Chapter 8
The basement of Mother Russia restaurant was basic and
unattractive, quite the opposite of its upstairs luxury. It was
illuminated by industrial halogen lights, painted in pewter
black paint, covered in black linoleum floors and highlighted
by one very large wooden table sent from Russian
with seating for the divine 16.
No windows gave the large space a depressing, dungeon-
like feeling. It reminded Dmitry of the rainy nights he
had spent in prison. It was such a constant reminder until
he absolutely hated going downstairs in the basement and
would only conduct business there when it was most
necessary.
Today, unfortunately, was one of those necessary days.
Dmitry had just left the springtime of Royal‟s presence and
had abruptly entered the hell that he called his private life.
Anatoly followed closely behind him as he walked down
the steps of the hidden space, where a small group of men
sat around a long table awaiting him. His feet made an echo
through the concrete staircase as he made his way down.
Each step made him nervous. The winding stairs were in a
tight place, perfect for ambush. When his foot met the last
step, the entryway expanded into a very large opening.
Dmitry took a deep breath, glad to get rid of the claustrophobic
feeling.
Two men with automatic weapons stood at a double
door‟s entry. When they saw Dmitry, they opened the
doors quickly and moved quietly out of his way.
He walked in the room and sighed. "Gentlemen," he
said, bidding them a good morning.
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They all spoke collectively and watched as he sat at the
head of the table. It was after all his rightful spot. He was
the head of the Medlov Russian Organized Crime Family, a
faction of the feared and revered Vory v Zakone that had
migrated from Russia to southern London to New York to
Memphis.
Dmitry ended up in Memphis due to the growing distribution
hub in the city and the convenience of the ever
useful Mississippi River. When he first arrived, he had only
a team of three, but his expansion required the recruitment
of old friends from around the globe.
The men had come obediently through the years to
serve the Vory and their fearless leader, Dmitry. He had
spent ten long years working to build his empire, and in one
decade he had amassed more wealth and power than anyone
had in his position before him.
However well-known he was in the dangerous underground
circles, Dmitry hid in plain sight well, behind
lucrative and very upstanding investments both in safe
stocks and real estate, starting new businesses and pretending
to be an upstanding citizen working hard in his restaurant
because of his passion for food and his desire to be
around people.
However, everyone in this room knew that he was the
coldest, strongest, and most astringent of them all. A true
member of the obocheck. He had slaughtered anyone who
dared stand in his way, purchased both politicians and
police alike, intimidated and followed through on the most
unthinkable threats. And never truly worked a day in his
life. He was Boss Dmitry Medlov.
The other fifteen men around him had been allowed to
live within a modified code of the Thieves-in-law. They had
been permitted wives, children, the ability to intermingle
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with the society and the denial, so far, of the penalty of
death for their transgressions against the code.
However, Dmitry had stayed true to the old ways. He
had watched over them, rightfully chosen as their leader
because of his denial of all things that went against the code.
He had not taken a woman as anything more than a lover;
he had no children bearing his name; although he had
businesses, he had never worked a day in his life – lived on
only what he made through the code; and he loathed the
government and all of its criminal justice departments. He
had a file within every federal agency in the U.S., several in
UK, was on watch by Interpol and still feared in Russia, the
Ukraine and Georgia.
Only no one could touch him, because he was so skilled
at covering his tracks.
"You know the drill, Anatoly. Check the room before
we begin," Dmitry said, looking through a file that had been
placed in front of him.
Not only did Dmitry run all of their secret gatherings
like corporate board meetings, but he also had paid an FBI
agent to train Anatoly to check the room for bugs and the
phone for taps.
"It‟s clear," Anatoly said, standing in the back of the
room, two Glocks visible in the leather holsters under his
arms.
"Good. Now, I‟ll make this quick, mostly because I just
don‟t want to be here today," Dmitry huffed, irritated.
"While I am your leader, I‟ve always considered us to be
brothers. I have been fair with you. Where I have prospered,
so have you. But the knife cuts both ways. Where I
have suffered, so shall you, if you are the cause. Would you
not agree that this is wise?"
They all agreed that it was not only wise but generous.
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"Then why would one of you desecrate the most scared
of our laws by talking to the police?"
The men looked around urgently, all surprised, at least
one scared of what he knew the consequence would be.
Death. It was part of the code. No Vor cooperated with
the government. It had been the one code that was unbreakable,
and so far in all the years they had been in
Memphis, it had gone unbroken.
"Which one of you is it?" He pointed down the table as
he talked. "I‟ll make things much easier for you, if you just
tell me the truth, now. But if you force me to tell you who
you are, it will be most unfortunate for you." His voice
never raised but his demeanor was cold and sinister. His
long finger fell behind the force of his stare. He sat back in
his chair and sighed, waiting for a response. There was
none.
The room was silent. Some of the older counterparts
grumbled under their breath, angry at the leak, anxious to
know who the snitch was. How dare someone talk! The
outrage overflowed.
Dmitry looked down at his watch. The long ivory dial
made its way around the circumference of the golden plated
watch face.
