Ch.8

Georgy Woznyuk was not looking forward to the conversation he was about to have. He was muscle for the Federov crime family, and his current job was to be Dimi Fedorov's bodyguard.

I just wanna be killin’ shit on my Rogue in Realms of Battlecraft, Vanilla Classic! Shit, ganking noobs is way better than today’s shit show is gonna be. Fucking Dimi! Turning what should have been an easy job into a complete dumpster fire!

Dimi was a cousin of the Federov main family, a couple times removed, from Vlad and Old Man Federov, Vlad’s dad. Old Man Federov was the real head of the family, back in Russia. The main family didn’t really give a shit about Dimi, most of the time... and he’d caused enough problems recently that they barely gave a crap about him getting his ass whupped.

Georgy sighed. HA! I’m a bodyguard? More like babysitter. Arrogant little shit can’t keep his nose OR his dick clean. Him having a thing for Catholic high school girls was fine when it was just strippers and prostitutes dressed that way... once it proceeded to ACTUAL Catholic high school girls, that was just going too damned far.

Dimi was getting worse, too. He’d almost killed the girl who was his most recent obsession. At least she’d actually been 18!

Dimi had sworn it was an accident. Georgy hoped he was telling the truth, but he didn’t really believe that was true.

Well, it's not exactly surprising, now, is it? His whole family is a bunch of psychopaths!

He’d never say it out loud, but Dimi getting his shit kicked in by this Ramirez kid was karmic justice. Not that he really believed in such things, but he'd seen too much brutality while working for the Federovs to ever believe in some higher force, power, or principle that promoted justice or fairness.

Dimi was currently in surgery, having his knee surgically repaired. The Ramirez kid had absolutely demolished Dimi’s left knee, right elbow, and right shoulder... but the knee was the worst off.

The doc said Dimi will probably walk with a limp from now on. Apparently that shin kick to his knee was like a goddamned bomb going off inside his leg! I sure as hell am glad it wasn’t me.

Dimi was a moron, but technically he was a part of the Federov family. Not that Georgy was anything other than relieved that he wouldn’t have to clean up his messes for a while.

Under other circumstances, he’d be unworried about his coming meeting with Maxie. Maximov Volkov was one of the underbosses for the Federovs, and he was one of the saner ones...

He’s still a fucking monster, of course. Calling him sane is VERY relative.

Maxie, like most of the Fedorov's underbosses, ran one of their semi-legitimate businesses. In this case a strip club, Sinful Delights. Strip clubs in the Portland area were essentially a license to print money. Between cover charges to walk in the front door, wildly overpriced drinks and food, and the dancers paying a fee every shift they worked, plus things like VIP room fees, even completely legally, a popular strip club made a couple hundred grand a month, PROFIT!

And, of course, all of the Federov’s strip clubs were popular. Eastern European woman were rightfully known for their beauty, and the Federovs weren’t above addicting women to drugs, using psychological pressure tactics, or even torture to turn pretty teenagers into strippers who were more than willing to sell their bodies for a premium price on the side.

For most of them, though, none of the nasty stuff was even necessary. Just bring them from some rural area in or near Russia to the U.S., introduce them to the good life for a few weeks, then hand them a pair of stripper heels, a thong, and a skimpy dress and they walked out on stage to start shaking their naked tits happily!

Because of all that, Sinful Delights and the other strip clubs owned by the Federovs always had a core of almost ridiculously hot women sporting Eastern European or Russian accents.

Really hot, naked women made sure that the Federov’s clubs were popular and drew a crowd. Crowded strip clubs made the local girls really want to work there, too, because working at a more popular strip club meant more customers and more customers meant more and better tips and more private dances and VIP sessions sold.

Maxie was otherwise occupied when Georgy showed up. TWO minutes later, a smoking hot blond, maybe nineteen or twenty-years old walked out of his office, checking her makeup in a small mirror from her purse and reapplying her lipstick.

When Georgy walked in, Maxie was tucking his shirt into his pants with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Perfect timing, Georgy! Have a seat, tell me what happened this morning.”

Maxie looked like the slimebag he was; in fact, he was almost the stereotypical strip club manager. Slicked back black hair, with a sprinkling of silver, his Eastern European and Slavic ancestry were easily visible. He was a big man, a bit over six feet tall, and like everyone who worked for the Federovs as muscle, he was in good shape.

The boss insisted they stay in shape and you did NOT talk back to Vladimir Federov! Most people who did talk back did so precisely once.

They never got the chance to do so twice.

