by Travis Hill
“What?” I asked, tempted to slug him while he was distracted, take his pistol, and beat him with the butt of it until I felt drained of the poisonous hate that filled me.
Dave turned the screen around so I could see it. It was a small picture on a phone screen, but I could make out a house, a driveway, a kid’s BMX bike propped up against the garage door, and a few toys in the front yard that signified that a boy and a girl lived there.
“Lana,” I said, feeling sick again. Someone was parked out front of Gally’s ex-wife’s house.
Another ding on his phone made him nearly drop it. He swiped the screen and looked at the next message, another picture. This one was from a different phone number, but the scene was almost the same. Another house in a nice neighborhood, a newer Honda in the driveway, two bikes piled up in the lawn in the way that kids leave them when racing off on foot to do something else.
“Who lives there?” I asked.
“Jesus Christ,” Dave said, his voice barely audible. “Jesus Christ, they’re sitting in front of Stacey’s house.”
I almost did puke. Stacey was Dave’s sister, the only ties he had to a normal world, a normal life that didn’t involve either killing terrorists in far away countries, or killing drug dealers and other lowlifes in southeast Texas. Like Lana was for Galley, Stacey was the rock, the anchor, the home base for Dave. He stayed away from her as much as he could, not wanting her to ever be implicated by association, but more likely, he didn’t want to feel guilty, like she was judging him for his lifestyle choice. Stacey, as far as I knew, would never say a word, would always support Dave, but the guilt and shame in him refused to believe it.
Two minutes later, Kenyon’s phone dinged. His was a picture of his nine year old daughter at a park near his place, the outline of the girl’s mother, one of Kenyon’s many girlfriends he’d had children with, visible just to the left. We were officially fucked. I started laughing. Not the fun kind of chuckle, but the type of braying laughter that cartoon donkeys were famous for. I couldn’t stop laughing until I started crying. We were so fucked.
FOUR - Meeting
The ride up to the 72nd floor was crowded. I’m not sure what the trend is in Moscow, but apparently in Houston, it’s to wear as much fucking cologne as possible. The four thugs in the elevator car stared daggers at us the entire ride, but I paid little attention to them. All I could think of was whether or not they might have removed one of Tanya’s toes, a nipple, maybe an eye? Shit, maybe a kidney. I’d heard rumors that the Russians were into black market body parts.
Dave spent the whole ride almost nose to nose with one of the brutes, glaring at the man as if challenging him to a duel. I nudged him once but he was too caught up in whatever was going on in his head. I hoped he wasn’t stupid enough to start a brawl in the elevator. Trying to fight with fists would be nearly impossible. In this tiny metal box, fighting with pistols, of which we had none, would be loud enough to make us all deaf, but I was pretty sure the bullets would make hearing loss a distant secondary worry.
Kenyon stared straight ahead, maybe doing the infinite mirrors trick with the reflection off the shiny elevator walls. I couldn’t imagine what was going on in his head. No doubt it was hard enough being the only black face in almost everything we did. Not that we cared. Shit, we wished there were more brothers that would run with our crew, and more sisters to fool around with, but they didn’t trust us, and you couldn’t blame them. White people were bad news for anyone with darker skin. Dave and I were perfect examples. The three of us were probably going to get tossed off a balcony or down a service elevator shaft. I wondered if they would remove our fingers, eyes, or balls, before finally allowing us the dignity to die.
The car dinged as it slid into the 72nd floor. The door opened and we were greeted by two combat shotguns pointed in our general direction. I decided it was a good thing I didn’t entertain the idea of storming the place for more than three seconds before recognizing it as suicide. I wonder if it’s suicide for willingly getting in the elevator, knowing what’s waiting on the top floor, I thought. The shotguns pulled back and we were prodded from behind to exit the car.
The hallway wasn’t opulent at all. In fact, it looked kind of dingy, like the maid had forgotten about it for the last few months. There wasn’t trash strewn everywhere, but the carpet looked faded, the walls as well, and the sparse furniture seemed like it had been stolen from a rent by the hour motel. There were no paintings on the walls, and I noticed there were no emergency exit signs either. I wasn’t sure why that bothered me as much as it did.
