Chapter 31

Arsy sat, leaning over, elbows on knees. He was looking at his painting and thinking about Aina. He was thinking about scraping the paint off and starting over. No, he was thinking of Aina.

Last night he had almost fallen on his knees, thanking his Russian Orthodox God that the fire was somewhere else and not at his house. Still, the thought of Ivo’s threat and Ivo himself had him nervously pacing around and watching out the window. And thinking about Aina.

He had been lucky. Misha, the owner of Sam’s restaurant, had agreed to hold an exhibition of Arsy’s work. Just in time for Christmas. His work did have a Christmas theme: large angels, black and white, but hardly angelical. More like powerful and ferocious winged beings whose intent was blurred—were they guardians or avengers? The paintings were fairly small. He would have liked them to be enormous but he couldn’t afford the canvas. Also, small paintings (less expensive paintings) would sell better—if they would sell at all. He still thought about his fake Rozentals but wasn’t sure how to approach Vika. It felt as if his window of opportunity had closed. There were other things on her mind, more important than buying forged art. Still, maybe she’d buy a small black and white angel—and give Misha fifty percent.

Aina was constantly on his mind. And so was her grandfather. He had to have a meeting with him. It felt like a life or death situation. He wished it could have been a social visit. In his dreams he was asking for Aina’s hand in marriage. What a foolish dream! How could he even have such dreams? He was practically broke, had no future. Still, it was imperative he warn Juris that a rival gang was gunning for his position as top guy in Jurmala’s syndicate. Arsy feared that people would die if a full scale turf war erupted.

It was clear to him that Aina had no idea what her grandfather was all about. She thought that he was a successful real estate mogul. And Arsy hadn’t had the heart to tell her otherwise. He couldn’t tell her about the art forgeries that her grandfather had commissioned from him. What other business her grandfather had going Arsy didn’t know or care but he was certain none of it was above board and honest.

The stark contrast of the unsuspecting and idealistic Aina with the dark criminal world of her grandfather struck Arsy as particularly poignant. She had no idea how much misery her grandfather had caused. Most, if not all, of his money and livelihood was based, first during Soviet times as an NKVD officer where he had been adept at robbing the hard working people who had had the misfortune of wandering into the cross hairs of the secret police. More lately, he had become even more prosperous, cheating anyone who had enough money to be cheated out of. Either way, he had been winning. But now there was a rival who wanted to take over.

Had he told Aina too much? He could hardly remember. It had felt so good to be able to talk to someone. He had talked and talked and Aina had listened her eyes glowing with understanding and acceptance. Wasn’t this what people meant when they talked about a soul mate? Now he worried. How would her grandfather react once he knew who this Arsy was who had sought out his daughter at the Arts Academy?  Arsy sensed danger from so many directions. How he wished he was wealthy and powerful and could whisk Aina away on a magic carpet, far from this precarious life she had been forced to live. But there was no magic carpet for them. That was just a dream. Arsy had to summon up his courage and resolve to face reality. And that meant facing Juris Lapins, one on one.

* * *

Arsy had no sense of being watched as he walked in the cold misty rain, through the blue-shadowed streets. He needed the air. He needed to burn off the anxiety that was eating him up. Pacing through the dark streets, he saw himself as some mythological knight, ready to sacrifice himself for the one he loved. He was sure he loved Aina. He was sure he’d do anything to protect her from the machinations of the gang coming after her grandfather. It would take guts but he could do it.

Arsy steeled himself, pulled his cell phone from an inside pocket and punched in the number Juris had given him. A minute  later, he was put through to the boss himself. Arsy’s mouth was dry, his mind stumbling, his heart racing. How best to put this? His voice shaking, he managed to get his words out.

“I need to talk to you. It’s important that I see you in person. I can only give you this information in person.”

There was silence on the line. Arsy cringed. Had he made a huge mistake?

“I’m sending someone to get you right now.” Juris’ voice was expressionless.

Arsy gasped. “Right now? I’m worried about my house. A guy threatened to burn it down.”

“I’m sending some of my people to watch your house. A taxi will pick you up at your front door in ten minutes.”

Juris ended the conversation, sending Arsy rushing back to his front door.

* * *

A few minutes later, a sleek black BMW pulled up at the door. Two burly young men got out and gave Arsy the thumbs up. He had to trust them. He had to trust Juris. They were all in this together. Weren’t they all on the same team? He thought of Aina and smiled inwardly. She needed him to do this. He was doing this for her.

A very short while later, a taxi pulled up. Arsy checked the number which Juris had given him. Everything seemed on the up and up. He got in. The driver gave a brief nod but other than that there was silence. It was already pitch dark. Arsy leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. They were speeding onwards to Jurmala.

Neither Arsy nor the driver had noticed a Merc which had also been waiting near Arsy’s front door. But a call had just come in to the driver. They were being followed. The cabbie knew what to do. Abruptly he made a dangerous U turn and the car careered off in another direction, before making several more diversionary moves. The cabbie had made the hazardous decision to drive without lights.

His mind lurching with terror, Arsy started in on a prayer he had learned in childhood. He prayed out loud. In Russian. He knew the mob would shoot first, ask questions later. He wanted a cigarette.

Arsy’s prayers seemed to have worked. Some fifteen minutes later, the cab was at the front gate of a beautiful old house. A call was made, the gate lifted and the cab drove into a large courtyard. Arsy got out and was immediately approached by a body guard who frisked him thoroughly. Arsy was clean. And surprised to see Juris himself coming out of the house to greet him and usher him inside. His face was expressionless and for a fraction of a second Arsy saw a ploy. A trap. Was he going to die? Juris reached inside his pocket. Was he pulling out a gun?

Juris pulled out a pack and offered Arsy a cigarette. With shaking hands Arsy took the fag. Juris lit it. A few deep inhales and Arsy felt a bit  calmer. He squared his shoulders, lifted his head, ready for anything.

“Here, take the whole pack. I’m trying to quit.”