Twenty-eight

I despise Kingsburg. Well, maybe not despise, but I'm definitely getting sick of the place. It's dull, and I'm tired of driving back and forth. I'm also tired of dealing with scumbags like Ivan and Ross Pemberton. When this is over, I don't plan to be back for a while.

I decided to make the best of the morning drive, since hopefully it would be my last. I opened the windows and let the cool autumn air fill the car. It was refreshing; the chill invigorated my senses. I cranked the stereo and switched from station to station - classic rock, R&B, jazz - anything that could pump up my adrenaline. 

I was ready, sharp like a performer waiting to take the stage. The planning and preparation were done; I knew my part cold. I just had to look into the eyes of the audience and deliver.

The girl at the desk of Pemberton's health club seemed intrigued by the press pass. She fiddled with it while she phoned down to his office. We needed to clarify some details for the article, I told her; it wouldn't take long. She smiled and directed me to proceed.

"I wasn't expecting you." Pemberton seemed busy and wasn't pleased about being interrupted.

"This should only take a moment," I explained. "We need to clarify a few details for the article. May I have a seat?"

He motioned toward the chairs on the other side of the desk. "What do you need?"

"Thank you again for your time!" I pulled a file folder from my bag and leafed through the papers and photos within. "Okay...When did you first open here in Kingsburg?"

"Five years ago, this past July," he answered.

"And would you say that business is steady or improving?"

"The business climate hasn't been great for the past few years, as I'm sure you know, but we've been doing fine for the most part."

"That's great!" I said enthusiastically. I scribbled a quick note before asking my next question. "Do you know a man named Ivan Krzynskiy?"

"What?" Pemberton looked shocked at the mention of the name.

"Ivan Krzynskiy," I clarified. "He also goes by Ivan Mednikov, but we think that that might be an alias. He's the man in this photo."

I handed Pemberton a photo of Ivan arguing with Tatiana in the parking lot before their exchange turned violent.

"The lady's name is Tatiana something."

"Vishnevsky." Pemberton's response was a reflex. I could tell that he regretted mentioning the name as soon as he had said it.

"Yes, that's it," I pretended to recall. "She works here, correct? Ballet instructor?"

"What is this all about?" Pemberton demanded crossly.

"We're compiling background on employees. It's routine. We want people to understand how they benefit from your generous policies."

"I don't think that's necessary," Pemberton snapped.

"Oh, and as a side note," I continued, "you might need to cancel that ballet class today. The instructor apparently has an appointment with Immigration."

Pemberton reached for his phone.

"Ivan isn't available, if that's who you're calling." Pemberton looked at me. "He's in federal custody, and I don't believe that the FBI is going to let you speak to him."

Pemberton backed away from the phone. "What the hell is going on?"

"There's an investigation on racketeering charges, loan sharing, human trafficking. Krzynskiy may be a part of it. Did you have dealings with him or with any of his associates?"

I placed a photo on the table showing Pemberton embracing Tatiana outside of the tapas bar.

"Where did you get this?" he demanded.

"It doesn't matter," I explained.

"You son of a bitch! I'm calling my lawyer."

"That's fine. We can follow up with Mrs. Pemberton." I pulled the disposable phone out of my pocket. "My colleague is in the Brownewood area today. I'll just give him a call."

"Wait!" Pemberton demanded. "Is that what this is about? Money?"

It seemed ironic, a successful businessman uttering the word 'money' with such contempt. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to punch him in the face.

"I wouldn't have driven to your office to blackmail you, Mr. Pemberton. I would have just telephoned."

"Well, what is it, then? What the hell do you want?"

"I don't want anything, Ross. Nothing at all." I took a deep breath and relaxed my tongue. It's an old martial arts trick that helps to keep the nerves under control.

"I'm not here for your money. I don't care how you run your business. I don't even give a shit about your little girlfriend. If she works things out at her immigration hearing, maybe she'll be back - unless Ivan's people get their hands on her. Then, who knows what might happen? You might need to call up and order another one."

Pemberton looked ashen. His lips trembled.