Ivan, that’s what I called all Russians in my head, stopped us in front of a double-wide door. He pushed a button below the video screen on the wall, and the feed came to life. Another Russian face, this one meaner and uglier than all four of the ones escorting us combined, gave his comrade a frown but released the lock on the door. We filed into an office that must have taken up a quarter of the 72nd floor. It wasn’t really an office, to be honest. It looked like a penthouse suite. The carpets were thicker than bath towels, and the walls were some kind of ebony or dark cherry, polished to such a luster that you could practically see your reflection in them.
Petrovski waved at us from his luxurious couch-bed, whatever it was, on the other end of the room. We marched across the open space, trying to not gawk at the view of Houston from almost a thousand feet in the air. As we got closer to Petrovski, we couldn’t help but stare at the two exotic cats that sat on either side of him. They looked like lynx or pumas, but I was guessing. They were giant cats as far as I was concerned, and the way their eyes followed us creeped me the fuck out. I didn’t enjoy feeling like a gazelle on an African plain or whatever they hunted in the wild.
“Gentlemen,” Petrovski said, waving a hand at two of the Ivans. They brought three chairs over and placed them ten feet back from the mobster. “Have a seat.” The Ivan behind me pulled me into the chair with a rough yank on my shirt collar. I turned my head and gave him a smile that promised I’d find him one day and cut out both of his kneecaps.
“Where the fuck is she?” I asked, turning back to Petrovski.
As long as we had the goods, Tanya was safe. We were too, though Petrovski only needed one of us to give up the location of his pal’s jewelry, cash, and bonds. With the kind of interrogation that these bastards were experts at, one of us would crack long before all three of us died. I was pretty sure I’d crack the instant they threatened to do anything to my balls, my eyes, or my asshole. Hell, I’d crack before they even did anything to my fingers or toes, knowing that was just the beginning. If I was going to die, I wanted to die with all of my limbs and digits. I’m not a coward, just a pragmatist.
“Mr. Jensen, good to see you,” the gangster said, his accent slightly thicker than I remembered from the phone call. “However, I must alert you to the rules of my home. The first rule, is do not disrespect me.”
He waved to his Ivans. Two of them caught me by the shoulders before I could get out of the chair and swing at one, a third one driving his fist into my guts. Two more Ivans were standing behind Kenyon and Dave, letting them know to stay out of it. The one that hit me grinned. I saw the big gap between his front teeth, then saw my own knees as I hunched over from a second blow to my stomach. I held up a hand to let Petrovski know I’d gotten the message. I wanted to fall out of the chair and puke on the floor, then lay there until my world stopped spinning and my guts were no longer on fire.
“I’ll alert you to the other rules, should they come up, but the other important one you must know is that you will not lie to me. Cursing at me is one thing, but lying… lying will cost you more than you want to pay.”
“Fine,” I said, wiping drool from the corner of my mouth. I didn’t want to lose a finger for throwing up on his expensive carpet. “Where’s Tanya and what do you want?”
“Ah, right to business,” Petrovski said, smiling. He was driving me crazy with the way he just kept stroking the necks of those two cats,
and those two cats were driving me crazy by the way they kept staring at me as if they knew they were going to get a chance to have my soft parts as a snack. “I will produce the girl, but first you will produce Mr. Konovalov’s jewelry.”
“No way,” Dave said. I sensed him holding back a string of vulgar insults, which was good. Dave had to know he was in a situation that he couldn’t fight his way out of. I hoped he knew we needed to negotiate our way out of here instead of trying to go out guns blazing. It would be quick without any guns to blaze with. “You give us the girl and guaranteed safe passage, we’ll deliver your rings.”
Petrovski leaned forward slightly. “Let me rephrase my statement. You will bring me the jewelry, or I will start with your cock, removing the outer skin first before slicing up the meat under it into small bits, then move to driving small nails into your balls, and top it off with a white-hot iron rod being slowly inserted into your anus.”
