One Bad Job

by Travis Hill

  “You will swear loyalty and give me your word that will abide by the terms of your employment.”

  “Are you fuckin’ kidding?” I asked, unsure of what he wanted. Was he playing some fucked up game with me? “I’ll do some work for you. I’m good at what I do, and I’m loyal to the job. What more do you want?”

  “I want your word that you will work for me and only me.”

  “Are we talking like a one year contract? Five? I do eight jobs and we renegotiate?”

  Petrovski laughed and said something in Russian to two of the closest Ivans. They sounded like rumbling freight trains when they laughed, both saying something that was apparently amusing to their boss, as he joined in with his own guffaws. He wiped his eyes after his laughing fit, then became serious again.

  “Billy. You will work for me and only me for as long as I tell you that you work for me. There is no negotiation, and there is no renegotiation.”

  “No way,” I said, tensing for a bullet or a beating for disagreeing. “I’m not going to get stuck with you for the rest of my life, no offense. I have plans that revolve around not living in a shithole like Houston and robbing assholes like your pals Baryshev and Konovalov to survive.”

  Petrovski laughed. “Plans change. Yours have changed.”

  He waved to his goon squad and they stepped forward and held me in my chair, two of them yanking a crying, shouting Tanya away. I clenched my guts, expecting a fist or two, but one of the brutes grabbed my head and forced me to look at the girl I’d been in love with since 9th grade. One Ivan had her arms locked behind her back, another holding her head perfectly still with one hand, reaching into a jacket pocket with the other.

  He pulled a folding knife out and flicked the blade out. The son of a bitch smiled at me, then put the tip of the knife against Tanya’s cheek, just under her right eye. She shuddered and sniffled and tried to jerk away.

  “I would be still,” the Russian with the knife said, his broken English jarring to my ears.

  He raised the knife point until it was practically touching her eye. I wanted to try and fight my way out of the chair, but I knew I’d get gang-tackled, and maybe this time a fatal beatdown. I also worried that if I moved suddenly, she’d jerk. The nightmare image of her eye popping kept replaying through my brain.

  “You will give your word, or Dmitri will keep her eye for a trophy. Refuse again, she will lose the other eye. Then her nose. You are a smart businessman, Billy. I don’t have to explain how this works, do I?”

  “I agree,” I said. What I wanted to do was scream a flurry of obscenities. “Just leave her alone. I give you my word. I’m loyal and shit.”

  Petrovski gave the Ivans a slight wave of his hand and they let her go. Tanya ran back to my chair, immediately sitting on my lap again and curling herself around me. The thugs behind me let go, one of them saying something in Russian, causing everyone but Petrovski to laugh. He was watching Tanya and I as if he now thought it was one of us that knew something he didn’t. I glanced over at the Ivan holding the knife. He licked his lips then folded the blade back into its handle.

  “See how easy that was?” Petrovski smiled after a full minute of staring at us. “Let us have a drink to celebrate your new career!”

  *****

  Tanya and I didn’t speak at all on the way back to the safe house. I kept turning over and over in my mind the events of the night. I’d nearly lost it once we stepped foot outside of the East-Tex lobby, unable to believe I was still alive. I kept telling myself I’d been whacked, and my brain or my consciousness or whatever metaphysical bullshit happens when someone dies was hallucinating, pretending I was still alive.

  We sat in Dave’s Mustang and cried for at least ten minutes, neither of us touching each other, neither offering to comfort the other. I was still in shock at watching Dave and Kenyon get iced two feet from me. At seeing Tanya, unharmed other than emotionally, almost lose an eye. At being told that if I did break my word, or tried to run, they’d catch us. The list of tortures described mostly revolved around Tanya being raped while I was forced to watch, or Tanya being raped while I was forced to watch while I was being raped myself.

  These fuckin’ Russians were some sick bastards. I almost took another shot to the guts when I’d asked Petrovski what made Russians so gleeful at the prospect of rape and torture and murder. Instead of having one of his henchmen make me shit blood for a week, he just laughed and asked me if I was properly frightened and would ever chance having the tortures described to me become real. I had to lie and say of course not and pretend that I was scared.

