Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)Mikhail Vladimirovitch Uljanov checked to see if the lights in the Doherty's apartment was still on. It was close to midnight on a sunday evening, and Mikhail (Miki to his friends) was waiting for the inhabitants to go to sleep. Miki's van was parked in a lower middle class neighbourhood where the irish mob once had reigned, enjoying a modicum of acceptance and even respect from the local populace. Miki's mob had changed that. They had all but wiped out the irish mafia in the area and moved in to set up shop.
Miki had soon come to an understanding with the local PD as he started up gambling, loan sharking, protection rackets, prostitution, and drug distribution and sales in the area. The locals had initially been hostile towards Miki's mob. But after a few brutal examples had been made and people's craving for peace and quiet to indulge in their vices asserted itself, things had settled down nicely.
Due to his success in pacifying this area, Miki had quickly climbed the ladder in his organization. He answered to no one except the bosses back in Russia. Miki smiled when he thought back on his career. The son of a drunken labourer and a mother who'd been bitter and resentful towards Miki because he according to her had "ruined her life", he'd escaped home as often as humanly possible from a very young age. In his early teens he'd started his criminal career, stealing cars and running a protection racket with his local gang. He'd risen quickly through the ranks by being calculating yet decisive, and he quickly caught the attention of the organization he now worked for.
They had encouraged him to join the army and to seek out one of Russia's many élite units, ending up in Spetznas where he learned to become an efficient killing machine. After his military service came to an end he was sent abroad by his gangster bosses, the language skills and training of the Spetznas coming in handy as they wreaked bloody havoc on the east coast of the United States.
Now, at 37, Miki had it made. Running a sizeable part of Boston's underworld, he was still not afraid to get his hands dirty. He was an intimidating figure, 6'3" tall and piercing blue eyes with crew cut blonde, almost white hair. He worked out religiously and had a muscled and lean frame as his reward. He sported a rather large slavic nose and a modest pair of ears, and he had a ready smile on his thin clean shaved lips that seldom reached his eyes. Miki also believed in maintaining a grooming and clothing standard, making his mob one of the more dapper ones. He'd always resented the slobby appearance of some of the italian mobs with their track suits, singlets, and gold chains.
Miki's train of thought was interrupted by one of his men. "Boss. They shut off the light." Miki checked his watch. It was technically monday now. Patrick Doherty, a police officer with a list of vices as long as his arm, was about to be visited by Miki and three of his trusted muscle men. Miki had initially let Patrick's debts slide, but the man had such an appetite for gambling and whoring that Miki had to take personal action. After a long talk with the chief of police, Miki had been allowed to make a personal example of Patrick Doherty.
After a twenty minute wait to make sure the Dohertys were asleep, Miki and his crew moved in. They'd already aquired a master key from the landlord, and they snuck up to the third floor and silently entered the Dohertys apartment. Shutting the door behind them, they stood in silence for a moment. There was no commotion or alarm. There were two bedrooms in the apartment, and clothes, cleanlines, and smell indicated that there was a female presence here.
Miki smiled as he saw the uniform and utility belt of Patrick Doherty. He'd left the gun in its holster. Sloppy. Not being one to take any chances, Miki unloaded the gun and removed the pepper spray and collapsible baton from the belt. Then, and only then did they move further into the apartment, treading slowly to avoid making too much noise. The entrance opened up in three directions. A quick check revealed one to be to the bath, the second door obviously led to the room of some young woman if the decorations on the door was anything to go by. The third led to the living room. Miki's crew moved in, and the living room revealed itself to be a combination kitchen/living room. There was another door from the living room, and Miki was certain that this was the master bedroom. But their target was on the couch.
Patrick Doherty didn't know he was in trouble until he was rudely shaken awake and spoken to in a voice with a guttural accent and thick pallated 'l's'. As the fog of sleep left him he panicked and started shouting for help, earning him a broken nose for his trouble. As he was unceremoniously flung to the floor and tied up with plastic strips, there was commotion from both bedrooms. His wife and his daughter had woken up. "CAITLIN! DEBORAH! RUN!" he shouted, not wanting them to be killed as well. He knew why the men were here. They had warned him. Being a police officer, he'd thought himself untouchable as far as repercussions were concerned. Obviously he'd been wrong.
His wife Deborah appeared in the door and she looked at the scene in front of her with a mixture of terror and weary resignation. She too understood what was going on. And her fool of a husband had shouted out both her name as well as Caitlin's. Her only hope now, it seemed, was that they would spare her and her daughter. The thought of her daughter had barely manifested itself when there was the sound of a door opening, naked feet on the floor and a gasp from the doorway.
Miki and his men had Patrick bound by now and he was kneeling down on the floor, a gun pointing at the back of his head. Holding the gun, Miki surveyed the scene in front of him. One of his men had gone to take control of Patrick's wife when their daughter appeared. She was a vision of teenage beauty with wavy red/brown hair almost down to her waist, pale freckled skin and green eyes that flashed with anger as she took in the scene in her living room. She launched her small curvy frame towards Miki as he held the gun to her father's head, and a defiant yell emanated from her lips: "You leave my father alone!"