Georgy sat down with a sigh. “Dimi went and did something stupid, of course... again. This time, though, he really messed with the wrong guy. Brucie, too. He tried that move he thinks is so slick, the jab-head fake combo and then going for the double leg takedown, you know the one?”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Maxie did indeed know the one. It was a move that Brucie started most fights with, and he got into a lot of fights! The Fedorov's insisted that their men train in some kind of hand-to-hand combat, though it was only really a stringent requirement for the street level guys... they didn’t care if it was boxing, wrestling, MMA, or anything else, really. Vlad checked up on them, regularly, too.

To quote Vlad, “Bitches pay me, I don’t pay bitches. Train so you’re not a bitch, or get ready to pay up!”

“So, the guy saw it coming?” Maxie asked.

Georgy nodded. “Obviously saw right through it. Caught him with a knee to the face as he went for the takedown, it was pretty damned slick... and it fucked Bruce ALL up. Broke his nose, knocked out a bunch of teeth, probably broke his jaw, too. Pretty Boy Brucie is gonna need a new nickname.” he told Maxie.

Maxie chuckled. “What happened with Dimi?”

Georgy shook his head. “The guy drops Brucie and his partner, Tark in like 10 seconds... Dimi pulls his piece and opens fire, but the guy is already moving the second he reaches for it. When he misses, they guy blows his knee up with a Muay Thai-style shin kick, grabs the arm holding the gun in an arm bar, takes him down and pins him. Orders Dimi to drop the gun, Dimi pulls the trigger again even though it's not pointed anywhere near the guy... so he hyperextends his elbow and dislocates his shoulder. On purpose, for sure. Even told Dimi he was gonna cripple him for pulling the trigger again.”

Maxie whistles. “Ice cold mother fucker, huh? He a student there?”

Georgy shrugged. “I think so. He had a gym bag and was wearing sweats. Kajukenbo is not one of those sport martial arts, word is the teacher won’t let his students enter anything but full contact tournaments or MMA matches. The owner’s whole family are all ex-military; mostly Army and Marines. He had active-duty tours of service in combat zones. They apparently don’t fuck around, so it's not surprising that their students don’t either.”

“And what were YOU doing while Dimi, Tark, and Brucie were getting their shit kicked in?” Maxie asked Georgy.

“Hey, you’re the one who told me to stop holding his hand!” Georgy responded.

Maxie nodded. “Yeah, I did. I still need an answer that I can tell Vlad as to why his cousin is in the hospital getting cut on so he’ll be able to walk again, Georgy. He’s the one that ordered ME to tell you that, too... so we’re both probably in the clear, but we both know he’s gonna ask.”

Georgy grunted, frowning. “I’ll be totally honest with you, other than shooting him, I don’t think I coulda touched him. I do MMA with Brucie, and though I can usually take him when we get matched up, this guy was a damned BEAST... plus that Jojo kid was there, too. He’s also a black belt. I felt like getting outta there in one piece was a smarter move than getting my ass kicked and winding up in lock up.”

Maxie growled. “You did the smart thing, Georgy, yeah, but I’m not sure if Vlad will like that answer.”

Georgy shrugged. “I’m not gonna lie to him, Maxie. You know what he does to people who he catches lying to him...”

Everyone in the Federovs knew what Vlad did to people who lied to him. He’d made sure everyone who worked for him knew what happened, and that no one wanted it to happen to them.

Maxie shrugged. “Probably the right way to go, but still, Georgy, I think you may end up wishing you did something different this morning. The real problem is how Hale reacts to all of this. Figure something out, I don’t care how. Keep an eye on ‘em for a few days. If they talk to the cops, I wanna know. When one of ‘em takes a piss, I wanna know. We still need Hale’s property if we want to finish our end of the deal, and sitting around with our thumbs up our asses isn’t gonna get that done.”

Shit. Georgy was never happy to be given this kind of responsibility, but this was how working for the Federovs went.

“Ok, Maxie. I’ll round up a few of the boys and we’ll set up some kind of a rotation to keep an eye on ‘em.” Georgy said.

Maxie nodded. “Try to figure out who the guy who kicked Dimi’s shit in is, too. He seems like he’s a problem.”

Georgy nodded. “You're the boss, Maxie. I’ll be on the lookout.”

Maxie nodded and waved him out.

Georgy was at least a little relieved. At least he’s taking the time to figure out some kind of a plan. This job was always gonna be a pain, but because of that knucklehead Dimi, it's now at a whole new level.

--------------------------

By the time I got home, I was completely exhausted.