"But here's the thing, Ross. You know as well as I do that Ivan isn't the biggest fish in the pond. Or maybe I should say, the biggest monster in the swamp. Nasty little men who rough up girls to keep them in line - those aren't the guys who make the big decisions, the guys who call the shots. The guys who can send around enough muscle to really hurt someone. A respected businessman. His pretty wife. Or someone who borrows a bunch of money and doesn't pay it back."

"Ricky!" Pemberton exhaled in a defeated tone.

"Ricky!" I repeated.

"I...I tried to help," he explained.

"You tried to help, but the kid is still in trouble. Big trouble."

Pemberton sat motionless, his eyes downcast.

"Does it bother you, Ross, that his mother is worried sick about him?"

"Of course it does!" he exclaimed. "Did she send you?"

"No, Ross. She didn't send me. But if you want, I can turn this folder over to her. With pictures like this, she and a good divorce lawyer could probably get their hands on a big chunk of your assets. Enough to pay off a big debt, perhaps."

Pemberton shook his head and squirmed in his chair.

"But I'd have to wonder," I continued, "is wrecking your marriage really going to help anyone? It's not going to save your son. It would be too little too late as far as the money's concerned. His creditors aren't going to wait that long. One of these days they'll just show up at your house. Are you ready for that?

"You know, maybe you should just consider paying them. Because even after all that's happened, I don't think your wife really wants a divorce. I think she just wants her family to be safe."

Silence filled the room. I waited for a response, but he just sat there staring at the floor.

"Maybe you should give her a call, Ross," I proposed. "And then maybe you should make that other call. Fix this thing while you still have a chance. Get your son out of trouble while he can still walk."

I slid the folder into my bag, stood and prepared to walk out. "Oh, and just in case you get any crazy ideas - I never make one copy of anything."

Copyright © 2014 Daniel South

www.damesandscoundrels.com

All Rights Reserved

Twenty-seven

I was waiting in the parking lot when the flowers were delivered. I was there when the taxi pulled up. Tatiana walked out in a short blue dress with black high heels and a floppy black hat. She climbed into the back seat and chatted with the driver for a moment before they took off.

I hate following cars. I hate having to run through red lights and cut people off just to keep pace with some suspicious moron. I agonize over the possibility of losing them in traffic. It's more stressful than rushing to the airport, and I despise being late for a flight. 

The taxi dropped Tatiana in the parking lot of a building with several small shops. There was a mini market, a nail salon, a dog groomer, a pizza place, and a tax preparation service. The tax place was closed, and the rest didn't look busy. Across the street, a tire shop was situated next to a large vacant area, overgrown and enclosed in fencing. 

Tatiana paced nervously. She clutched her handbag and checked her phone every few seconds. I set up the video equipment and grabbed some quick stills of her as she waited. I liked the hat. It was a nice touch.

At 1:18, she dialed a number. The microphone picked up the conversation, but it was all in Russian or something that sounded like Russian.

A car arrived at 1:43. It was Ivan, the little weasel who bought me a drink at the casino. He didn't look so small standing next to Tatiana, and he was furious. The two of them launched into an animated argument. I let the video roll and called the cops on the prepaid phone.

"Yeah, there's some guy here arguing with a prostitute. They're really screaming at each other. Can you send somebody?" 

The argument continued. Tatiana showed Ivan the note from the flowers, and he smacked her across the face. He hit her a second time and knocked her to the ground. She lay there stunned and sobbing like a child who had fallen from a ride on the playground. 

Ivan continued to yell at Tatiana as he stood above her. After a moment, he realized that they were making a scene. He tried to get Tatiana to stand, but she was hysterical and pushed back his advances. Her face was a mess. 

Ivan tried to reason with Tatiana and calm her down. He was in the process of picking her up when the first police car pulled in. The officers exited the car with guns drawn and ordered Ivan to lie on the ground. One officer handcuffed him while the other kept a watchful eye on Tatiana. Women in domestic disputes sometimes turn on the officers once the aggressive male has been subdued.

