by Rob Hart
The building is falling apart. I don’t know what it once was. There are long, dark hallways shooting off from the main lobby. There’s garbage on the floor and an occasional colorful burst of graffiti. The whole scene looks vaguely apocalyptic.
“Upstairs,” Roman says.
We climb the stairs, going up five flights until we’re at a hallway washed in harsh yellow by construction lights hanging from pipes along the ceiling. We march past gutted offices with glass doors. There’s a pulsing sound from the end of the hall. Bass-heavy music.
We walk into a cramped room with a skylight. It’s full of tables holding computers and cups of coffee and containers of takeout and a variety of disassembled electronics. There are six men in the room, talking among themselves or typing at computers. They barely register us. They’re listening to rap with the volume turned way up. Nas, I think. The source of the music is a big wireless Bluetooth speaker.
“Turn that off,” Roman says, yelling to be heard over the music.
One of the men picks up his phone and taps it. The music stops.
Roman leads me into a bathroom with all the fixtures ripped out. Green tile and holes in the wall and floor. He nods toward a pipe running from the floor to the ceiling. I put my hands around it and he ties my wrists together with a heavy-duty zip tie. He cinches it tight and pulls Sam out of the room.
“Hey, where are you taking her?” I ask.
In response, he closes the door. It’s dark, save the sliver of light coming from underneath. After a few moments, my eyes adjust and I can make out the boundaries of the room. That’s about it.
I pull against the pipe a little to test it. It’s solid. I twist and turn but the zip tie stays taut and cuts into my wrists. I lean back with all my weight, put my foot on the wall to brace myself, and yank back hard. Nothing. After a few minutes I give up and sit on the floor.
And I wait.
I guess we’re pretty much fucked now. The only silver lining to this is that Roman will probably leave my mom alone. There’ll be no sense in killing me and then going after her.
I hope eventually someone finds me and they can at least identify my body. Give her that peace of mind. Maybe even ship me home.
Give her something to bury.
I don’t believe in an afterlife. Maybe reincarnation if I’m feeling romantic. Energy can’t be created or destroyed, just moved around. The energy that makes up me has to go somewhere. But even not believing in the afterlife, it makes me wonder which way the scales have tipped. If there actually were a heaven or a hell, which one I’d be going to. My guess would be on the latter, but I’ve always been a bit of a pessimist.
I don’t know what else there is to do, except to apologize.
Sorry, Dad.
Sorry, Chell.
The two people I loved most in this world, and the two people I feel like I’ve let down.
The two of you are here with me now, somewhere on the edge of the room where I can’t see you. But I know you’re here. The two of you have hung very heavy over my life, and the things I did, I did them because I thought I was living up to the standards you set for me.
In a lot of ways I failed to meet them, and for that I am sorry.
But I love you both, and I’m glad you’re with me.
I turn myself the best I can until I’m comfortable, pressed up against the wall, and place my head against the cool tile. Try to rest.
The door opens and the room fills with light. I blink as my eyes adjust. Look up and Roman is standing there. It looks like he’s wearing gloves. When the gloves start dripping on the floor, I realize they’re not gloves.
I guess he is the type to get his hands dirty.
In one hand, he’s holding a small towel. Once he’s sure I’ve seen his hands, he proceeds to wipe them off with the towel, which he tosses against the wall close to me. It makes a wet smacking sound, leaving a big red splotch and a streak as it slides to the floor.
“She’s a tough one,” he says.
“Is she alive?”
“Do you care?”
“Yes.”
“She broke quickly,” he says. “And when she did, she admitted that she was going to sell you out the first moment she got. She called you a couple of choice phrases, none of which I feel inclined to repeat. But take it from me, there’s no love lost.”
He steps out of the room and comes back with a metal folding chair, brings it to within a few feet of me, and unfolds it. He sits and puts his hands in his lap. He is calm and poised.
That scares the shit out of me.
“Is she alive?” I ask again.
“For now. She tells me that you played a pretty big role in all of this.”
I think about Sam’s last words to me. That I know nothing. And the idea of her breaking, I don’t believe it. He’s trying to bait me. For now I’m going to stick to what I assume was Sam’s plan in the first place: play dumb.
“She wouldn’t tell me shit,” I say.
“What happened in Kraków?” he asks.
“She had to meet someone. I don’t know who. She wouldn’t let me come. She got back to the apartment and said we had to come here. Then Chernya Dyra attacked. We barely got away. I imagine you saw that Sam took a bullet.”
“I did, yes,” he says. “She’s lucky that’s all that happened.”
“You lied to me before,” I tell him. “You know exactly who the Dyra is.”
Roman exhales, sits back in the chair, looks around the room. “I didn’t want to scare you away. If I told you the truth about her, then maybe you would have run.”
“What’s the truth?”
“She is exactly who Sam says she is. A ghost you have every reason to be afraid of. I heard that back during Gorbachev’s reign, there was a Russian dissident making trouble. The Dyra was instructed to eliminate him. I guess she took what he was doing personally. He had two small children and a wife. She killed them while he watched. Then locked him in a room with enough water so that he’d only starve to death, which takes far longer than dying of thirst. I am no stranger to cruelty, but that seemed a bit much.”