More amused than surprised, Miki watched the small beauty be manhandled by one of his men. He fixed his attention on Patrick again and said: "Now. Where were we, Patrick? Ah yes, your debt. You are a naughty man. Does your wife know? Or your daughter?" Patrick had started crying. He shook his head.
Miki had soon come to an understanding with the local PD as he started up gambling, loan sharking, protection rackets, prostitution, and drug distribution and sales in the area. The locals had initially been hostile towards Miki's mob. But after a few brutal examples had been made and people's craving for peace and quiet to indulge in their vices asserted itself, things had settled down nicely.
Due to his success in pacifying this area, Miki had quickly climbed the ladder in his organization. He answered to no one except the bosses back in Russia. Miki smiled when he thought back on his career. The son of a drunken labourer and a mother who'd been bitter and resentful towards Miki because he according to her had "ruined her life", he'd escaped home as often as humanly possible from a very young age. In his early teens he'd started his criminal career, stealing cars and running a protection racket with his local gang. He'd risen quickly through the ranks by being calculating yet decisive, and he quickly caught the attention of the organization he now worked for.
They had encouraged him to join the army and to seek out one of Russia's many élite units, ending up in Spetznas where he learned to become an efficient killing machine. After his military service came to an end he was sent abroad by his gangster bosses, the language skills and training of the Spetznas coming in handy as they wreaked bloody havoc on the east coast of the United States.
Now, at 37, Miki had it made. Running a sizeable part of Boston's underworld, he was still not afraid to get his hands dirty. He was an intimidating figure, 6'3" tall and piercing blue eyes with crew cut blonde, almost white hair. He worked out religiously and had a muscled and lean frame as his reward. He sported a rather large slavic nose and a modest pair of ears, and he had a ready smile on his thin clean shaved lips that seldom reached his eyes. Miki also believed in maintaining a grooming and clothing standard, making his mob one of the more dapper ones. He'd always resented the slobby appearance of some of the italian mobs with their track suits, singlets, and gold chains.
Miki's train of thought was interrupted by one of his men. "Boss. They shut off the light." Miki checked his watch. It was technically monday now. Patrick Doherty, a police officer with a list of vices as long as his arm, was about to be visited by Miki and three of his trusted muscle men. Miki had initially let Patrick's debts slide, but the man had such an appetite for gambling and whoring that Miki had to take personal action. After a long talk with the chief of police, Miki had been allowed to make a personal example of Patrick Doherty.
After a twenty minute wait to make sure the Dohertys were asleep, Miki and his crew moved in. They'd already aquired a master key from the landlord, and they snuck up to the third floor and silently entered the Dohertys apartment. Shutting the door behind them, they stood in silence for a moment. There was no commotion or alarm. There were two bedrooms in the apartment, and clothes, cleanlines, and smell indicated that there was a female presence here.
Miki smiled as he saw the uniform and utility belt of Patrick Doherty. He'd left the gun in its holster. Sloppy. Not being one to take any chances, Miki unloaded the gun and removed the pepper spray and collapsible baton from the belt. Then, and only then did they move further into the apartment, treading slowly to avoid making too much noise. The entrance opened up in three directions. A quick check revealed one to be to the bath, the second door obviously led to the room of some young woman if the decorations on the door was anything to go by. The third led to the living room. Miki's crew moved in, and the living room revealed itself to be a combination kitchen/living room. There was another door from the living room, and Miki was certain that this was the master bedroom. But their target was on the couch.
Patrick Doherty didn't know he was in trouble until he was rudely shaken awake and spoken to in a voice with a guttural accent and thick pallated 'l's'. As the fog of sleep left him he panicked and started shouting for help, earning him a broken nose for his trouble. As he was unceremoniously flung to the floor and tied up with plastic strips, there was commotion from both bedrooms. His wife and his daughter had woken up. "CAITLIN! DEBORAH! RUN!" he shouted, not wanting them to be killed as well. He knew why the men were here. They had warned him. Being a police officer, he'd thought himself untouchable as far as repercussions were concerned. Obviously he'd been wrong.
His wife Deborah appeared in the door and she looked at the scene in front of her with a mixture of terror and weary resignation. She too understood what was going on. And her fool of a husband had shouted out both her name as well as Caitlin's. Her only hope now, it seemed, was that they would spare her and her daughter. The thought of her daughter had barely manifested itself when there was the sound of a door opening, naked feet on the floor and a gasp from the doorway.
Miki and his men had Patrick bound by now and he was kneeling down on the floor, a gun pointing at the back of his head. Holding the gun, Miki surveyed the scene in front of him. One of his men had gone to take control of Patrick's wife when their daughter appeared. She was a vision of teenage beauty with wavy red/brown hair almost down to her waist, pale freckled skin and green eyes that flashed with anger as she took in the scene in her living room. She launched her small curvy frame towards Miki as he held the gun to her father's head, and a defiant yell emanated from her lips: "You leave my father alone!"
More amused than surprised, Miki watched the small beauty be manhandled by one of his men. He fixed his attention on Patrick again and said: "Now. Where were we, Patrick? Ah yes, your debt. You are a naughty man. Does your wife know? Or your daughter?" Patrick had started crying. He shook his head.
