Russian Law (Law Series ) (Volume 1) (7 page)

“Just
looking out for you,” he told her.

“And
I appreciate it, I always do.”

She
closed the door firmly behind him.

Chapter 6

Lucas
was well
in his element as he entered the seedy nightclub. He may not speak the language
but he had other equally as important gifts, ones that could not be ignored,
even by the most heinous of creatures. And Lucas had many of them since he had
left Elena’s office.

It
hadn’t taken him long to find out where Alvin Pochenchov spent his time. All he
had to do was ask the right person the right question and here he was standing
before one of the many nightclubs on Tverskaya Street, the most trendy area for
tourists and Russian’s alike. Tverskaya Street was also the most expensive
street to shop on throughout Russia but Lucas didn’t plan on paying for the
information he was shopping for. He didn’t buy coincidence, and Agent
Nagregor’s death seemed much too tidy for him.

As
he entered Pochenchov’s club, he glanced about, his eyes noting the position
and threat level of each patron, scanning their clothes for bulges that
concealed hidden weapons. His eyes barely skimming over the many female dancers
dressed scantily in little pink panties and nothing else, their breasts on
display for all to admire and ogle.

The
dancers up on stage were moving provocatively, some making love to the poles
before them, sliding up and down while maintaining eye contact with their
marks. Lucas could never understand what men saw in coming to places like these.
To look upon women jaded in their lives, showing their well used bodies for a
buck. Lucas liked mystery and romance. He liked to use his imagination when it
came to women. To imagine what she was wearing under her clothes, to wonder
whether she wearing red panties or blue, cotton or silk, or if was she naughty
today and wore none at all. A man could spend hours contemplating such things,
like he had earlier today in Elena’s office. He couldn’t help himself, he
admitted freely.

Between
her grey eyes and tempting supple body, he had had a hard enough time not
giving into his Neanderthal urges by throwing her to the floor and having his
way with her. There was something about Elena that hit him hard in the stomach,
had all other thoughts bar her rush out of his well trained mind. She was
unlike any woman he had ever met. Intriguing, beautiful, smart and sassy – a
complete package and he was attracted to her.

Lucas
looked around at the bar. A man in a tight black shirt designed to show off his
impeccable six pack and pectorals was drying sturdy glasses, his attention on
the wrestling match playing on the widescreen TV above the bar. Lucas moved
over to the bar and sat down, allowing his gaze to settle on the wresters. He
wasn’t one for watching sport games – he was more into being part of the action
rather than the spectator but he wanted more time to check out the
establishment before making his move.

Lucas
indicated at the bar tender with a jerk of his head and the man poured two
fingers of Vodka into a glass he just finished cleaning and dumped it down on the
scarred wood of the bar. It was the type of business that served only two types
of drink and what you were given you drank without comment. Lucas put the glass
to his lips and swallowed the liquid fire as he surveyed the darkened room, lit
only by neon lights.

To
an observer Lucas looked like an ordinary American tourist, out for a good
night - a few drinks and a lap dance to warm his chilled body. One of many they
would see come and go through the months. None saw just how sharp his eyes
were, how intelligent and shrewd, how he built a map of the nightclub in his
head, marking the exits and obstacles, making sure he had a plan B in case the
first went askew.

How
gaudy, Lucas thought with disgust as he lay down money on the bar, placing his
empty glass on top. The quintessential strip joint. No matter what era or even
country every single one looked the same, seen one, seen them all. Without
giving away his avid interest, Lucas’s gaze skimmed over the man in the corner
booth, two skanky large bosomed women hung onto his every word, giggling ever
so often whilst stroking the man high on his thighs.

Two
large, thick armed, broad-chested men stood to the side. They wore the same
black shirt as the man behind the bar, matched with black trousers and shoes. They
wore identical expressions that would strike fear in any man’s heart and if any
fool failed to be fearful, the large caliber weapons clipped to their belts
would surely do the trick. Lucas was unimpressed. He had seen more scarier men.

