It’s been ages since I’ve been in Boston. I love the city. There’s plenty to do and plenty to see. The people might be “Massholes” when they drive, but for the most part, they’re nice enough. I’ve never been here for pleasure, but I’ve seen various parts of the city—some better, some worse.
I’ve been to Lynn before.
Lynn, Lynn, city of sin.
You never come out the way you came in.
A fun little ditty I learned the first time I came here. It’s a North Shore town and hosts a fairly large Russian community. It’s not where Yuri Volkov lives—now that it turns out he isn’t dead. Oh, no. He moved his ass over to Chestnut Hill in Brookline to rub elbows with the proper parts of society—but he spends plenty of time here. Loan sharking, fencing, and extortion don’t go over as well in Chestnut Hill where the average household income is six figures.
Instead, he takes advantage of Lynn once having the third-largest Russian community in the States. Thetesta di cazzo—dickhead—has a predictable routine which includes coming toLynn to relive his nineteen-nineties glory days as an enforcer. He may as well strut around in an Adidas track suit and gold chain to complete the stereotype. Maybe a few ruby and emerald rings to boot.
“Is that him?” Luciana points toward thestronzo.
“Yeah. The one on the right.”
Elle, Luciana, Catalina, Margherita, Matáis,and I are in a commercial van that looks like it belongs to a high-speed internet provider. There’s a camera with a mic in what appears to be the keyhole on the front passenger door. We’re watching Yuri and three men sitting outside at a coffeeshop. They act as though they don’t have a care in the world as Yuri pours vodka into one guy’s glass. Definitely not on the menu for most people.
“Yuri, aren’t you worried about sitting out here? Diaz family won’t ignore your claims.”
A guy in a blue pinstriped suit with a heavy Russian accent, sitting to Yuri’s left, sounds nervous. When I say heavy, I mean “strong like bull.” No a, an, or the in English because those definite articles don’t exist in Russian.
“No more than I’ve ever been, Boris. Look at me. I sit outside because no one dares approach me. Those who do, haven’t survived.”
I can practically hear Catalina grinding her teeth. I glance at Matáis,and his fists are balled on his lap. I return my attention to the screen as the men continue to chat. Nothing useful comes of it until the end, when the quietest man finally joins the conversation.
“Yuri, what about our shipment from Montreal?”
I assume they mean weapons, but it could be something else.
“What about it, Mikhail? They’re just after-market car parts. You’re making it sound like bigger deal than it is.”
By after-market, he means black-market, stripped-down parts. Montreal is one of the most notorious places forunrecovered car theft. The vehicles get jacked and are almost immediately on ships to Europe. They’re often gone before the owners can report them missing. I don’t readily see why car parts are coming to Boston from Canada. It doesn’t seem profitable for anyone.
“You know it’s not air filling those tires.”
As one, all of us in the van grin.
Jackpot.
“I know, I know. Rurik thinks I’m headed to Cape for weekend, but I’ll be in Brighton South. Don’t worry.”
“Where’s Rurik going to be?”
Mikhail presses a little too hard, and Yuri turns a steely gaze on him, assessing his colleague. If the guy doesn’t back off, he’ll die before the deal happens. I observe Yuri’s drinking buddies more closely. I assess their body language and where they’re looking as their gazes wander from the conversation.
“They’re agents.”
“What?” Luciana turns her attention away from the screen to look at me.
“I don’t know which agency or even which nation, but they’re undercover.”
“How can you tell?”
Matáis sounds genuinely curious, when I feared he might be dismissive. I should’ve given him more credit.
“It’s their subtle mannerisms. I don’t believe they’re Russian, even though their accents are accurate. The way they survey their surroundings. They’re not looking for who’s going to kill them, or at the very least rob them. They’re looking for who sticks out as a potential criminal they can arrest or flip. It’s too speculative. They aren’t spies. They’re law enforcement.”
“And you believe Yuri hasn’t keyed in on that?” Catalina tilts her head as she puts the men’s body language under a microscope.
