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?"
"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?"
"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.
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.
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.
"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."
"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?
"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."