  If the man had a brain, he had to know that threats like that only worked so far, but what they really did was get my brain cranking away at a million different plots and schemes about how I was going to kill him and as many of his men as it took to break the bonds of slavery that now chained me to him. Because that’s all I was. A slave. Billy, go kill this guy. Billy, go collect protection money. Billy, go get me borscht and some vodka.

  But I’d always be Billy. I’d never be Dmitri, or Evgeni, or Pavel. I’d never be Russian. I’d never get the tattoos and I’d never get any further up the chain. Eventually I’d end up dead during a job gone bad where I was used as an expendable soldier, or I’d be disappeared by Petrovski after I became too much trouble, was of no use to him, or maybe because the wind blew from the south one day. I professed loyalty and gave my word, but we both knew that I’d had mental fingers crossed the entire time, and we both knew I would be loyal and keep my word. For as long as it took me to die or to execute whatever crazy plan I could scheme up that involved killing him.

  I parked in the safe house garage next to the minivan that Kenyon had procured. We sat in the car after the garage door came down, neither of us saying a word. I’d finally worked through my shock, my rage, my disbelief at what had happened, enough to at least carry on long enough to get some important tasks done. I’d revisit my feelings at night or during quiet times alone for a while, but I was positive I could function normally between those self-analyzing moments. I had to.

  I finally decided to get out of the car and go into the house. I didn’t wait to see if she would follow me, knowing she would when she was ready. It hurt to think she was shallow enough that everything that had happened to her would be nothing more than wisps of smoke within a week, and would take serious concentration to even remember a month down the road. I hated that I was so mean to her sometimes, that I treated her like shit, or had cruel thoughts about her pass through my head, like the one I’d just had.

  I loved her enough to risk Dave and Kenyon’s life. I didn’t care if it was true love or if it was still high school lust. Maybe it was co-dependence. It wasn’t like I couldn’t find another girl or three to attach myself to. I’d done my share of messing around when she wasn’t nearby, but for me, it was just sex, the thrill of something new, something strange. Sometimes something exotic. But I always kept my heart closed to everyone but Tanya. No matter what happened, no matter how mad I got at her, no matter how ignorant of an asshole I could be to her, I loved her and only her. Dave was probably cursing my name from beyond the grave, insulted all the way into the afterlife because he’d died for me and my addiction to the girl of my dreams.

  I took the duffel into the bedroom where the safe was. There was almost fifty grand in cash already in it, a couple of untraceable pistols, and a piece of paper that had Dave’s handwriting on it.

  Whoever finds this letter, please take the money in the safe and find some way to give it to my sister. Stacey Elizabeth Daniels, 3389 S Meridian Parkway, St. Louis. Set up a trust or something for Gabby and Ryan, her two kids, so they can go to college. $50,000 isn’t much, but maybe in ten years when they’re ready, it will help. Tell her and the kids that I love them, but don’t ever let her know where the money came from.

  It was a short note, no signature, no date, nothing. I sat on the floor in the closet, my back against the bare wall behind me, and fell apart again. I
wasn’t ashamed. I’ve always believed that men can cry and still be men. I never subscribed to that macho bullshit about not being in touch with our feelings. If I couldn’t shed a tear or two for friends, real friends, even if we were the type of friends that had robbed and murdered others to get ahead in life, then what kind of tragedy would I have to suffer to be allowed that kind of release?

  Tanya found me a while later. She pried the note out of my hand, read it, then knelt down beside me and pulled me into a hug. I could feel the slight hitching of her chest as she cried. She hated Dave, but I don’t believe it was a true kind of hate. They clashed, but I think they’d had some kind of unspoken agreement after she’d stabbed him in the leg that they didn’t have to be super-best-friends, but they had to at least keep from trying to kill each other for my sake. I’m pretty sure she harbored less ill will to him than he did for her simply because she knew that if it came down to an ultimatum, I would choose her. I would always choose her.