Lucas
stood up and directly looked at the man who was gleefully lapping up his female
companion’s attentions. His hairy hand, gleaming as the light hit the gems in
his oversized rings, slid up from one woman’s waist to her large double D
breast and squeezed possessively. Lucas’s mouth curled at the disgusting
display and strode across the floor purposefully. The two goons went on instant
alert, their bodies stiffening in preparation of action.

Lucas
kept his eyes on Alvin Pochenchov, dismissing each guard as nothing but a small
barrier he had yet to get through, but didn’t anticipate an issue. With one
swift motion, Lucas grabbed one by the wrist, applying pressure to certain crucial
points and dropped him to the floor without exerting any effort whatsoever. The
second man pulled out a knife from the small of his back and swashed the blade back
and forth through the air. Lucas moved deftly and side-stepped each strike, one
barely missing his chest by but a mere inch. His hands were fists, raised high
on his chest, protecting his heart as he waited patiently for the moment to
strike.

Pochenchov’s
man was cocky, believing himself to have the upper hand. Lucas could tell the
man had no formal training, his movements too slow, too unrefined. He may be a
large man, but he knew nothing of wielding a knife properly. Lucas was soon to
teach him that having a sharp blade meant nothing, that one first needed to
know how to use it before trying to end a life with it.

Lucas
pivoted about on his foot and had in short order, broken the gorilla of a man’s
wrist, the knife he had favored lay on the ground, useless and out of reach.
Within seconds, Lucas finished him off with a headlock, cutting the air supply
off and rending him unconscious. He fell to the floor in loud thud.

Alvin
Pochenchov had obviously, after tearing himself away from more pleasurable
pursuits, seen how ineffective his men where and was in the process of reaching
for his gun when Lucas produced his Smith and Wesson and aimed it right at
Pochenchov’s heavily beating heart.

“Drop
it,” Lucas ordered in a voice no one would dare to disobey.

Gingerly,
Alvin tossed his weapon to the floor, it slid along the smooth surface and came
to a stop beside the unconscious bodyguard.

Alvin
swore with guster, no doubt calling Lucas everything from a bastard of a whore
to the son of Satan, of course he couldn’t be sure. But if the rapid fire
Russian was anything to go by, it certainly wasn’t a lullaby. Lucas admired the
lengthy tirade, it meant he had inconvenienced Pochenchov and the man would be
more than happy to part with information for the simple delight of being rid of
him.

“Are
you done?” Lucas asked idly as he retrieved his badge from his pant pocket and
flashed it to Alvin. “Special Agent Gates,” he identified himself.

Pochenchov
glared up at Lucas, his rounded stomach protruded heavily over the waistband of
his pants, placing great pressure on his belt and zipper, a man of leisure who
thought of nothing but his own pleasure.

Alvin
sneered, “What do you want American?” He practically spat the words out, his
lip curling in distaste as if he had just swallowed something foul. His eyes
were narrowed and he was looking like he would enjoy killing Lucas. That was
fine, Lucas would enjoy killing Alvin but first he wanted information and he
wanted it now.

Lucas
looked Pochenchov in the eye, showing him no fear. He was there for a reason
and he wasn’t leaving until he had all his questions answered. “Information on
Michael Ducane.”

Alvin
feigned any knowledge. “I know no Ducane.”

Lucas
shook his head. “Really see that’s not what I’ve heard. Now listen up scumbag,
we know Ducane met with you yesterday. I want to know where I can find him and
if you’ve already delivered his supplies.”

Two
dark eyes pinned him. Lucas could see the ruthless man beneath the greasy
exterior. Lucas had dealt many times with men like Pochenchov over the years
and knew they were ruled by money and greed and nothing else. There was no such
thing as loyalty and friendship in their world.

“You
better be careful American – going around asking questions that are none of
your business, you’ll end up in landfill.”

He
shrugged. He wasn’t overly concerned with the Russian’s threats.
 
“I’m
not too worried.”

“You
should be. You see I have insurance which is why I am not in prison like some
of my other associates. So beware American. I have friends in high places.
Higher in the government than even you, I could make you disappear.”

