Page 68 of Brooklyn Bratva

Without another word, he took aim with an outstretched arm and I didn’t stop him.

“Wait. Wait! I can help you!”

I closed my hand around the barrel of Max’s gun, giving him a tight shake of my head. His jaw flared as I redirected his aim to the floor and I knew he was itching to pull rank, but we weren’t equals here, this was my territory.

If Ruslan had something I could use, I needed to hear it.

“Not yet. Let him speak if he’s got something to say.”

There was a chance he could give me enough on Grigori to get him put away, and then our Ukranian problem would disappear. I had every confidence I could improve Russo-Ukranian relations in Brighton Beach with a different man at the helm. Someone less set on going back to the old days, someone more business-minded.

“Why should I trust you about not killing Mehmet?”

“It was Grigori.”

Max shook his head. “For the love of God. He’s going to say just about anything right now. Believe me, I’ve heard it all.” He unclipped the cartridge at the base of his gun, slipping a bullet off the end of it, and feeding it back into the bottom.

I knew he was right, and it was doubtful the man himself had got his hands dirty.

Ruslan’s eyes went a touch wider. I held up my hand to shut Maxim up.

“Keep talking.”

“I went to find Grigori. I told him what happened. That I didn’t have the phones. He wasn’t happy. He said I needed to find a replacement batch.”

That made no sense. Grigori didn’t need to be pissing around with low value goods like that, when I knew full well he had rackets set up bringing in thousands and thousands every month.

“What’s the deal with the phones?”

Ruslan shrugged. “I- I don’t know.”

Gut instinct told me he was lying. “Bullshit. What’s the deal with the phones?”

I saw his eyes flicker to Maxim and back to me. I was no fool. Ruslan thought I was reluctant to hurt him, and no doubt he was playing to that, looking to give me any excuse to call Maxim off. “They don’t tell me details.”

“Try again.”

Without warning, I unholstered my Sig, firing a single shot inches from Ruslan’s right ear. He screamed out as the sound exploded off the walls and I knew, even before I saw the trickle of blood leaking down the side of his face that his eardrum had ruptured.

I grabbed his chin, yanking his face around so that he was looking at me.

“Read my lips, suka. Tell me about the phones.”

Ruslan’s breathing faltered and he groaned. My fingers bit into his cheeks as he shook his head. “You won’t like it.”

“Enlighten me.”

“It’s for the Medicare numbers. Grigori has these forms for people to fill out, to sign up for his clinics. They fill in the details, they get a new phone.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes. Simple.”

I felt the growl building in my throat. I always knew Grigori was a scumbag, but I thought he’d draw the line at screwing over his own people, using up their insurance allowances right under their noses. I didn’t like the idea of anyone taking advantage of pensioners like that, but in Brighton Beach, Grigori had to know that most of the people signing up would be fellow immigrants, just like him. He had even fewer scruples than I’d given him credit for.

I narrowed my eyes, lifting my gun to his eye-line again, and he visibly paled.

“There’s more. Keep talking.”

“I find the guys who steal the phones.”

“Guys like Jerome?”

Ruslan nodded. “Grigori said to target non-Russian speakers. They’re cannon fodder. If they get caught, it doesn’t matter. They’re replaceable.”

“Everyone’s replaceable,” Max chimed in darkly, and Ruslan swallowed, visibly paling despite his swarthy skin at the sound of the cartridge of Max’s gun clicking back into place.

“Wait. Wait – I pay them in drugs. They sell them on, and bring the money back. They get a cut.”

Drug dealing the world over relied on people desperate enough for money to dole out the product. I nodded. The only thing that didn’t make sense to me was why Ruslan had come to me for a lousy cut, when he’d clearly been a larger part of Grigori’s operation.

“Why were you working for me as well? You were feeding him information on our contacts?”

Ruslan shook his head. “No. Grigori’s racket isn’t sustainable. He doesn’t have the network in place – the protection of the police that you do. I want to work for you.”

“Isn’t that touching. He just wants to be friends. We don’t have police protection either. Ivan is the police. Are we done now? My trigger finger’s got a terrible itch.”

“Please.” Ruslan eyeballed me. “I can help you. I give you all you need to put Grigori away.”

I gave the man a long look.

“You cross us, we will hunt you down and when we find you, it will take you days to die and you will beg me for Maxim’s bullets.”

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