Good Intentions (Samogon 1) (16 page)

Chris was not happy with expanding operations. Before Rochelle got involved, only a few of her father’s customers knew Chris existed―not even Rochelle knew about the moonshine—and she lived right on top of the bunker. Now, an entire Russian mob family knew who he was.

“I wasn’t even
known
in Ashland, and now you got me exposed on two continents in less than six months.” Only Rochelle could get Chris this worked up. “If that wasn’t enough, now you want to expose me to the biggest distilling family in Kentucky.
What is wrong with you?
”

She could see Chris’ anger but said nothing as he continued to vent.

“Can you just one time,
just one fucking time
, ask me or talk to me
before
you go off and make arrangements involving me? Who do you think you are that you can just drag me into whatever you feel like doing?”

Still, she said nothing.

“It pisses you off your father left the moonshine operation to me. Well, too bad. He couldn’t leave it to you; you don’t know how to make moonshine. What happens if I just shut down the stills and bury the bunker? Your mother would love for me to do just that. You would be out two million dollars.”

She kept standing there, waiting for him to finish.

“You’re getting greedy, Rochelle. When is it going to be enough?”

Finally.
“Are you through?” she asked with a solemn look on her face. “First, you’re not going to destroy the bunker. Second, I know more than anyone that this will not last forever. I’ve been thinking about that very thing these past two weeks. That’s why I’m bringing Luke in―to squeeze as much money out of the Russians before we have to close shop. When that time comes, we can hang our hat anywhere we want, do what we want and be legit.”

She kept firing at Chris.
“Mom has you squeezing every penny out of every inch of dirt on that farm and adding more of the land to crop production. I’m adding four more stills and another distiller. Same principle.”

“You’re missing the point!”
he screamed. She could always get under his skin, no matter how much he loved her. “You’ve got to talk to me
first.
I’m not yours to work. Either we are in this
together
or we’re not.”

Rochelle understood his contempt.
She realized it was wrong not to speak to Chris first, but she also feared that Chris would never have gone along with her plan―and she was right. “Maybe you’re just pissed off because daddy didn’t put you in charge of
me,
" she hissed backed at him. "You’re pissed off that I’m even involved. No, you’re not mine to work, and I’m not yours to control. It’s the Donovan name on everything―then, now, and tomorrow―whether you’re in charge of the moonshine or not.”

“You’re still missing the point.
You dragged me in with the Russians, you dragged me to Columbus to get your vending company rolling, and now you are dragging me in with Luke Gentry.”

“Be honest, Chris.
You were ready to say
no
regarding the Russians until I talked you into it. You had no choice after getting $50,000 of moonshine stuck in Charleston. If I had asked you whether I should open a vending company, you would’ve said no and told me to worry about school. If I would have asked you about approaching Luke Gentry, you would’ve said,
hell no!
You wouldn’t have gone along with anything. You
know
that’s true. You don’t want me making my own decisions, or any decisions for that matter. In fact, you probably got some crazy idea in your head that
you
should be making my decisions for me.”

“That’s
not
true. But I know life on this side of the fence. You don’t. In what world do you think you should be allowed to make criminal decisions when you know nothing about bootlegging? You didn’t even know your Russian lover was mobbed-up. You thought he was really wanting to sell the shit out of his brother’s bar.”

“That’s not fair, Chris.”

“
It is fair!"
he shouted. "And even if it wasn’t fair, so what. Nothing in this world is fair. You think it is fair that your dad died? You think it is fair your mom has to rely on moonshine money to keep her farm without you having to give up college? I bet you even worked out all the details with Gentry concerning me. You don’t get to tell other people what I’m going to do or when I’m going to do it.
I don’t work
for you!”

Rochelle was on the verge of tears.
She was so angry with Chris, but at the same time she felt sorry for dragging him into everything without talking to him and giving him a say. But the whole situation and all the money had her caught up in the life and being swept away.

“Then we have a problem
,” Rochelle said. “What do you want to do? Because this Gentry shit is happening with or without you. If I’m risking prison just for running moonshine out of a hole in the ground, then I’m going to risk it for a larger reward. Even if you get out and stop the moonshine, I still will have increased my reward over the risk.
What do you want to do?”

They stood in silence.
Chris stared across the office of the candy shop. Because so much had happened these last few months, there was no way to know what tomorrow would bring.

“Look …
you don’t make any more decisions about what we are going to do without talking to me first. This isn’t up for discussion, so if you have a problem with that, it’s over. I love you, Rochelle, I really do. But I’m not doing all the work and not having a say in what happens.”

“Okay.”

“The profits are going to be fifty-fifty,” Chris insisted. “You don’t ever rely on Mikhail to protect you. In fact, you expect him to get you caught up.”

“I’m already expecting that.
You want fifty percent, fine. But managing all the money is my call, including your half. I don’t know what you did with the money you made with Daddy, but I’m laundering this shit.”

“Fine, but separate accounts for damage control.
But you tell me right now what’s going on with Mikhail and his family.”

Rochelle hesitated, not wanting to talk about the night at the airport.
“What do you mean?”

“That's it, I’m out.
You go tell your mom that white boy you’re fucking is who you want to be with, and that you’ll be dead sooner than later because of him.”

Rochelle stood there shocked as she watched Chris leave the warehouse and drive away.

Minutes later, Mikhail’s crew showed-up for the latest shipment, and Rochelle was scared to death to be alone with them. She didn’t know any of them and couldn’t understand them as they spoke to one another in Russian. While one would talk the other two would look at her and laugh.

Are they making fun of me?
Rochelle didn’t know what to do without Chris or Mikhail around. She was absolutely quiet. She didn’t even ask for the money.