“Says the guy who threatened my mother.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You have to use what works.”
“You know what? You all play like you’re tough but you’re a bunch of fucking cowards. The only way to get to me was through my mother. The only way to hurt this guy was kill his children. All of you. Can’t stand and fight your own battles.”
“Again, you have to use what works,” Roman says, not at all bothered. He reaches into his pocket and comes out with the jump drive that Jeremiah gave Sam. “She must have told you something about this.”
“Nope.”
“Do you know what’s on it?”
“No idea. It’d be nice to know what I’m about to get killed over.”
Roman nods, sits back in the chair, thinking.
“Look, I know this didn’t work out as planned and you’re probably not too thrilled with me right now, but after you kill me, can you report it to the cops?” I ask, my throat getting thick. “Anonymously. Leave my body somewhere. My mom… I’d like her to have my body back.”
Roman smiles. “I’m not going to kill you.”
I’m flooded with a feeling of relief, but try not to get too excited. “Really? You don’t seem like the ‘loose end’ type.”
“Here’s the thing,” Roman says, resting his arms on his knees. “Killing you, not killing you, they both carry complications. I prefer to not kill people, when I can manage it, because ultimately, it raises too many questions. I get the sense you’re a good little soldier. That if I promise to destroy everyone you have ever loved, you will believe me. Do you believe that?”
“I believe that,” I tell him. Now that there’s not a noose around my neck anymore I can’t help but adding: “Because you’re a coward.”
“This whole thing went off the rails,” he says, ignoring the jab. “But I’m feeling generous. And anyway, you
could tell this whole crazy story and you’ll be lucky if anyone believes you. You’ll never find me or her or anyone else involved in this thing. You’ll sound like a lunatic. It’s all pretty far-fetched, if you think about it.”
“Does this mean I’m done? Can I go?”
He smiles again. “Not yet, little golem. There’s still the matter of the password. There’s a message on the phone. I assume it’s from her contact. I’m sending you and Vilém out.”
“So I get the password, what happens?”
“You go home.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“And what about Sam?”
“I’m keeping her alive for a little while longer,” he says. “To see what she knows. To make sure the password is legit. Then I’ll kill her.”
“Why?”
“Keep asking questions and I’ll kill you, too.”
“Why not send your goons?”
“Because this is the decision I’ve made. I don’t need to explain myself to you.”
“It seems dumb. Honestly.”
He sighs. “Because you’ve been traveling with her for the last couple of days. You might have overheard something useful. Or there might be someone watching and seeing you might give whoever is on the other end a little comfort. Does that make sense?”
“Okay, fine. What’s the plan?”
Roman takes out a knife. Sam’s knife. He leans down and cuts the zip tie. “Vilém will come and get you. You’ll have Samantha’s phone. You’ll figure it out. You don’t have much of a choice.”
He gets up and leaves the room without saying anything. I rub the deep red grooves the zip ties left in my wrist. Wonder where Sam is.
If he’s even telling the truth. If she’s still alive.
The sun is down. The air quiet. Vilém opens the passenger door for me. After I get into the car, he walks around to the other side, climbs in, and starts the car. He hands me a black hood.
“Really?” I ask.
“You must understand that I have a gun,” he says. “I am under strict orders to shoot you if you do not listen to what I say.”
“Fine.” I pull the hood over my head. Once it’s all the way down, the car starts moving. After a few moments of silence, Vilém asks, “How are you liking Prague?”
The way he asks it is like a cab driver making conversation.
“All this bullshit aside, it’s a wonderful city,” I tell him.
“It is a very nice place. I was born here, you know.”
“I can tell from the accent.”
He laughs a little.
“What?”
“Most Americans can’t tell the difference between accents. I have been to America, once. Everyone thought I was Russian.”
“Russian has a heavy L and puts an I sound in front of vowels,” I tell him. “Czech is more precise and it substitutes V for W, whereas Russian is the other way around.”
“This is very astute,” he says. “You know your accents.”
“I grew up in New York City. I hear a lot of accents.”
Vilém’s voice brightens. “New York is a wonderful city. That is where I visited. I have a cousin who lives there. He owns a cab company in Queens. Very crowded. A little like Prague.”
“A little,” I tell him.
“Do you miss it?”
“Yeah.”
“You will go home soon?”
I laugh. I can’t help but laugh. This is a very pleasant conversation.
“That’d be nice. But, level with me. Are you going to kill me at the end of this trip? Just give me that much.”
“Roman is not going to kill you, and neither am I,” he says. “I assume he gave you the standard threat, yes? Friends and family and loved ones will suffer greatly?”
“Along those lines, yes.”
“You have to understand he meant every word of it.”
“I’m erring on the side of caution.”
“That is good of you. Roman is a dangerous man. An even more dangerous enemy. This is all very unpleasant. But in time, you will forget it.”
