Restless Waters (13 page)

“You mean, I could send a couple of water monitors over here, and you’d actually start a colony of them for me?” I questioned, hoping to gather more information.

“Absolutely. Except you’d have to come up with something better than that. I’ve already got plenty of those,” he revealed with a shrewd smile. “In fact, they’re just about ready to be caught and shipped to the mainland.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I replied in disbelief.

Water monitors grew to be seven feet in length, and were highly aggressive. Someone was in for a hell of a shock the next time they jumped in their local water hole to go for a swim.

“Why don’t you think of a reptile that’s a little more original? Perhaps along the lines of what I have back here,” Yakimov suggested.

He led the way to a bunker built out of cinder blocks. Sitting in front was a crate that had been raised off the ground.

“I bet you have no idea what those things are inside,” he challenged.

My breath caught in my throat at the sight of six long, graceful critters with whiplike tails and small, pointed heads. Light forest green in color, each had black stripes running down its back, and sharp claws attached to big strong feet. I instantly knew that I was looking at one of the rarest lizards on the planet.

“Oh my God. Those are green tree monitors from New Guinea,” I responded in a hoarse whisper, unable to imagine how he’d gotten hold of them.

“How did you know that?” Yakimov sharply ques
tioned and stared at me. “The only people who usually recognize those are experts in the field.”

Damn! I should have known better than to appear quite so knowledgeable. I quickly scrambled to cover my tracks.

“I own a pet store. Remember? Besides, I’ve always loved chameleons. I had every lizard memorized by the time I was eleven years old,” I brazenly lied. “Not only that, but I recently read an article that green tree monitors are being captive bred at the Bronx Zoo.”

That seemed to temporarily appease him. Yakimov’s complexion returned to normal, and he unclenched his fists.

“Oh yeah. I think I read about that too,” Stas said with a slight nod, as if recalling the information.

I leaned in for a closer view and let loose a low whistle. My heart jumped as it was answered by a hissing and spitting that hadn’t come from the three-foot lizards standing in front of me. Rather, the sound emanated from somewhere inside the cinderblock prison. I gazed up to meet a pair of feline eyes that angrily glared out through a small window.

“Holy shit!” I exclaimed in surprise and leaped back. “What in the hell have you got in there?”

“Well, well. Look who’s asking. If it isn’t the big animal expert,” Yakimov gloated in unconcealed delight. “I guess you aren’t as smart as you think. What you just saw is my cougar, Rocky.”

I flashed back to the streak of brown that had run across the road the other night. Could Stas be crazy enough to attempt to breed mountain lions in the rain forests of Oahu?

“You aren’t ranching those things, are you?” I asked, almost afraid to know the answer.

If so, he’d never be able to catch them again.

“Not yet. I’m still waiting for his girlfriend to arrive. She’d better come soon, though. ’Cause Rocky’s getting
impatient for female companionship, if you know what I mean,” Stas imparted with a laugh.

He kicked at something, and I saw that it was a piece of cougar scat.

I pointed to it and asked, “You don’t let Rocky outside by any chance, do you?”

Hopefully, he had more sense than to play at being Siegfried and Roy.

“No, no. Rocky goes into a large crate whenever I clean his shed. I’m not about to let him escape like the last one did. That cost me way too much time and money.”

Whadda ya know? So I hadn’t been crazy, after all. There
was
a cougar running around loose in the mountains. I could already see the headline that would one day be splashed across the
Star Advertiser
and the
Honolulu Bulletin
.

M
AN
-E
ATING
M
OUNTAIN
L
ION
G
OBBLES
Y
ET
A
NOTHER
H
UMAN

That should do wonders for Hawaii’s tourist industry.

“Why don’t we go inside and finish our business? That way we can relax and you can give me your order,” Yakimov suggested.

My, my. But wasn’t Stas eager to seal the deal? It was fine with me. I’d get a chance to snoop around inside his house.

I peered through the bunker window once more. Rocky anxiously paced back and forth, as if he were a condemned prisoner. I’d certainly hate to be his girlfriend when she finally arrived.

