Then he comes back out. “A good soldier with ambition. He’s got a list running of who’s who, including the meetings we’ve pushed back, and informants he thinks we can use or shouldn’t.”
“Proactive.”
Denis grunts. “We’ll get him, and then we can build this to what it should be.”
After he leaves, I make another call, this time to an informant whose name is familiar. Mikhail. Fuck, it’s one of Demyan’s.
The man works for Simonov and must feed his brother information, who, in turn, passes it on the sly to Demyan.
Demyan’s always liked to keep a finger on pulses he doesn’t do business with, just to get a general lay of the land, and his informant’s brother’s a good, layered way in.
Mikhail gives me his brother’s details on the proviso that he’s kept out of it all. Fine by me since I don’t particularly want Demyan knowing I contacted an informant of his. Not in this climate.
I call Mikhail’s brother, Vladimir.
I tell him that this is between him and me and nothing to do with anyone else, including his brother. If he can’t agree to that, I walk.
“Very well,” he says in Russian. “I’ll talk to you. But this is Simonov, and while I’m low down, I know things. He’s a man who will kill me if he finds out, so yes, I’ll talk in exchange for protection and a whole lot of cash.”
I think about it. He hasn’t said a thing to raise any flags, since asking for money is standard.
But I’m also not naïve. I need to make sure there’s something here.
“If what you have to say is worth money, I’ll pay.”
“And if not?” Vladimir asks.
“You know how this works. You walk away. If you need to escape, I will help, but no cash for bad information.”
He falls silent. “There’s a bar in Streeterville where we can meet.”
“I’ll meet you there in an hour.”
At first,I don’t see Vladimir when Elisei and I arrive.
I don’t know what he looks like, but he’s not here. No one is we can see, apart from a barfly who’s of no importance, and the bartender. We’re on time, so maybe he’s running late.
Or maybe he’s hiding in the shadows, watching.
Role’s reversed, I might do the same, get a feel for the lay of the land.
I order a drink, as does Elisei. A bourbon for me and a vodka for him. The bar’s dark, a dive, and a good place to meet.
Elisei taps my arm. “In the far corner.”
I follow his gaze.
Vladimir. I’d bet money on it. He sits slouched, hand around a beer he’s not drinking, and he’s nervous as shit. His hand’s wrapped tight, knuckle’s white, and though he’s presenting the illusion of relaxed, every muscle is bunched. He half sits up when he sees me, so we head over. Elisei sits at the table in front of the booth so he can observe the empty bar. I sit across from Vladimir.
The man’s jumpy and constantly looks over his shoulder. All he needs is a tin-foil hat to go with his paranoia.
Then again, maybe I’d be the same, given the reputation Simonov has.
“Talk.”
He picks at the label on his beer bottle. “I hear things,” Vladimir says. “Part of the job. They never see the little people.”
It sounds like Simonov isn’t the nicest of employers. I don’t care, not beyond the fact it might make him even more willing to spill whatever he has.
