eyes. “No we couldn’t,” he said. When Resnick got to Essex Street, he took a right, heading away from the station house.
“Where are we going?”
“I guess we have no choice but to introduce you to Petrenko. For all the good it’s going to do.” Resnick drove in silence after that, a darkness clouding his face. Maguire watched him for a minute then looked straight ahead, trying not to let his partner’s mood affect him. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a thin smile crack his partner’s face.
“What?” Maguire asked.
“I was just thinking of something. When you meet Petrenko, make a comment that you think he’s Jewish.”
“Why? Is he Jewish?”
“No.”
“Then what’s the point?”
Resnick’s smile stretched half an inch. “Humor me, okay?”
“Fine. I’ll humor you. What did you mean when you told that lady that people like Petrenko are not protected here?”
“Pretty much what I said.” Resnick’s thin smile disappeared. “Petrenko used to be KGB. In the Soviet Union, that sadistic son of a bitch could pretty much do as he pleased. The Russian community here know his reputation and are terrified of him.”
“How’d someone like that get into the United States?”
“By invitation. Petrenko showed up in Lynn fifteen years ago, right after my rookie year. He started off as a collector, beating the crap out of deadbeat gamblers. I tried putting the arm on him and was stopped cold. I looked into it and it turned out to be someone from the State Department. Petrenko made some sort of deal with them.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were.”
“Is he still being protected?”
“Not by them, at least I don’t think so. But Petrenko’s smart and living a charmed life. So far I haven’t been able to get anything on hime to stick.”
“What’s the worst he’s done?”
“Probably a couple of dozen murders.”
“Shit! You’re joking, right?”
“I wish I were.” Resnick showed a pained expression as he pulled up next to an auto body shop. “Petrenko’s in there waiting for us.”
“How do you know that?”
“Unfortunately, I know how that son of a bitch thinks.” Resnick paused for a moment. “Be careful in there. We want to get to him, but don’t let him get to you. He’s got very good lawyers. You do anything he can sue you over, he will.”
The body shop, a dirt-stained one-story concrete structure, had both its front and side windows covered with cardboard. Inside the place was lit up by rows of fluorescent lights. The middle bay had two guys attaching a bumper to a Cadillac. Three other guys stood around smoking cigarettes. As the two detectives entered by a side door, all five of the men looked at them for a moment before turning back to what they were doing. Resnick ignored them, knocked on a closed office door, then opened it. Viktor Petrenko was alone in the office sitting behind a desk. He frowned at the interruption.
“Yes?” he asked, his eyes deader than a mannequin’s.
“I need you to answer some questions,” Resnick said.
“You, I know,” Petrenko said, staring deadpan at Resnick. Then looking at Maguire, “I don’t know you.”
Maguire stared back, trying to figure out where he had seen eyes like that before. Maybe inside the reptile house at the zoo. He matter-of-factly flashed his identification in Petrenko’s direction before slipping it back into his wallet.
Resnick said to Petrenko, “The owner of the Kiev Market, a seventy-two-year old man about half your size, was brutally beaten, his store trashed.”
“That is too bad.”
“What happened, Viktor? Were they short this month, or did Mr. Wiseman try standing up to you?”
“Are you accusing me of this?”
“Why would I do something like that?”
“I have no idea. But if you are, I will need to call my lawyers.”
“You don’t need to do anything. Not if you can tell me where you were at ten o’clock this morning.”
A thin smile pushed on to
“Where are we going?”
“I guess we have no choice but to introduce you to Petrenko. For all the good it’s going to do.” Resnick drove in silence after that, a darkness clouding his face. Maguire watched him for a minute then looked straight ahead, trying not to let his partner’s mood affect him. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a thin smile crack his partner’s face.
“What?” Maguire asked.
“I was just thinking of something. When you meet Petrenko, make a comment that you think he’s Jewish.”
“Why? Is he Jewish?”
“No.”
“Then what’s the point?”
Resnick’s smile stretched half an inch. “Humor me, okay?”
“Fine. I’ll humor you. What did you mean when you told that lady that people like Petrenko are not protected here?”
“Pretty much what I said.” Resnick’s thin smile disappeared. “Petrenko used to be KGB. In the Soviet Union, that sadistic son of a bitch could pretty much do as he pleased. The Russian community here know his reputation and are terrified of him.”
“How’d someone like that get into the United States?”
“By invitation. Petrenko showed up in Lynn fifteen years ago, right after my rookie year. He started off as a collector, beating the crap out of deadbeat gamblers. I tried putting the arm on him and was stopped cold. I looked into it and it turned out to be someone from the State Department. Petrenko made some sort of deal with them.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were.”
“Is he still being protected?”
“Not by them, at least I don’t think so. But Petrenko’s smart and living a charmed life. So far I haven’t been able to get anything on hime to stick.”
“What’s the worst he’s done?”
“Probably a couple of dozen murders.”
“Shit! You’re joking, right?”
“I wish I were.” Resnick showed a pained expression as he pulled up next to an auto body shop. “Petrenko’s in there waiting for us.”
“How do you know that?”
“Unfortunately, I know how that son of a bitch thinks.” Resnick paused for a moment. “Be careful in there. We want to get to him, but don’t let him get to you. He’s got very good lawyers. You do anything he can sue you over, he will.”
The body shop, a dirt-stained one-story concrete structure, had both its front and side windows covered with cardboard. Inside the place was lit up by rows of fluorescent lights. The middle bay had two guys attaching a bumper to a Cadillac. Three other guys stood around smoking cigarettes. As the two detectives entered by a side door, all five of the men looked at them for a moment before turning back to what they were doing. Resnick ignored them, knocked on a closed office door, then opened it. Viktor Petrenko was alone in the office sitting behind a desk. He frowned at the interruption.
“Yes?” he asked, his eyes deader than a mannequin’s.
“I need you to answer some questions,” Resnick said.
“You, I know,” Petrenko said, staring deadpan at Resnick. Then looking at Maguire, “I don’t know you.”
Maguire stared back, trying to figure out where he had seen eyes like that before. Maybe inside the reptile house at the zoo. He matter-of-factly flashed his identification in Petrenko’s direction before slipping it back into his wallet.
Resnick said to Petrenko, “The owner of the Kiev Market, a seventy-two-year old man about half your size, was brutally beaten, his store trashed.”
“That is too bad.”
“What happened, Viktor? Were they short this month, or did Mr. Wiseman try standing up to you?”
“Are you accusing me of this?”
“Why would I do something like that?”
“I have no idea. But if you are, I will need to call my lawyers.”
“You don’t need to do anything. Not if you can tell me where you were at ten o’clock this morning.”
A thin smile pushed on to
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