“Is Fran as nice as you?”
“No, Fran is not nice. You should feel lucky that Roman sent us out together.”
“I do. Can I take the hood off?”
“I will tell you when you can.”
“Fine.”
We drive in silence for a little while. I was hoping he would put on the radio. The car comes to a stop, probably at a red light, and I ask, “So how do you even get into a business like this?”
“It is a long story,” he says. “There is not enough time to tell it.”
“Give me the quick version.”
“Bad job market,” he says.
I expect more but he doesn’t say anything else.
“That really is the quick version,” I tell him. “You seem like a nice guy. If Roman is such a bad guy, why do you work for him?”
“First, I am not nice,” Vilém says. “It would be a mistake for you to consider this an act of friendship. I am simply doing a job and feel no need to be rude. Second, sometimes you find yourself in a position where you have to make difficult decisions.”
“I know that,” I tell him. “Sometimes you just don’t have a choice.”
“Is that true for you?” he asks. “I have overheard things. You have a mother at home who loves you. If you did not love her, Roman would have no sway over you. You have that, and you choose to run from it? Hide all the way here? You did have a choice. You made your decision.”
I want to say something back to that, refute him in some way, and find I can’t. It’s a harsh but fair assessment. I am hiding. I am afraid. This liminal space, this Kafka-esque assortment of bland European apartments I find myself stuck inside, it’s a hiding spot. Nothing more than that. Coming out of hiding means committing to something.
Taking a step forward in my life.
“Are you doing this because of someone you love?” I ask.
“I have a family. Wife and boy. I must do the things I do because I can do them, and because it keeps a roof over their heads, food in their bellies. I have tried many times to find decent work. It is very difficult. It is very typical of you Americans, you know, to think you have been backed into a corner when you can do anything you want in the world. I hope you never learn what real desperation feels like.”
The light is picking up on the other side of the hood, which makes me think we’re getting closer to the city center. Vilém says, “You can look now.”
I take it off and find we’re back in the heavy part of Prague. We’re stopped at a light in a long row of cars somewhere alongside the Vltava.
“Why don’t you check the phone?” Vilém asks.
I pick it up, click the button on the side. There’s no password, which his a little surprising, given who Sam is and her profession. But then I realize why: a little trace of blood comes off the fingerprint sensor. Roman must have made her unlock it and turn off the security features. I look at the splotch of blood on my finger for a moment, and try to put it out of my head.
There’s a text message waiting. It’s a set of coordinates, and they’re even highlighted blue. Easy enough. I click that and a map opens, showing a bar on the other side of town. I tell the name of it to Vilém and he says, “I know that place.”
It doesn’t take too long to get there. It looks like a British-style pub. When we pull up in front, Vilém asks, “Now what?”
“I have no idea. We should go inside, I guess?”
We have to park around the corner and then maneuver through crowds of drunken revelers. Inside, it’s all wood and brass and stone. Mostly quiet, which is surprising given the amount of people out tonight, but this looks more like a place for locals than a party spot. We sit at the bar.
“Do you want a beer?” Vilém asks. “My treat.”
“Sure.”
He flags the bartender over and orders two Pilsners. The bartender puts the beers in fro
nt of us. We clink our glasses together and I take a long swig of mine. He takes a tiny sip and puts the glass down, scanning the room.
Moscow rule. Go with the flow.
“I don’t know if this is impolite to ask,” I say to Vilém. “But have you ever killed anyone?”
He takes a sip of his beer, puts it back down on the coaster, doesn’t act like he even heard the question. I figure that’s answer enough, but then he says, “Two men.”
“Was it justified? In your mind?”
“You can justify anything.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“I am not going to kill you.”
“We’ll see.”
“What about you, then?” he asks. “Have you ever killed anyone? Roman indicates that you have.”
“Once. Yes.”
“Was it justified?”
I take a sip of beer. Place is on the coaster. Inspect the glass. Think about it a bit. “You can justify anything,” I tell him.
“Sometimes that is the best we can do,” he says.
Sam’s phone buzzes. I look down and find a text: No job is finished until the paperwork is done.
That sounds familiar. I take another sip.
“What is it?” Vilém asks.
It’s what Jeremiah said to us before he went to the bathroom at that pub in Kraków.
“I’ve got to take a piss,” I tell Vilém.
“I will come with you,” he says.
“You want to hold it for me? I can’t get a little privacy?”
“No, you cannot,” he says as he places bar coasters over our beers to signal to the bartender that we’re coming back.
I push into the men’s room and find it empty. Vilém comes in behind me and locks the door. I stand there for a minute and look around the space. One stall, two urinals that are uncomfortably close, and a sink with a mirror above it. I crouch down, look around the floor for vents, then do the same along the ceiling. Test the mirror to see if it budges, but it doesn’t.
“What is it?” Vilém asks.
“I think this is where we’re supposed to be.”
What did Jeremiah say? That the password wouldn’t last long where it was.
“Hold on, I changed my mind,” I tell Vilém. “Switching to number two.”