Two more cruisers arrived. A group of officers raised Ivan to his feet and sat him in the back seat of one of the cars. They checked on Tatiana, but she didn't say much. She was afraid of Ivan - that was clear - and she probably was wondering if this incident was going to get her into trouble with the authorities.

The officers led Tatiana to one of the other cars and then stood around for a while chatting and placing calls on their mobile phones. I gave Wentworth a call at the State Gaming Commission. Carson answered his line.

"This is Mike Daniel. I wanted to let you know that Kingsburg Police just picked up Ivan Mednikov and one of his girls. Do you guys have a contact at the Bureau?"

Carson took some information and promised to loop in Wentworth.

"Okay," I added. "And I have some video that you'll want to see."

Copyright © 2014 Daniel South

www.damesandscoundrels.com

All Rights Reserved

Twenty-six

Philanderers like to sneak away before dawn. It's encoded into their DNA. No one wants to run into the paperboy after a night of illicit sex. 

The 4 A.M. alarm knocked me out of a dream. I was at a party at a large beach house, except the interior looked more like a hunting lodge, wooden and dark. In the dream, the house belonged to Ed, my old editor. I didn't see him, but some of my ex-colleagues were there. They asked me about a new assignment that I was working, but I couldn't remember what it was. I wanted to ask Manny, but he had stepped away.

Véronique was on the other side of the room, talking to someone and holding a drink in her hand. I was trying to make eye contact with her when the alarm went off. 

I let myself snooze for another fifteen minutes. I was not ready to get up.

It was chilly when I walked down to the parking lot, chilly and dark and breezy. The steering wheel was cold. I backed out carefully and drove to Tatiana's apartment building. Pemberton's car was still there. There was little doubt now about the nature of their relationship. 

I took one more photo of the car and then drove back to the motel. I seemed to be moving in slow motion. The car was starting to warm up, and it felt pleasant, but my body felt heavy. I needed more sleep. 

It's an odd feeling to lie down in a bed just as the sun begins to rise, a feeling that I know all too well. I set the alarm for 7:15 and woke up suddenly at 7:10.

I showered, collected my bags, and checked out. There was a liquor store down the road. I found myself thanking the alcoholics who encourage places like this to open up promotly at 8 in the morning. I wasn't in the mood to wait around.

I picked up a bottle of Purity vodka and asked to have it gift wrapped. Pemberton's staff had indicated that this was his drink of choice. I took their word for it, but I had to roll my eyes at the irony.

Pemberton's car was no longer in the lot at the apartment building. He must have gone in to one of his businesses. I put on a baseball cap and carried the bottle up to the doorman. 

"Delivery for Mr. Pemberton," I said.

"We don't have a Mr. Pemberton here." The doorman was smug and humorless.

I pulled put a piece of paper and pretended to look at it. "Yeah, they said it's a rush. I'm supposed to deliver this by nine." 

"That's 4-F," the second doorman called from the back of the lobby. The first guy looked annoyed.

"I'll have to call up," he said.

"Can I just leave it with you?" I asked impatiently. "I've got other deliveries."

"Yeah, sure. We'll send it up to her."

Yeah, eat shit, asshole. I don't care if you fucking take a bath in it. Just wipe that smug look off of your face.

I went into a flower shop along the main drag and asked the clerk for a rush delivery: One dozen multi-colored roses for Tatiana, Apt. 4-F, 1 Shepherd's Glen Court. 

I decided to add a card for a personal touch:

The usual place - 1 pm. Bring your papers. Important! Lost phone. Don't call.

The clerk promised to have the flowers there by 11. I gave her a big tip even though she tried to refuse it. I wanted my order to be delivered on time.

Copyright © 2014 Daniel South

www.damesandscoundrels.com

All Rights Reserved

Twenty-five

Pemberton's Jaguar was still parked at the apartment building at twenty to twelve. I snapped a quick photo to lock in the time stamp and then drove back over to the main road.

I checked into a motel and carried my gear up to the room. The place was a bit more expensive than I had anticipated, but it was clean and well situated, and the rooms were quiet. I wasn't expecting to get much sleep, but noise is always a nuissance. 