“And
I bet all I have to do is tell some of your ‘colleagues’ that you are sitting
here enjoying yourself with Federal insurance while they’re rotting in a
maximum security prison and we’ll see how long you survive.”

Pochenchov’s
dark eyes darkened even more until they were almost black in his head. His face
turned red with rage and Lucas could see the vein in his temple pulsating with
an effort to control his temper and not to show that Lucas was getting to him.
To a layman he would see quite calm. Lucas was no layman, he knew that letting
his guard down now was tantamount to suicide.

“You
certainly have a way with bargaining American. What is it you want to know?”

What
didn’t he want to know?

He
wanted to know where Ducane was, what the target was and how long he had. He
wanted to know where Zimtovich fit in and what he could’ve told Ducane that was
worth his life. He wanted to know what happened to Elena’s husband and why in
his gut did he feel like Nikolai Nagregor was involved. He opened his mouth,
ready to ask the first question but instead another one came out.

“Do
you know a man named Nagregor, an agent for SVR?”

Alvin
Pochenchov nodded. “Of course. He was the SVR agent who was murdered six months
back. He stuck his nose where it didn’t belong also. Perhaps you should take
his death as a lesson American and do what he should have done.”

“And
was that?” Lucas asked mildly, as if he cared what Alvin thought he should do.

Alvin
lit a thick cigar and took a deep puff, filling the already smoky club with the
potent stench. “Back off.”

“Did
you have him killed?” Lucas demanded, ignoring Pochenchov’s advice.

Alvin
chuckled. “Do you really expect me to answer that American? Even we here in
Russia have a court system. But I admit I respected the man. He could not be
bought or threatened. I don’t come across that integrity very often. No,” he
shook his head. “I did not have him killed. I didn’t have too. Nagregor was a
dead man from the moment he discovered something he shouldn’t have.”

Now
we were getting somewhere, everyone wanted to talk – even the most hardened
criminals find it hard not to boast. “And what might that be?”

Alvin
smiled. “That there is a mole inside Russian Intelligence, you think the
Russian’s cannot find me?” he laughed. “They do not look for me.”

Pop.

The
gunshot echoed throughout the room. Lucas dived out the way just as the bullet
from the gun whizzed past his head. He hit the floor hard, jarring his bones,
even as he aimed his weapon. He didn’t watch where the bullet landed. It wasn’t
his main concern at the moment. As long as one didn’t hit him he didn’t care. Screams
surrounded him, blocking out any other sound he might hear. The dancers had
dropped to the floor of the stage, too frightened to move any further, waiting
until the last bullet was fired. The nightclub’s patrons, unsure of what to do
and what was happening and why, moved in every direction, creating confusion
whilst rushing for the exit.

Pop.
Pop.

Two
more gunshots sounded, Lucas watched as one bullet hit Alvin Pochenchov in the
head, his body slumped back in his chair, his eyes open and sightless. Lucas moved
slowly and silently amidst the flurry of activity, keeping low to the ground,
out of sight. He stopped behind an empty chair, using it as cover. He leveled
his gun in the direction of the shooter, his analytical brain having already
determined where the shots had come from even whilst he had been under fire. From
his position behind the chair, Lucas applied pressure to the trigger of his
gun. He heard the loud
pop
, smelt the burned gunpowder and felt the gun
recoil. Years of training had him keeping his weapon pointed towards the danger
instead of the ceiling. The man in his sight jerked and dropped to the floor.

Lucas
got to his feet, accessing the danger as he crossed the floor and bent down
beside Alvin. He didn’t need to feel for a pulse. A neat round nine millimeter
hole marred his forehead, blood and brain matter was splattered against the
wall behind him. Alvin Pochenchov hadn’t had time to react. Good riddens, Lucas
thought. One less asshole in the world. Lucas he stepped over towards the
shooter, keeping his weapon trained on the man waiting for signs of movement.
He kicked away the shooter’s Russian made semi-automatic MP-443 Grach pistol, a
heavy feeling settling inside his stomach. Something was not right here. He
knelt beside the body of the shooter and rummaged through his pockets. He
pulled out a leather case and opened it to find an SVR badge.