We approached the house, where a large mobile hung outside the back door. It looked like something that Fred Flintstone might have owned, touting real bones in place
of chimes or cute little figures of angels. A whisper of a breeze made them clatter together like skeletons engaged in a macabre dance. The sound reverberated in the air, ominous as a death rattle.

Yakimov played with them as we stood near the door.

“You like this thing? I made it myself,” he announced.

“It’s very interesting. What sort of bones did you use?” I asked, curious as to the type of animal he’d killed.

“These are from my old pit bulls,” Yakimov divulged with a peculiar grin. “This way, the dogs are always with me. I like to think of myself as a sentimental guy.”

Funny. I was beginning to think of him as a muscle-bound, lizard-breeding, environmentally polluting pervert.

I scurried past the mobile and followed Stas into what appeared to be the kitchen. The interior of the house perfectly mirrored its shabby exterior. The only thing that could have helped the place would have been a wrecking ball. Paint was peeling off the walls, and pots and pans were scattered about.

But it was the mind-boggling noise inside that made it seem as if every critter he’d ever sold had come back to haunt him. The ruckus was nearly deafening. It sounded as if something large were pinned behind the walls and desperately clawing to get out. It reminded me of hundreds of feet shuffling against gravel.

“Sorry about the racket. A delivery of crickets came today,” Stas shouted, and pointed to dozens of boxes piled high on the kitchen floor. “I like to feed them to the lizards right before they’re packed up for shipment.”

So that was it. The sound came not from one creature, but thousands of crickets crammed inside boxes. Terrific. Yakimov was importing alien insects to
feed
his invasive species, in a never-ending cycle that spelled disaster for Hawaii.

We picked our way through the mess and headed into the living room, where I viewed its unique decor. The place had a definite S&M feel about it. Probably because the furniture looked as though it had been beaten with chains and smothered in dog hair. All this was set against walls that were painted Day-Glo red.

But the true piece de resistance was the life-size pit bull that stood stuffed and mounted on a glass coffee table covered in dust. The pooch wore a tight spike collar, with teeth bared, as if ready to attack on command. Stas walked over and affectionately petted the thing before leaning down to give it a kiss.

“This is Sparky, the love of my life. I think my wife knew it as well, which was why she didn’t like him. The bitch finally gave me an ultimatum. Only one of them could stay. The other had to go. So guess which one ended up getting the boot?”

I looked at Sparky and hated to imagine what must have happened to Yakimov’s wife. Stas seemed to confirm my suspicions as our eyes met. Suddenly, something didn’t feel quite right. Perhaps it hadn’t been such a wise idea to come into the house, after all. A subtle change appeared to be taking place within Yakimov. It was definitely time to wrap things up and vamoose.

A flurry of dog hair rose in the air as Stas sank into the couch. The fur fell like a gentle mist as he stretched out his arms, as if unfolding a pair of wings. Then he pointed for me to sit in the chair opposite him.

“Okay. Now you’re going to give me a great big order, right?” Yakimov asked with a smile. But his voice held a thinly disguised threat.

I hoped to pry a few contacts from him before bolting for the door. Taking a deep breath, I launched into my spiel.

“Of course. But first I’d like the names of some wholesalers that you deal with on the mainland. I want to
check and make certain that everything’s on the up and up,” I said, congratulating myself for being oh-so clever. “After all, I plan to order quite a bit of inventory from you. That translates into a large chunk of cash. I’m sure you understand.”

Then again, maybe not. For the strangest thing started to happen. Stas’s eyes bulged as if they were about to pop out of their sockets, and his grin grew so wide that I thought his face would explode. All the while he sweated profusely, as if a faucet had been turned on over his head. However, that wasn’t the end. The muscles in his arms sprang to life, expanding and contracting, until his veins joined in the dance, in what must have been some sort of horrible steroid reaction.

“What’s going on? Now you don’t trust me? This is complete bullshit! Why did you come here in the first place if you were just going to waste my time?”

Yakimov’s mood turned on a dime, as he suddenly rose from the couch and came toward me.

Oh shit. There was no question but that I didn’t stand a chance if it came to fighting the guy.

“Be sensible, Stas. Why don’t we talk this over? I’m sure we can work things out,” I tried to reason.

But Yakimov kept moving forward like a bulldozer intent on mowing me down.