I set the laptop on the tiny desk and connected to the motel's WiFi service. The health club's website listed their ballet instructor as Tatiana Vishnevsky. They posted her photo, but there was no mention of her background or qualifications.

As I searched, I found information on a ballerina from Belarus with that name. Photos confirmed that it was the same Tatiana. Two years ago, she was performing with a youth company based in Minsk. Now, she was here teaching exercise classes in a gym.

Further research uncovered a revelation. There was a reason why Tatiana looked so young; she was seventeen. 

I double-checked the dates. This changed my perception of the situation significantly.

I can imagine, of course, someone of Pemberton's age divorcing his wife and running off with a younger woman. That sort of thing happens all the time. But with a teenager? That's not a midlife crisis; it's borderline debauchery. What would Pemberton's adoring employees think if they knew where their boss was sleeping tonight?

Ambitious young women sometimes hook up with a wealthy older man for financial security. But not girls Tatiana's age - they're still idealistic about love. They pine for boys and dream of having babies. Unless they've been traumatized by some horrible experience, they don't climb into bed with a man who's pushing sixty no matter how successful he is. 

Then again, something horrible may have happened to Tatiana. Or to her family. They could be desperate, or perhaps she had endured abuse in her childhood. She showed what seemed like genuine affection for Pemberton at the restaurant. Was she working to help someone back home? Was she running away from a horrible past?

How did these two meet, I wondered. And who brought her here? Eastern European brides don't show up unannounced. They're sponsored by organizations, or more likely by organized crime. 

Was Tatiana a sex slave? Was she working off an unpayable debt to some abusive coyote? Was she duped with promises of performing in the West, only to have her promising young life destroyed by criminals from the East?

I couldn't be sure, but that's what it looked like. I couldn't imagine her meeting Pemberton in a coffee shop and falling in love. Something sinister was happening behind the scenes. This would require a change in strategy.

I still planned to confront Pemberton; I hadn't changed my mind on that. But first, I would need to poke some sticks into some dark places to see what kind of reptiles mights slither out. Maybe I could help Tatiana - if indeed she wanted help - but I couldn't take too long on this side venture. I still had a responsibility to Rhonda and her son, and their time was running out. 

It was 1:30 in the morning. I didn't have many hours left for sleep. I shut down the computer, used the toilet, brushed my teeth and set the alarm for four.

Copyright © 2014 Daniel South

www.damesandscoundrels.com

All Rights Reserved

Twenty-four

After Manny left, I repositioned the car in the parking lot. I wanted to maintain a clear view of the health club entrance while remaining inconspicuous. I dialed up a sports talk radio station and set the volume low. I needed something to keep me alert, but music would have been too distracting.

Pemberton emerged forty-five minutes later and drove off in a silver Jaguar XJ. I followed him to one of his drugstores and waited for another hour and a half before he reappeared. He was talking on the phone as he pulled away.

Pemberton turned into the driveway of a red brick apartment building that was situated a few blocks off of the main road. A young blonde waited for him at the curb. She was petite and slender; her black sequined dress was probably a size two. She climbed into the passenger seat and kissed Pemberton on the cheek.

I followed the Jaguar to a tapas bar on the main road. I had to work fast, but I caught some shots of Pemberton and the young woman as they left the car with the valet. Pemberton towered over his dinner date despite the fact that she wore heels with platform soles.

I entered the restaurant cautiously. I didn't want Pemberton to recognize me from the interview. I suppose that it wouldn't have mattered - maybe Oskar Düsseldorf enjoys tapas, too - but I didn't want to jeopardize the assignment by raising suspicion. 

The young lady smiled and did her best to look fetching during dinner. She was definitely playing the charm card, laughing and tossing her hair back every few seconds. She didn't act like an escort - too young and unrefined. I was having trouble discerning the nature of their relationship.

As the meal concluded, the young lady sat close Pemberton and leaned against his chest. They were an odd pair - Pemberton was well into his fifties - but she seemed to be very comfortable despite the striking age difference.

