Good Intentions (Samogon 1) (14 page)

Unless I’m with you when the shit hits the fan
, she thought.

***

It was midnight and Rochelle sat alone in the lobby of Paterson Hall. There was no way she could get to sleep with so much on her mind. Soon, the sun would be up and it would be time to drive home.
Why wait?
she thought.

She walked out to her car and pulled it around to the front of the dorm.
Two trips to her room and she had everything she needed. The whole way home she contemplated her relationship with Mikhail and all the moonshine.
Is all this getting out of hand? What’s the chance of Mikhail getting clipped?
she asked herself.
If he were to be killed, would the whiskey runs come to an end, or would Peter keep them running? What if I’m with Mikhail when they try to hit him?

Just north of the Kentucky border, she stopped at a truck stop in Portsmouth.
It was still a few hours until her mother would be up moving about. Rochelle didn’t see the point of coming home this early in the morning and arousing questions she didn’t want to answer.

She took a corner booth in the back of the diner.
Truckers, along with workers coming off the night shift, filled the front of the diner. In the back sat a couple of women dressed in hotel uniforms and who appeared to work housekeeping. Across from her, two high-school couples sat in a booth, obnoxious and drunk.

Two hours had passed and she was on her fourth cup of coffee.
She had a small breakfast, knowing that her mother would have something waiting for her. It was four-thirty in the morning and she still wasn’t expected home until nine. She had the waitress pour her another cup of coffee, then a little while later she paid her check and headed out to her car.

Rochelle sat there waiting for the time to pass before heading home and she began thinking of her situation in a different light.
Rimskys’ problems are their own. That Russian shit doesn’t concern me
. She was quickly realizing that business meant being apathetic to Mikhail’s mob war and not worrying about whether he was going to allow it to interrupt their business arrangement. It was time for Rochelle to be more business savvy.

No more
nickel and dime stuff
, she told herself. She had to find a way to start churning out larger loads and get as much money out of these Russians as possible. With the Rimskys in a mob war and dodging law enforcement on both sides of the world, their business arrangement wasn’t going to last forever.

If I’m going to be a player and be taken seriously, I’ve got to start looking the part and acting the part
. She considered every aspect―supply, security, her image and reputation, and quality of product. Sitting there, she realized what a piece of junk her car was.
First things first, I gotta get a new car
. Her 2003 Nissan Maxima had over 100,000 miles, the paint was faded, and it seemed like it went through more oil than gas. It was not a car that complimented her in any sense, but it was exactly what it was meant to be―a teenager’s first car.

She broke out her laptop and fired up her accounting software and opened up her
Excel
spreadsheets. Donovan Delights had a cash balance of $90,000 plus assets. Donovan Vending had a profit of $45,000 the first four months. Rochelle’s two personal bank accounts plus the cash she had on hand totaled $60,000. But what she was most proud of was her investment portfolio—$425,000. Although it was small compared to her whiskey profits, her portfolio was expected to return $3,171 in dividend payouts this coming fiscal quarter. Regardless, her money was working for her.

She smiled as she started to think of Chris and how he never talked about money
―he had been working with Richard Donovan since he was sixteen.
How much did daddy pay him? How much has he put away?
she wondered. She knew what he had made these last few months, but not what he had made with her father. He had $112,000 cash just working with the Russians. She quickly remembered how he offered to front momma the money for all the taxes. She giggled at the thought of how much he might have stashed away.

It was eight o'clock when Louise spotted her daughter pulling into the drive.
“Finally,” Louise Donovan said out loud, “my baby is home.” She went out on the front porch like she always did and waited for Rochelle.

Mother and daughter talked and talked.
Rochelle was sitting at the breakfast table about to nod off while Louise hurried to prepare her breakfast. It wasn’t long before Rochelle was in her old room sound asleep.

She woke up mid-afternoon and took a long hot bath, soaking in the soothing hot water.
She missed taking hot baths. College life didn’t allow for baths, unless you lived outside the dorms. That was the next thing she planned to do—find a decent apartment to rent.

She walked back to her room dripping wet in a towel.
She opened her closet and looked at everything in there, then looked at everything laying about in the room. She smelled the air of her old room and knew she was home. Rochelle felt renewed.

She knelt by the back window and rested her arms on the window sill, and looked out across the farm.
It seemed so serene. And there next to the wood pile was her little friend.

“How do you always know when I am here?”

The rabbit was just sitting there, grooming himself, watching Rochelle through the window. Rochelle watched him for a few minutes, enjoying the tranquility of her family’s farm until Peter Rabbit hopped out of sight.

Monday morning, Rochelle drove to a dealership in Lexington.
Fayette Motors and Collectibles
was a small dealership that dealt primarily in high-end vehicles. The owner of the dealership was a personal friend of attorney Jim Bowers. “Ms. Donovan, it is a pleasure to meet you,” said Don Maples, the owner. “Jimmy says you are an intriguing young lady.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too.
Mr. Bowers flatters me. He always treated my father well, and he continues to do so with my mother and me. I must admit, I owe him much credit for my recent advancements.”

“Well, what can I show you today?”

Rochelle thought about it for a moment, then replied, “To be honest, I’m not sure. I am business oriented and still quite young. I like to have fun but I want to be taken seriously. I'm not afraid to admit that I like attention and often times I crave it. I guess I’m looking for something that is going to bring out all my qualities, help portray the image I want and will allow me to look and feel great in.”