Quickly looking around, I picked up the only thing that might possibly fend him off—his former true love, Sparky.

“Don’t hurt the dog!” Stas wailed in a high-pitched howl as I raised the stuffed mutt high above me.

“I won’t,” I tried to reassure him. “Just as long as you calm down.”

But I kept a tight grip on the pooch, ready to use it as a club if necessary. Yakimov must have realized I meant business, because he started to back away.

“Okay, Gloria. You’ve made your point. Tell you what.
I’ll give you two references. After that, you’ve got five days to place an order before the prices go up.”

Who knows? Maybe this was the way business was normally conducted in Hawaii. All that mattered was that the tactic had worked. And, at this point, I was willing to settle for whatever I could get.

“You’ve got a deal,” I agreed. “Do I have your word that we have a truce?”

The man looked at Sparky, and I could have sworn that his lips began to tremble.

“Yes, I won’t touch you. Just put down the dog.”

I had no choice but to believe him, having locked my gun in the glove compartment of my vehicle. I’d wrongly figured that a pet-store owner from Long Island would have little reason to pack heat while vacationing in Hawaii. But then I hadn’t known that I’d be dealing with a nut case like Stas Yakimov.

Stas wiped a layer of sweat from his brow as I placed Sparky back down on the table.

“I have those contacts in the other room. I’ll get them for you,” he offered.

Right. Like I trusted the man out of my sight.

“I’ll come with you,” I countered, stating it more as a fact than a suggestion.

Yakimov’s kamikaze dogs broke into a round of maniacal barking before either of us could make a move.

Stas rushed to the front window, where he pushed aside the ragged curtain and peered outside.

“Damn. My other appointment is already here.”

It seemed that Yakimov was a busy man. I glanced over his shoulder and spied a black Lincoln Continental that sat parked near my vehicle. A check of the license plate revealed it was a rental. Obviously, Stas wasn’t the only one making money off the Hawaiian reptile trade.

“Call off your dogs, or I swear to God I’ll shoot the damn things!” shouted a voice that sounded vaguely familiar.

“I’ve got to do what he says,” Stas muttered, clearly beginning to panic. “You don’t know this guy. He’s totally crazy.”

I figured it must be true if he could make even someone like Yakimov nervous.

“All right, go ahead,” I agreed.

But Stas wasn’t waiting for my permission.

“Spartacus! Spartacus!” he’d already begun to yell, while running outside to herd the dogs into their pen.

With any luck, this just might work in my favor. It was possible that I was about to meet one of Yakimov’s major wholesale connections.

My palms grew damp, and my pulse sped up. The reaction wasn’t one of fear but of excitement at the prospect of snagging yet another fish on my line. However, my hopes were dashed as Yakimov quickly hurried inside.

“You’re going to have to leave now. We’ll finish our business later.”

“Like hell we will,” I protested, as Yakimov began to brusquely steer me toward the front door.

I tried to put on the brakes—until I caught sight of his visitor.

A pair of pointy alligator shoes emerged from inside the car, followed by white polyester pants and a garish Hawaiian shirt. The cheesy attire covered a six-foot-five, three-hundred-pound frame. The only way to describe the outlandish sight was
Blue Hawaii
meets
Saturday Night Fever
.

But the situation grew even more bizarre as the man’s face came into view. He had the pompadour hairdo of a fifties rock star and the nose of a punch-drunk fighter, crookedly embedded in a mound of puffy flesh. Forget
Saturday Night Fever
. This was definitely a scene straight out of
The Sopranos.

If Yakimov hadn’t been holding me tight, I might have fallen flat on the ground. But I also knew it was necessary that I keep my wits about me. The man walking toward the house was none other than Vinnie Bertucci—former bodyguard of a perp I’d busted in New Orleans for smuggling drugs inside wildlife shipments. Bertucci had moved to New York since then, where he now worked for a prominent Sicilian crime family.

I no longer argued with Yakimov, but hastily strode out the door. My eyes remained glued to Bertucci, who lowered his sunglasses and stared in surprise. Vinnie was about to speak, when he realized that I was silently mouthing the word
NO
. Instead, he slowed down as I approached.