After drinks and dessert, they left the restaurant arm in arm. Pemberton bent down and kissed her while they waited for the car. He drove her back to the apartment building and accompanied her inside. 

I found a parking spot where I could keep an eye on the front door of the building. I could see Pemberton's car as well, a few spaces down from the entrance. He didn't seem to feel the need to park it discreetly.

I pulled the laptop out from my bag and transferred photos from the gym and the restaurant to the hard drive. I pulled up a shot that isolated the blonde, touched it up a bit, and layered her image over a shot of the gym. 

It took some effort to blend the light convincingly. The results weren't perfect, but it was the best that I could do given the small number of shots that I had. I exported the image as a JPEG file and copied it to a flash drive. 

Pemberton had been inside for forty-five minutes by this point. I took a photo of his car to confirm the location and time, and then drove to a nearby, 24-hour quick copy place. I asked them to print my composite image of the blonde who now looked to be standing inside the gym. 

I drove to the health club. It was after eleven, but they were still open. I slid the photo into my satchel and clipped Manny's embarrassing press pass to my jacket.

"Hi, I'm with the newspaper. We were here earlier for a story on the club."

The desk staff looked glazed and confused after a long shift.

"We were reviewing our photo release forms. There's one person that we missed. We can't run the article until we get a signature." I placed the photo on the counter. "Do you know who she is?"

"That's Tatiana," a young woman volunteered. "But she wasn't here today."

"Maybe she just stopped by," I postulated. "What days is she here normally? I can come back."

"She's here on Tuesdays and Thursdays," the woman confirmed.

"Is she a personal trainer?"

"She teaches the ballet class."

"Thanks! You've been a big help."

"Okay, sure!"

"Oh, and we'd like to thank Mr. Pemberton with a gift," I told his staff. "Do you know what he drinks?"

Copyright © 2014 Daniel South

www.damesandscoundrels.com

All Rights Reserved

Twenty-three

"Roberto Rojas from the newspaper. We have an appointment with Mr. Pemberton."

I almost broke character and laughed when Manny rolled his r's for effect: R-r-roberto R-r-r-rojas! 

Manny loves to complain when I ask him for help with a project like this. But when the action starts, he always plays his bit with panache.

Pemberton energed from his office, a tall, gaunt, and bespectacled man who projected a polite shyness. He reminded me more of a midwestern preacher than a successful businessman. I could not imagine this guy being married to Rhonda.

Pemberton reached out a long arm and shook Manny's hand.

"Mr. Pemberton, Roberto Rojas."

"Pleased to meet you," Pemberton responded.

"This is our staff photographer, Oskar."

Oskar Düsseldorf. That's the name that Manny and Janice had made up for me. Jokers!

I almost refused to wear their bogus press badge. Manny laughed hysterically when he handed it to me in the car. I reminded him that fake ID's weren't supposed to be memorable or attract attention. His argument was somewhat reasonable - if anyone called the paper asking for Oskar Düsseldorf, they would be dismissed as a prankster. But I'm pretty sure that he and Janice just wanted to have a laugh at my expense.

"Is it okay if I shoot some photos of the facility?"

"Sure!" Pemberton assured me with a sweeping gesture of his arm.

"And one shot for the article..." He and Manny posed, smiled, and then disappeared into the office.

I took generic shots of the gym with and without patrons. I snapped some photos of the desk staff and caught some of the trainers in action. I grabbed some quick shots of an aerobics class while the instructor looked on warily.

From my shoulder bag I pulled a folder of release forms and asked the staff to sign them. We didn't need releases for news events, but for a human interest story photographed on private property, it was better to be covered. Of course, this bogus assignment would never see publication, but we had to go through the motions. If we needed to research Pemberton's staff, having their names would be helpful.

As expected, Manny emerged from the office fourteen minutes after entering. I took one more round of photos as he and Pemberton smiled and shook hands. Manny and I walked out to our respective vehicles. We had what we needed.

Copyright © 2014 Daniel South

www.damesandscoundrels.com

All Rights Reserved