Don Maples was smiling and nodding at everything she was saying.
It wasn’t often that customers asked him what kind of car they should buy. Almost everyone had money to burn and just wanted toys to drive around so they could show off their vanity. This young lady wanted the car to be a statement of who she was and what she brought to the table. She wanted the car to be an extension of herself.

He walked around her a couple of times
, studying her, comparing how she described herself with how he saw and perceived her. Next, he sat back on one of the office desks and said, “There are only two cars I care to show you. Both are moderately priced for a girl like you but still expensive. Both are quite suitable for a young lady looking to have fun while having to be serious and classy at the same time.”

In the middle of his warehouse he showed her his two selections.
One, a black 2008 Ford Shelby GT500 convertible with black leather. It had a 6-speed manual transmission and was priced at $56,000. The other, a rare arctic white 2008 CLK-Class Mercedes-Benz with black interior and a 32-valve V8 engine. There were fewer than forty of these Mercedes in the United States that were arctic white. Maples had it listed at $75,000.

Rochelle was wowed by both cars.
Neither were as extravagant as Mikhail’s Aston Martin, but that wasn’t what she needed or even wanted. No, these two cars were perfect. Maples was spot-on with what she needed.

“Can I test drive them?”

“Not only can you test drive them, I know a couple roads where you can safely open ‘em up. You ready?”

Smiling big, she answered, “Oh, yeah.”

In the end, she chose the Mercedes. Because she was one of Bowers’ favorite clients, Maples knocked a couple thousand off the list price without her having to negotiate for it. Needless to say, he treated her right.

She drove it out that morning, then headed to a local DMV to pay the property taxes and get
her license plates transferred over. The rest of the afternoon she spent in Lexington Christmas shopping.

Eating lunch at a Cascone’s Italian restaurant, she saw a promotional advertisement behind the bar for Gentry Distilleries.

Of course! That’s it.
She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it before. She graduated high school with Luke Gentry, who was a third generation distiller in the Gentry business. Together, he and she could churn out thousands of gallons of grain alcohol.

***

Gentry Distilleries got their start in Ashland as Gentry Gin before moving to Lexington and restructuring their operation. They didn’t distill in Ashland anymore, but part of that distillery was still operational. She knew this just by being around Luke. It was time to track him down. It didn’t take long to locate him. Rochelle was smart enough to check at the Lexington distillery before heading home. By pure happenstance, he was there.

After speaking on the phone, Luke agreed to meet her on Christmas night at the O’Dwyer estate.
He told her he was extremely busy traveling with his uncle and brother doing holiday promotional work for the company, and that she should be hearing from Jennifer O’Dwyer regarding her Christmas party. Since Luke skipped college and stayed home, he knew about the party before anyone because no one had made it home yet.

The week before Christmas, Rochelle was back in Columbus minding the stores.
Traffic slowed to a fraction of what it had been because all the campuses had emptied for winter break. She took advantage of the down-time and decorated the front windows of the storefronts. High-schoolers still crowded Hazer’s arcade needing a place to hangout.

The atmosphere around the plaza was relaxed.
Maybe there was a Christmas truce that Russians honored. Maybe the other family didn’t know where Nikolay Rimsky was hiding. Maybe the Rimskys were on the offensive now.
Too many maybes
, she told herself. Paavo wasn’t going to tell her anything, so she didn’t even bother asking.

She spent the weekend shacked up with Mikhail next door in the Comfort Inn.
Wherever Mikhail went, at least three soldiers were nearby. Mikhail’s gift for her was a diamond necklace. A three carat, rare green, oval-cut diamond was surrounded by several smaller white diamonds on a platinum chain. The green diamond wasn’t very large, but its cut created such a beautiful fire in the light.

Rochelle’s eyes teared up as she became entranced with the green gem.
“It goes perfect with my daddy’s emerald earrings. Oh, Mikhail, I love it.”

“You should stay here with me, love.
We could be a great couple, making a lot of money and a lot of love.” He believed he was falling in love with Rochelle.

Rochelle on the other hand, wasn’t so sure.
She knew he was confused about his feelings with all the sex they were having and all the anxiety of being hunted by the Pistillis. She also knew there must have been another reason for the necklace because Mikhail bought it before he learned of the Pistillis’ hit on Nikolay.

“You want me to just leave home, leave my mother, leave Chris, my friends, and come with you?
Come with you where, Mikhail?”

“We all leave home sooner or later.
Do you think your
negro
lover can give you what my family can. Do you think he can protect you and love you like I do?”

She slapped him without hesitation.

Mikhail pushed her down on the bed and held her with one hand low around her throat. The look on his face as he stared Rochelle in the eyes contained mixed emotions of anger and wanton desire. With his other hand he jerked her pants down. Rochelle’s breathing became rapid. Mikhail’s desire provoked Rochelle’s longing to be made love to. He forced her onto her belly, pinning her arms behind her. She didn’t resist. She kept her shoulders on the mattress and raised her hips into the air. Mikhail used Rochelle’s panties to bind her hands. Mikhail slid inside her from behind. With one hand he pulled her head back by her flowing locks and steadied himself on her hips with his other hand. He pounded her with such vitality.

She never once looked back at him and they didn’t speak any more words.
She felt him let go of her hair and then grip her firmly by the waist. He was pulling her back as he thrust forward, their bodies slapping together. She rolled her hips and buried her face in the bed.

When he finished, his body froze as he knelt behind her.
She pressed firmly back into him, slowly rolling her hips all around him. She wanted him to stay right where he was while she came back down.