When the Russians finished loading the sixty barrels, one of them walked back to her and handed her $75,000 cash in a brown bag.
As they were leaving, Rochelle could hear them all laughing again. She sat on a pile of pallets and started crying.

Across the road, Chris sat in his truck.
He exchanged waves with the Russian driving the freight truck. Chris wasn’t about to leave Rochelle completely alone to handle the exchange, but she didn’t need to know that. She had to realize that she had a lot of growing up to do and that she needed him, even if just to keep her calm.

***

Back at home on New Year’s Eve, Rochelle walked out across the snow to her daddy’s work shop where Chris was finishing for the day. “Another Russian family tried to kill Mikhail’s brother in New York. That war he told us about, he says it has come to America.” She humbled herself and folded her arms behind her back. It was a gesture of her vulnerability.

“Yeah, I already know.
What I don’t know is why you felt it wasn’t necessary to tell me something like that. What else?”

“His brother is hiding in Columbus while he heals from being shot up.
Mikhail has a couple of his crew with him wherever he goes. They’re pretty nervous, I guess. So far their little war hasn’t come to Columbus, but it will.”

Chris felt like she was finally being honest with him.

Rochelle went on explaining, “This incident in New York is part of the reason why I made the deal with Gentry. I don’t see this lasting much longer with blood in the streets. The cops might not see the whiskey trading hands, but they sure do see dead bodies lying around. If the Rimskys can’t control the war, I reckon their political protection will run for cover.”

Chris nodded in agreement.
He turned out the lights to the shop and locked up. As he headed for his truck, Rochelle apologized.

“I’m sorry.
I don’t want to do this without you.”

He stopped and turned to face her.
The two lovers stared deeply into each other’s eyes. The look on Rochelle’s face said it all, “please, stay with me.”

Her sweet white Mercedes shot through the winding rural roads of Ashland and onto the highway, bound north for campus. Rochelle was feeling emotional this morning and was thinking of Chris. She scrolled through her playlist for some eighties music and cranked the volume.

Chris was in her head
―every thought was of him. The sounds of Prince’s “When Doves Cry” filled the car. She hit eighty miles per hour and set the cruise control on the Mercedes and started singing. Rochelle was playing it loud, so loud you could hear the lyrics in the car next to her as she passed by.

The drive went fairly quick with Rochelle lost in thought.
Outside the Columbus city limits her thoughts of Chris were interrupted by the ring-tone of her cellphone.

“
Hello? … This is her.”

The property manager from a Cartwell Bank branch in Ohio was calling to tell Rochelle that he had a small property to show her if she were still interested in moving off campus.

“I’m just outside of town. I can be there in thirty minutes.”

She stopped at Paterson Hall and dropped of
f her stuff, then shot past the Oval, across High Street, and down to 8th Avenue. When she got there, she was bemused at what she was looking at. Reluctantly, she headed inside with the property manager.

What a dump,
she thought. Rochelle was frightened by what she saw in the bathroom. “I can’t believe anyone bathed in that tub.” Green slime grew around the drain and across the bathtub. Mold lined the border of the tiles.

“I agree,
” said John Debler, the property manager. “I’m not even sure how to pitch this room except to say the plumbing works and there is plenty of hot water.”

The bathroom wasn’t the only problem, and Debler was dreading having to show the rest of the house.
It was, after all, a distress property and former rental. Almost all of the mortgage had been repaid before the owner defaulted and Cartwell Banks foreclosed. The County, too, was about to seize the house for back taxes.

Taxes!
Rochelle was so sick of hearing about taxes.

With only nine hundred square feet of living space, it had a spacious master bedroom in an upstairs loft.
The spare bedroom on the ground floor, however, was no bigger than a prison cell.

“Believe it or not, two college girls shared this little room.”

“How many lived upstairs?”

“Just four,” said Debler with a smile on his face.

Just four
. Rochelle had to laugh. “Six girls in this house? No wonder the bathroom looks the way it does.”

“Wait until you see what they did in the basement.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.
They made a crude shower that looked like it belonged in a locker room. They were roughing it to save money I guess. Just hard to believe
girls
would live like this. Frat boys I could understand.”

“Trust me, Mr. Debler, you have no idea what girls are capable of living like.
We’re just as bad when you throw us together.”

Debler led Rochelle back through the living room.
A fireplace was one of the better amenities. It gave the living room a warm and cozy feel. The living room was also the only room that didn’t have holes in the drywall.

The dining room and kitchen were plenty big, but the appliances were missing.
The back-splash was practically destroyed and the countertop was disgusting.

What Rochelle liked the most was the small sitting room that sat between the kitchen and the only bathroom.
It reeked of beer and cigarettes but would cleanup fairly easy. “This would make a great little office,” she said.

“Yes,” agreed Debler, “it would.”

The walkout basement was unfinished with low ceilings. Its foundation had only one shallow crack that ran five feet. The single-car detached garage was in shambles from years of neglect. The backyard was moderate size―and fenced.

“For what you’re looking for, Ms. Donovan, you won’t find anything else this close to campus.”

Rochelle stared out the front door. The house was right off the street―no front yard. If she took the house, she would be just a half mile east of High Street and campus.

Fortunately for Rochelle, Cartwell Bank held the deed on the house.
With Bowers’ help―rather his influence―the bank was willing to let Rochelle purchase the house instead of auctioning it off. For $75,000 Rochelle could have the house
if
she mortgaged it with the bank at a little higher interest rate.

A local contractor estimated $20,000 to renovate the distressed property to Rochelle’s liking.
Afterward, Rochelle could get the house appraised for $130,000.

“I’ll take it.”

“Well, then, let’s go start the paperwork.”

Rochelle gave her contractor until April to complete renovations.
She wanted to be moved in before semester’s end. For the time being, she would live her spring semester with Alexis in Paterson Hall.