I guess it's not every day you almost get shot and find out the guys you just beat up are from the Mob.

My home was owned by my old high school buddy, Chris Drummond. His grandparents had left it to him in their will, and while it was in an area surrounded by subdivisions, it had been part of a huge parcel of land that the Drummond family had owned for over a century in the Hillsboro area.

It meant that we didn’t have any real neighbors, and our house was surrounded by several acres of fenced in green space, attached to an even larger green space that was a big park owned by the state.

There was even a good-sized pond and a stream running through it.

The house itself was two stories above ground and had a furnished basement and even a good-sized sub-basement for storage. We’d spent some time the last couple of years installing a hydropower system using the pond and stream on his property, and a small wind and solar farm.

It was mostly just a fun way to do some guy stuff involving power tools and beer, more than anything, but it was already paying for itself, and since Chris was an electrical engineer, he was able to teach himself how to do most of the maintenance on it all himself.

Chris was playing a video game in the living room on the big screen TV when I walked in, Banner halfway parked across his lap.

Chris is a bit shorter than me, at about 5’11”, but he’s always been a little fluffier than me, too, weighing in at around 260 or 270 pounds, maybe. The only time I’d known him to be in good shape was the year or so in high school that he’d joined NW Kajukenbo and trained with me.

Chris had wavy brown hair that he kept down to his neck in the back, just long enough for a small ponytail if he wanted one. Aside from that, he was usually a nice, pasty white as he generally avoided sunlight like he had an allergy to it. Admittedly, his complexion was more about him being the grandson of Swedish immigrants and working the night shift at Intel than anything else.

I waved, and accepted Banner’s enthusiastic hello for a few seconds, giving him good boy pets and scritches, before giving him a specific hand sign and firmly commanding, “Banner. Sit!” Which Banner did. “Stay.” Another, matching hand sign.

He was both a high energy dog and pretty high strung even for a German Shepherd, but his training was coming along nicely. He wasn’t even three years old yet, and I still considered him barely more than a puppy. He got one of the treats he loves and more scritches for being obedient.

“Were you at the dojo all day?” Chris asked, pausing his video game.

I nodded. “Yeah, man. Today was freaking crazy! You’re not gonna believe the insanity I had to deal with.”

I told him all about the fight and having to talk to the cops, even adding in the bit about them maybe being made men. He just shook his head. Chris has been pretty much my best friend since long before we became roommates. “You're a mad man, Ray! So, you almost got shot?”

I nodded. “Yeah, that was pretty freaky. I’ve been in plenty of fights before, even had a guy pull a knife on me once outside of a bar, but getting a gun pulled on me was a whole NEW thing!”

Chris just shook his head. “So, uh, what was that like?” he asked. He sounded genuinely interested. I think most guys would want to know.

“When he reached for it, all I could see was that he was trying to pull something out. At the time I had no idea if it was a gun or a knife, or his cell phone, even! My only thought was getting closer so I could control the arm holding whatever he was pulling out. It's pretty basic self-defense against a weapon user. Get ahold of the arm holding the weapon so you can keep the other person from doing whatever nasty thing they want to use it to do. Basically, I saw him reach for whatever it was and was running at him before I really had a chance to think about it.”

Chris frowned. “I remember Sensei Kai talking about that kind of thing before. One of the whole points of martial art training is to just ingrain reactions, right? So, you don’t need to think about them, they just happen?”

I nodded. “Yup. If you have to consider what you're going to do, it slows down your reaction time. It's why Sensei Hale says you need to practice a move a few thousand times before you can say you’ve really mastered it. At that point, muscle memory just inserts itself and the ingrained actions and reactions can take over. It’s the same reason that sparring regularly and with multiple opponents is important.”

Chris nodded, then chuckled. “Your still fuckin’ nuts, Ramirez!” he said, throwing a couch cushion at me.

I grabbed it out of mid-air and tossed it back with a grin. “Yeah, yeah, you're not the first person to say that... today.”

We grinned at each other.

I made myself some fancy ramen noodles, by which I mean I boiled water, cut up some green onion and a green pepper, then added a couple of eggs and some broiled chicken, plus a couple of spices. I then microwaved it until the eggs were cooked and ate.

It was freaking delicious. It's amazing how easy it is to make delicious ramen noodles with less than fifteen minutes of work, half of which is boiling the water!

I spent a few hours playing video games with Chris, took Banner for a nice, long walk so he could do his business, and then went to bed early.

It had been a long day, and I was beat. I went to bed and was asleep seconds after my head hit the pillow.