.
“So, what’s going on, Yuri?”
“Hold tight, we’re expecting company,” he
assured her.
Adrienne’s calm switched to horrified. If it
was Nick, and she was sure that’s who it would be, then she had only a few more
breaths to take in what had become a miserable life. She prayed, “Fuck, God,
please... I’ll do as you say. Help me please.”
“I’m sorry but I have to leave you with a new
watch...” Yuri felt bad about leaving her with Dimitri. He knew that she was
going to be killed no matter what was going to happen but he didn’t want a
sadist like Dimitri to rape and torture her. She would certainly be, at the
least, raped by now had that thug been in charge. There was something about her
that made Yuri feel paternal and, if she was to be killed, he would have done
the job as mercifully as possible. He left when his relief arrived.
“Dimitri, watch her like she's your sister,”
Yuri warned by implication. Miguel needed him elsewhere to direct the new
arrivals.
Another call on Miguel’s phone came through. He
couldn’t resist the buzzing on his belt any longer. Heading down to the wine
cellar, he answered, “Prick.”
Nick responded, “Where do you want me,”
Miguel
invited, “Come on in, old friend, where are you?”
“Let Adrienne out first.”
“By midnight.”
“Sure. How do I know she's still alive?”
“Here she is,” Miguel held the phone to
Adrienne’s face.
“Nicky?”
“Yes, I’m coming for you. Hang on.”
“No Nicky, they will kill you...” she pled. In
that one fraction of a second she’d resigned to her fate, “these bastards.
Don’t...”
Miguel withdrew the phone from her face, “If
you aren’t here by midnight you’ll find her head on the porch.”
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