  We held each other until she dried up, then I dumped the money and the bonds into the safe. I took the note from her and put it back in the safe as well. I locked it, put the false floor over it, laid the carpet back down, and led Tanya out of the closet.

  “I have to go into town,” I said after shutting the closet door. I had a stack of hundreds in my hand. “I need a suit, some clothes, and I need to find us a new house.”

  Petrovski had instructed me to take the money he’d generously allowed me to keep and go buy a couple of nice suits. I was also to rent a nice place, something a young executive would live in for a couple thousand a month, then find a car that wasn’t going to stand out like a monster truck in a subcompact parking space. It was strange hearing him basically give me a shopping list of what I had to buy, what I had to do. In a way, I felt like I at least was important enough, or maybe just interesting enough, for him to keep me alive for a while.

  He’d said as much, explaining to me that I couldn’t dress, act, or live like the street thug that I’d been my whole life. If it was a guaranteed steady income that allowed Tanya and I to live comfortably, then I could dig it. For a while, anyway. It wouldn’t make me forget that one day I was going to kill the fucker so Tanya and I could escape. But for now, it might be nice to have something of a normal life, if normal life meant working for one of the world’s biggest criminal organizations. No different than working for the government is what my father would have said. I couldn’t disagree.

  *****

  I showed up at Petrovski’s machine shop just after noon. Tanya was at home, trying to figure out how to spend some of the money we’d been allowed to keep. She hated the new McMansion we’d rented in Stablewood. She’d sniffed when I told her we couldn’t afford to live in River Oaks even if we cashed everything out. I was annoyed that she hated everything about a place that was costing us, me, seven thousand dollars per month. At least Petrovski’s references had worked out. The rental agent looked like he had been ready to call the police, until I gave him some references to call, which actually did include an HPD captain and an assistant deputy commissioner from the Harris County Sheriff’s Department.

  I had no idea who any of them were, but I figured that they’d been paid to say something good about me, or anyone that got called about. Maybe they’d been threatened like Tanya and I had. I couldn’t see cops worrying about that too much, as the organized crime operations went well out of their way to not kill anyone connected to law enforcement or the justice system. That meant the pigs were on the take, which wasn’t surprising at all.

  Houston doesn’t get the attention that the LAPD and NYPD do when it comes to corruption, but Houston is the fourth largest city in the country, and the Mexican cartels are only a few hundred miles away. Cops always need a little take home money to supplement their mistresses and various habits. I couldn’t blame ‘em. Being on the right side of the law usually means being poor. Cops didn’t seem to feel too guilty about it either, though most of them would draw the line at anything more than looking the other way, or maybe shaking down a mobster’s rival here and there.

  I hadn’t heard from Petrovski for almost a month, but I’d done everything he’d asked. I was in my spiffy new suit, designer sunglasses, and the first four hundred dollar pair of shoes I’ve ever owned. Let me tell you something. Four hundred dollar shoes… if my feet could orgasm, my shoes would be soaked through. After almost five weeks, a text lit up my phone. The only thing it contained was an address, and a reminder to show up to work in proper attire. Since they hadn’t told me what the job was, I played it safe and wore the new suit that Tanya liked best. I almost didn’t make it out of the house in time. I never realized she had a serious fetish for a man in an expensive, custom tailored suit.

  I parked the car and walked to the glass door at the front of the building. I peered in and saw a desk with an older woman sitting behind it. Behind her and to her left was a wooden door. The small office was bare other than a computer, a printer, and a telephone. I pulled the glass door open and stepped inside, feeling the change in temperature immediately. The thick, sticky Houston humidity was replaced by a powerful blast of cold, dry air.

  “William Jensen,” I said as I stepped up to the desk. The woman looked up at me. “I’m uh… supposed to meet someone here.”