I felt my own asshole clench up hard enough to form diamonds. It really didn’t matter what body part and which torture they threatened us with. They were all frightening, and the Russians would most likely have a guy that was kept around to do that kind of thing. A real pro. A guy who could make you beg for death by not killing you for weeks.
“No problem,” I said, giving Dave a shut the fuck up look. “We’ll go right now, but I want to see Tanya first.”
Dave’s return glare of utter disgust made me decide that if we got out of this jam, he and I were done. I’d put up with his shit over Tanya for too many years. Dave was a great guy, the kind of guy you wanted on your side when you needed muscle, brains, and gear. But he hadn’t been able to get over the fact that Tanya and I were going to always be together.
I’d asked him once why he hated her so much. His answer was that he didn’t hate her. He hated the idea of her, and what she did to me. I demanded to know what he meant by that, but he’d only laughed and refused, until I got pissed, then we had a quick brawl that left him with a loose tooth and me with a shiner. He never did answer the question. If I didn’t know better, it was jealousy. Not jealousy in the sense Dave was queer for me, but more that he wanted to be the most important person in my life. Dave wanted to be the most important person in everyone’s life.
“You and Mr. Harrison will stay here while Mr. Pearson retrieves the items.” Petrovski waved to an Ivan who escorted Dave to the door. “Gentlemen, would you like something to drink? To eat, perchance?”
“Sure,” I mumbled.
“Vodka Sour,” Kenyon said. He looked like he was along for the ride, and since we weren’t dead yet, he might as well take advantage of the hospitality.
Petrovski waved again, then continued to stroke his cats. The way he stared through me made me shiver. I’d been in the presence of powerful men plenty of times, and the one thing they all had in common was the ability to defeat you with a look. They knew that all it would take is a single raise of the eyebrow, a gesture, a single spoken word, and they could have you killed, or worse. They had the kind of power that gave a man the ability to simply look at other men, such as the way Petrovski looked at me, and dominate them.
An extremely attractive blonde girl brought me a beer and Kenyon his Vodka Sour, lingering a little too long as she handed me the bottle. If I hadn’t given my heart to Tanya, I’d be asking Petrovski if I could have ten minutes alone with the girl, maybe her and two of her friends. But the longer I looked at the serving girl, the more I realized she couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen. The urge to punch myself in the face, throw up, and attempt to kill Petrovski all at once came and went.
We sipped our drinks in silence for half an hour, and then waited quietly for another forty-five minutes before Dave came striding through the room, two Ivans in tow, both with their pistols pointed casually at his back. Dave sat in the empty chair while one of the Ivans placed the score on the wide ottoman in front of Petrovski. Dave glanced over at me, his expression accusatory, as if I’d led him to his death. I returned his look with one of my own that tried to relay the fact that we were still alive, and all things considered, we hadn’t really been threatened beyond what would happen if we refused to retrieve the stolen items.
Petrovski pawed through the money, then the bonds, then the briefcase full of jewelry. He waved at one of his thugs. The Ivan stepped forward and stuffed the money and the bonds back into the duffel. He turned and tossed the duffel into my lap. I nearly pissed myself, unsure of what was going on. Petrovski waved another Ivan over to help the other one stuff all of the jewelry back into the briefcase. The Russian mob boss gave me a strange look that morphed into a smile, the kind of smile that said he knew something that I didn’t. I suddenly didn’t want the bag of money and bearer bonds in my lap, but I had to sit still and wait for Petrovski to finish playing his hand.
The briefcase snapped closed and the two Russians stood up and turned around as one. I cringed in terror, bringing my arms and the duffel bag up to protect my face sure the silenced pistol in each one’s hand was meant for me. The shots were loud as hell, but nowhere near as loud as if the guns had been fired without the silencers. I don’t know how many times the bastards pulled the triggers, but I heard hammers fall on empty chambers.
