a tall fellow wearing a dark suit, blue shirt, striped tie and black shoes stormed along the corridor from reception, past the bullpen and into the garage where Jamar and I were finishing up.
Things became a little clearer when that same fellow strode up to me and planted a right jab hard on my chin.
I spun and fell to a knee, as much shocked as anything else.
“Chad! No! I told you – it wasn’t his fault!”
“Yeah, right!” Chad grabbed the collar of my shirt and pulled me back to my feet, turning me as he did so. “Sonofabitch.”
Another punch, this one glancing off my cheekbone.
Behind the angry boyfriend, I could see Jamar holding Kara, tears running down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry. Look, it was an accident—.”
He was still throwing punches, with me bobbing and moving my head to lessen the impact. No damage so far, but the last thing I needed was to open up the cut on my forehead or aggravate my concussion.
Finally, Jamar stepped forward and took hold of Chad by the shoulders, dragging him out of the fray. He took a couple of elbows to the face in the process, though I don’t think those were deliberate.
“Asshole!”
“It was my fault, and it never should have happened.”
I tried to explain, but by then Kara had taken hold of him and was angrily maneuvering him to the door. By the time they were in his car – a slick BMW M3 convertible, of course – I was seated in the bullpen with a bag of ice pressed to my cheek.
Time to call it a day.
On the way home I put a call into Clay and Harper at the hospital.
Harper sympathized with me, and said she would call Kara that night to make sure she was alright and reassure her there were no hard feelings about the boyfriend’s outburst. Throughout it all, I could almost see the smile on Clay’s face. If laughter was the best medicine, Clay would be up and dancing the tango within a day or two.
That night Amy called. It was great to hear her voice, particularly in light of the day I had just had. Though to be honest, the last thing I needed was to get any hornier. I was beginning to feel like a teenage boy in heat.
No wonder my pranks were getting so puerile. I was normally so mature.
Right.
“Whores and s’mores. Sticky outdoor fun. Adults only, please.”
“Aagh. That’s disgusting.” At least she was laughing at my jokes. I’ve got to say, she was a hell of a lot more patient than most women I’ve known. “Hey – we’ve got a file on him. Nikolay Kuzmenko. Immigrated to Canada in 1998, from Russia. Same neighborhood in Moscow as Maxim Legenko. Served 38 months in Joyceville for possession for the purpose of trafficking and assault. He’s been off the radar for five years now.”
“Wonderful. Why would a guy like Legenko hook up with this idiot?”
“Good question. My contact in the Taskforce tells me there have been rumors all along that Legenko is tied into the Russian mob. Kuzmenko fits the profile, and they’re from the same hometown. I know the Organized Crime guys investigated Legenko’s possible mob connection a few years back, but they couldn’t prove anything. Ironically, it was some of that work that opened up the door to the current trial.”
“Hm. Maybe Legenko’s still mobbed up.”
“Could be, but my sense is they see the fraud case as the only real chance they have to put him away. Either way, Donnie, you have to stay away from this Kuzmenko dude. He’s serious trouble.”
“I hear ya.”
“Do you? It sounds to me like the gears are turning in that head of yours.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything stupid.”
“Well don’t. Listen, I’ll be on nights for the next week or so, but call me if anything else comes up.”
“Sounds good.”
That should have been it. A simple ‘talk to you later’ and I would have been home free. But oh no, I couldn’t possibly be that intelligent. I had to stir up the wasp nest, then drop it down my own shorts.
It occurred to me, out of the blue,
Things became a little clearer when that same fellow strode up to me and planted a right jab hard on my chin.
I spun and fell to a knee, as much shocked as anything else.
“Chad! No! I told you – it wasn’t his fault!”
“Yeah, right!” Chad grabbed the collar of my shirt and pulled me back to my feet, turning me as he did so. “Sonofabitch.”
Another punch, this one glancing off my cheekbone.
Behind the angry boyfriend, I could see Jamar holding Kara, tears running down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry. Look, it was an accident—.”
He was still throwing punches, with me bobbing and moving my head to lessen the impact. No damage so far, but the last thing I needed was to open up the cut on my forehead or aggravate my concussion.
Finally, Jamar stepped forward and took hold of Chad by the shoulders, dragging him out of the fray. He took a couple of elbows to the face in the process, though I don’t think those were deliberate.
“Asshole!”
“It was my fault, and it never should have happened.”
I tried to explain, but by then Kara had taken hold of him and was angrily maneuvering him to the door. By the time they were in his car – a slick BMW M3 convertible, of course – I was seated in the bullpen with a bag of ice pressed to my cheek.
Time to call it a day.
On the way home I put a call into Clay and Harper at the hospital.
Harper sympathized with me, and said she would call Kara that night to make sure she was alright and reassure her there were no hard feelings about the boyfriend’s outburst. Throughout it all, I could almost see the smile on Clay’s face. If laughter was the best medicine, Clay would be up and dancing the tango within a day or two.
That night Amy called. It was great to hear her voice, particularly in light of the day I had just had. Though to be honest, the last thing I needed was to get any hornier. I was beginning to feel like a teenage boy in heat.
No wonder my pranks were getting so puerile. I was normally so mature.
Right.
“Whores and s’mores. Sticky outdoor fun. Adults only, please.”
“Aagh. That’s disgusting.” At least she was laughing at my jokes. I’ve got to say, she was a hell of a lot more patient than most women I’ve known. “Hey – we’ve got a file on him. Nikolay Kuzmenko. Immigrated to Canada in 1998, from Russia. Same neighborhood in Moscow as Maxim Legenko. Served 38 months in Joyceville for possession for the purpose of trafficking and assault. He’s been off the radar for five years now.”
“Wonderful. Why would a guy like Legenko hook up with this idiot?”
“Good question. My contact in the Taskforce tells me there have been rumors all along that Legenko is tied into the Russian mob. Kuzmenko fits the profile, and they’re from the same hometown. I know the Organized Crime guys investigated Legenko’s possible mob connection a few years back, but they couldn’t prove anything. Ironically, it was some of that work that opened up the door to the current trial.”
“Hm. Maybe Legenko’s still mobbed up.”
“Could be, but my sense is they see the fraud case as the only real chance they have to put him away. Either way, Donnie, you have to stay away from this Kuzmenko dude. He’s serious trouble.”
“I hear ya.”
“Do you? It sounds to me like the gears are turning in that head of yours.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything stupid.”
“Well don’t. Listen, I’ll be on nights for the next week or so, but call me if anything else comes up.”
“Sounds good.”
That should have been it. A simple ‘talk to you later’ and I would have been home free. But oh no, I couldn’t possibly be that intelligent. I had to stir up the wasp nest, then drop it down my own shorts.
It occurred to me, out of the blue,
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