  She pointed to the wooden door then looked back down at whatever paperwork she’d been working on. I didn’t feel insulted. She was probably paid to sit there all day and make it look like the place was legit. I had no idea where I even was, but I wasn’t about to test the patience of my new employer. I thanked her and opened the wooden door. The rush of warm, moist air hit me, the odd sensation of it meeting the atmosphere created by an air conditioner making my skin crawl. I shut the door behind me and the rush of hot air was replaced by the weight of stagnant, humid, hot air.

  The room I’d entered was more like a cargo bay at a typical business in an industrial park. Little office up front, all the work took place in the back where there were solid concrete floors, 220v outlets, maybe welding rigs or hydraulic lifts. This bay had nothing except another area in the rear corner that had been made into an enclosed room. I looked up and saw a large tube of flexible ducting running to it from the A/C unit that was probably on the roof. I began walking toward it.

  Before I reached the door, it opened, a faceless Ivan directing me inside. The room was small, maybe twelve feet per side, but the cool air was welcoming. The pain of my kidneys exploding was a cruel counter to the relief at being out of the heat. I tried to cry out but another Ivan moved in and slugged me in the guts. I fell to my knees, my mind wild with fear, possibly insanity as my mind began to wonder if these assholes got some kind of sexual thrill out of hitting people in their stomachs.

  My wonder was interrupted by the crack of a fist on my jaw. I tipped to the side, feeling my eyes beginning to roll up and my consciousness fading. I only made it halfway to the floor before I felt myself being jerked upright, the next blow, this time to my nose, woke me right back up. I tried to get my hands up, but they were soon held at my side. Ivan and his pal Ivan began to work on my face. They didn’t seem to be trying for the knockout blow, though a few shots had me reeling inside. The Ivan holding me made sure I didn’t keel over.

  I’m not sure how many times they hit me, but it felt like they’d gotten bored and had used a brick or a baseball bat at some point. My right ear was ringing, and I was having a hard time swallowing. My tongue did a quick check of my teeth, and they all seemed to be there, and none of them seemed to be loose. It was hard to tell, since I constantly had to swallow a mouthful of blood and saliva.

  I tried to spit whenever I could think about it, but my brain didn’t seem to be functioning correctly. I kept thinking about Tanya’s purse when we were in our senior year at high school. I couldn’t even remember what it was about the purse that I wanted to remember. All my brain could do was to remember that there had been a purse, and it had a funny story attached to it. At some point, they f
inally stopped beating me. The Ivan behind me let me go, but I don’t remember what happened after feeling myself falling forward.

  SIX - Lesson Plan

  I woke to a boot kicking me in the back. My head felt like it had been run over by a train, but at least they’d left my stomach alone. I wondered if I was going to be pissing blood from the kidney shot one of the Ivans had given me. It felt like I would. I tried to lift my head after another kick to the ass, but I couldn’t. It hurt too much. I heard rustling, then a small snap, then I came awake and alert in less than three seconds. Once the smelling salts wore off, my skull erupted in pain that literally crippled me for almost a full minute. A second shot of the smelling salts started the cycle all over again, but the second time, I could at least focus my eyes enough to see Petrovski sitting in an office chair a few feet from me.

  “Ah, Comrade,” he said, his voice and his body language business casual, “I’m glad you have been such a good employee so far. Enough that I’ve decided that you are worth keeping around. So instead of killing you, I’ve decided I will give you your first job.”

  I coughed, and it felt like someone hit me in the back of my head with a cattle prod and a hammer at the same time. I doubled over, doing my best to not cough again, but then had to worry about sneezing as a trickle of blood or snot began to make my nose twitch. If you sneeze, don’t sneeze on his shoes. It sounded like good advice, and I was glad my brain stopped hurting just long enough to clue me in.

  “If you are successful, then I will purchase your bearer bonds at fifty percent value, and you will become a valuable employee. If you fail, well, you won’t need to worry about bearer bonds, will you?”

  I finally got over my urge to sneeze, but I could feel blood trickling from my nose down my upper lip to my chin. I saw two Petrovskis for a second before they melded into a single person again.