"I‟ll give you another thirty seconds. I‟ll even count it
down for you. One, two, three, four…"
As Dmitry counted down the death sentence, Anatoly
moved from the back of the room out of the darkness of
the shadows with the shiny, chrome nine millimeter in his
hand. Each person looked at the other while watching
Dmitry‟s face for some indication of who the traitor was.
But he gave no sign, he simply kept counting. "Thirty," he
said finally.
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There was an unmistakable click as Anatoly pulled the
trigger. The shot was quick and accurate. A man‟s body on
the far end of the table flew forward, blood spewing out of
his disfigured head in ulterior-spray red on the others.
There was no gasp or shock. They all looked on bemused,
horrified that their friend had been a traitor. His death was
insignificant because of his treachery.
Dmitry looked down at the brain matter on the folder
that had projected across the room and cringed. Even in
the man‟s death, Kirill had made a mess of things.
He took the handkerchief from his side pocket and
wiped the folder off. Then, he carefully passed the folder
with the leaked transcripts of conversations about each of
them along with pictures of the traitor meeting with the
police to the man on his immediate right.
"It‟s sad day when we cannot trust our own. This man
has been my friend for many years. He was one of the
original settlers. I know his wife, his children, his mistress, his
life. It pains me to have to have done this, but you all know
the rules that we live by. I have granted you the ability,
unlike many of our brothers across the world, to marry, to
have more than we would have in Russia, but one thing will
not change. We do not cooperate with police; they cooperate
with us. We do not roll over on each other. It has
always and will always be punishable by death."
The men agreed silently, looking on for their leader‟s
direction.
"What was he speaking to the police about," Khalid
asked, a mid-fifties, balding Russian man. Putting on his
glasses as the file arrived in front of him; he clinched the
paper with his bony, slender fingers and squinted as he read
the sobering transcripts.
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"The police are forming a strong investigation against
us. They want to find out who is the leader. They think
that if they cut head off, organization dies."
"We have evolved much since the old days," Khalid
smirked.
"Sometimes I fear to our own detriment," Dmitry replied.
"How did you find out?" another man asked perplexed.
"I am not without my own contacts in most agencies. I
will not, however, reveal my source."
"For how long has this gone on?" another man chimed
in, disgusted by the betrayal.
"He was arrested the other night by a local. Subsequently,
he was questioned by feds because of his knowledge.
One of mine inside got the information to me."
Dmitry sighed.
Frustrated, he clinched his teeth, but did not raise his
voice. "With every choice, there is a consequence. So,
enough about him. We move forward."
The men were dead silent but in agreement with Dmitry.
He focused in, past the fury and hurt in his heart.
"In the next few weeks, we have much to do. If we are
going to successfully take over the northern territory, we
have to get new reinforcements from New York. I‟ve
already met with them. We have about ten new guys
coming in soon. Plus, I have sent to our friends in New
York for a seasoned leader for his place. I have asked that
they send someone with impeccable skills in nuclear trafficking,"
Dmitry said, daring not to ever utter his dead
friend‟s name again.
"The northern territory has always been crap shoot. It‟s
time to organize it and utilize the roadways to transport. It‟s
cheaper, and if you lose one shipment, you‟ve got hundreds
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109
more behind it and before it. Now, this won‟t be easy.
State troopers are doubling in number up the I-40 highway,
but its prime real estate. I‟ve already purchased a few
houses up and down the highway as far up as Knoxville.
We‟ll use them as safe houses to push the product out to
the east coast safely."
"These men. Are they going to secure the way up to
Knoxville?"
"Yes," Dmitry said calmly. "That is their singular purpose."
"When?" one of the men asked, looking at the file.
"As soon they arrive, we‟ll begin sending them out in
shifts," Dmitry said, walking to the door. "This group of
ten that they are sending will be our newest muscle. They‟re
all professionals with military, drug trafficking, munitions
trafficking experience. They didn‟t come cheap, but New
York has loaned them out to us for a while. So, go home
and spend time with your families. We should not be
concerned about all of this. We have capable men handling
it all, and we can go home to our families and spend time
with them in peace."
We was a term that was never used by Dmitry. They
looked up at him curiously. We? Who was we? Dmitry had
no family. He had sworn when he became the boss of to
uphold all codes of the Vory v Zakone ensuring purity at
the highest level for the organization.
He had never so much as even hinted at a lover being a
significant other. He treated women like jewelry, discarding
them on a whim. Now he spoke of family? Everyone
automatically thought of the beautiful black girl that he had
thrown the party for the night before. Could it be the Boss
Medlov had softened over the years? Had his tyrannical
reign over Memphis started to come to a slow end?
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They also thought of how kind he had been to their
now dead friend. One bullet, no torture. Dmitry had to be
in love. This was a man who would have walked into the
meeting with a steak knife and cut out the man‟s entrails.
However intrigued, no one dared say a word to Dmitry;
to ask him about his personal life might mean that they
would join their departed friend. Instead they nodded in
agreement and saw him quietly out followed by his faithful
henchman Anatoly. He left the room silently, almost
remorseful for the loss. It was strange to see a reaction of
any sort coming from a man who had never shown remorse
for anything before.
As the door closed, they looked at each other with
raised eyebrows but still did not utter one word. Conversations
would take place far from this place, far from the
corpse lying before them bent over the table in a blood
pool.