My ears were ringing, the left one beginning to make a strange swishing noise as if listening to water in a distant pipe. I barely paid attention as my hands roamed my body to find blood and entrance wounds. The only wetness I felt was near my armpits. I checked again, still holding the duffel as I roamed over my chest and stomach. It must have been comical as Petrovski and the two Ivans busted a gut laughing at me. Those two fucking cats never even moved. They must have witnessed these kinds of executions all the time.
Petrovski finally got himself down to an occasional chuckle. The two henchmen walked away, both reloading their pistols, both still laughing. Petrovski snapped his fingers and ten seconds later, Tanya ran into the room, beelining straight to me. She did an almost cartoonish skid to a stop on the thick carpet at the sight of the corpse on each side of me. I’d done my best to not look at Kenyon or Dave. As pissed off as I’d been at Dave, I didn’t want to see him like this. It was a shitty way to go. At least it was quick, the rational part of my mind said. Nice, real nice, you insensitive prick, the emotional part replied.
Tanya burst into tears, almost jumping into my lap. She buried her face in my neck, her tears making my skin feel as clammy as the skin under my arms. I wanted to yell at her. I wanted to hug her, hold her, kiss her, tell her we were going to be all right, we were going to live. I wanted to slink away from the Russian sitting across from me. I knew there was no way he was going to let me go anywhere without having some sort of string attached to me. He knew that string was now sitting on my lap.
“You know, Billy,” Petrovski said after a few minutes of watching Tanya sob into my neck and me staring back at him, “I knew who you were very soon after your partner’s fingerprints came back. However, I anticipated a very long, drawn out hunt to find you. While we were touring your old neighborhoods, we learned that you were the brains of the operation. Not that Mr. Harrison and Mr. Pearson weren’t intelligent, but you’re the one with the plans, it seems. Plans that have been bulletproof, so to speak, until this one unlucky break.”
“Get to the point,” I said. I wasn’t about to show this asshole that I was grateful to not also be catching rigor mortis like my friends to either side of me. I remembered the earlier lesson that still had my guts hurting, but I wasn’t going to kiss his ass.
“The point, comrade, is that instead of putting the word out for you in every American city and almost every city with an international airport, harbor, or border crossing, your very attractive friend provided us with a much easier solution.”
I pushed Tanya back so I could see her face. She refused to look at me.
“What did you do?” I asked, already furious with her for the fact that she’d done something or the Russian wouldn’t be gloating and she wouldn’t be starin
g into her own lap.
“Go on, dear,” Petrovski said. “Tell him where we picked you up.”
“Jesus Christ,” I hissed. “I told you not to go back into Houston. Why the fuck would you go back into the place I specifically told you not to? God fucking damn it, Tanya.” I tried to hold in my fury, but I couldn’t any longer. “David, Kenny, and Gally are dead. Dead! Look at them!” I forced her to look at Dave even though I couldn’t. “Others are dead too, including Dana and Stephen. What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I couldn’t help it!” she shrieked, wrenching her chin from my hand so she didn’t have to see Dave. “I wanted to get—”
“Shut up.” She saw something in my face, and heard it reflected in my voice as well, and immediately closed her mouth. “Just shut up. I don’t want to hear it right now. Mr. Petrovski and I have some business to finish, then we can talk about it on the way home.”
I stared at Petrovski while I said it. His head nodded slightly, filling me with relief that I hadn’t lied to her, that we would be going home. I couldn’t help but wonder where Dave and Kenyon would end up. Some place unpleasant, I was sure of that. I also found that I had an almost overpowering urge to ask Petrovski how he was going to fix up the carpet that was completely soaked through with blood. I kept it to myself and instead listened to my new terms of employment.
FIVE - Verbal Contract
“Before we discuss things any further,” Petrovski said, leaning back in his luxurious cushions, his cats glaring at me, and maybe salivating at the dead meat on either side of me, “I will need your word as a man that you will work for me and only me, and you will fulfill your duties loyally and to the best of your ability.”
“What?” I asked, caught off guard.
