Black Delta Night

by Jessica Speart

  “Higher.”

  I raised the garment until nothing was hidden from his sight, only to gasp as Santou’s lips brazenly kissed my breasts. Then he taped the wires against my flesh. Finally, he broke the handle off the plastic spoon and placed the oval mouth over the microphone, taping that to my body as well.

  “What’s the spoon for?” I asked, trying to sound cool, calm, and collected as my pulse beat to a primal drum.

  “It’s so your sweater won’t scratch against the mike and create any static.”

  I’d just begun to catch my breath when Santou’s hand slid back inside my panties. His fingers lightly played with the wires as my heart thrummed in time with my pulse.

  “I’m just checking to make sure there’s enough slack for normal body movement.” But his fingers did much more than that as his mouth brushed against my ear, heightening the sensation.

  “Be careful tonight, chère. We’ve got a lot of lost time to make up.” Then his lips pressed steadily against mine, claiming me as his own. “You’d better get dressed now. They could be back any minute.”

  I quickly lowered my sweater and pulled on my pants, flustered at the thought. Shortly afterward, Tolliver and Hickok entered the room.

  “I trust she’s wired up properly and there won’t be any problems,” Tolliver said with a suspicious glance.

  “Let’s test the equipment and find out,” Santou proposed.

  Tolliver produced a cassette recorder as I stepped into the hall and shut the door. Before I’d finished counting aloud to ten, Jake stuck his head outside.

  “Okay. You can come back in.”

  I entered to find Tolliver already beginning his transformation back into Billy Paw.

  “Here’s the way it’s gonna play out. I’ll do my usual role. Meanwhile, you get Galinov to discuss everything that we talked about.”

  “What if something goes wrong?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  “Don’t worry. Me and Santou’ll be in a car down the road listening to your every word,” Hickok promised. “Tell you what. Why don’t we come up with a phrase you can use just in case things get hinky? How about, ‘It’s Mardi Gras time’?”

  That made as much sense as anything else.

  “Your job is on the line, Porter. So don’t fuck up,” Tolliver added, taking his leave.

  Santou went with him, agreeing to hook up with Charlie later on.

  Hickok waited until they’d walked out the door. “Screw that mother. Let’s kick the tires and light the fire under old Sergei’s ass. Get everything you can on his caviar ring while you’re at it.”

  My skin tingled again, but now it was from anticipation of what might happen tonight.

  Twenty-four

  I scampered up Galinov’s front steps at nine, my heart pounding like a Dixieland band out of control. Pressing the buzzer, I expected Billy Paw to appear and flash me a secret sign, as strains of “Love Me Tender” rang out to embrace the night.

  But it was Sergei himself who answered the door, this time adorned in a royal-blue jumpsuit. Not only did its plunging neckline outdo my own, but Sergei even had decent cleavage! A wide belt valiantly cinched in his waist, looking as though it might pop open at any second.

  Sergei’s eyes devoured my own “come hither” attire. “Priscilla! You look good enough to eat!”

  The next moment I was buried in rhinestones, synthetic fabric, and way too much flesh.

  Oh my God! He’ll feel the microphone on my stomach!

  But my fears were allayed as I realized the mike was pressing against his heavily studded belt. A bullet couldn’t have pierced the damn thing.

  “Come! I have a surprise waiting inside.”

  I followed Sergei’s bell bottoms, which hypnotically swished back and forth, each leg weighed down with sequins. Though I anxiously glanced around, Tolliver was nowhere in sight. Great. Wouldn’t you know this was the night he’d decide to keep a low profile?

  Sergei stopped at the Jungle Room and spread his arms wide in delight. “Is this not a setting fit for Elvis and his Priscilla?”

  Talk about your mood lighting! Dozens of candles lit the space, each sculpted into a bust of Elvis. Their flames swayed to a silent Presley tune, casting shadows in every direction. Silhouettes of the King even danced on the green shag-carpeted ceiling.

  Sergei led me into the room. “And look what the King has prepared for his Queen!”

  A cut-glass bowl sat on the coffee table, its contents a shimmering heap of caviar. Next to it were oysters on the half shell, along with an icy bottle of Russian vodka. Galinov sank into the faux fur couch and pulled me down beside him.

  Bending forward with a grunt, he spooned some caviar onto an oyster and held the concoction to my mouth. “How does it feel to eat the most expensive delicacy in the world?”

  I swallowed, trying not to gag on the stuff. “Pure heaven.”

  “It is black magic on the tongue.” Galinov agreed, shoveling some beluga into his own gullet. “I tell you for sure. I make more money in this business than anyone else.”

  I reached for the vodka and poured us both a glass. “That calls for a toast. Here’s to the most brilliant businessman in Memphis.”

  Sergei downed his drink in one gulp, and I poured him another shot.

  “I am more than just Memphis,” Galinov bragged. “I am my own multinational corporation. The world is my oyster.”

  We clinked glasses. “Then here’s to the King of the Caviar Trade.” My guess was Sergei had been hitting the sauce long before I’d arrived.

  He drained his glass once more. “I really am the best, aren’t I? In many ways!” He leaned toward me, only to abruptly jump up.

  “Dammit!”

  Sergei’s hand dove into his pocket, pulled out a set of keys, and threw them on the coffee table.

  “There, that’s more comfortable. Now, where did we leave off?”

  Galinov’s mouth attached itself to mine with all the finesse of a satellite making a crash landing. When he planted his hand on my breast, I instinctively jerked away.

  Sergei’s face instantly darkened. “What’s wrong?”

  “I think a mouse just ran by my feet,” I hastily improvised.

  Galinov looked dubious. “You’re afraid of mice?”

  “I know it sounds silly coming from a wildlife agent, but I can’t stand the things. Maybe you should call Billy Paw and have him take a look around.”

  “Billy Paw isn’t here. I gave him the night off so we wouldn’t have any interruptions.”

  Damn the man! I knew it! Deep down, I’d suspected Tolliver thought of me as merely an expendable chess piece.

  “This is a night for romance and I don’t want you to feel inhibited,” Sergei said huskily, and plied me with another oyster.

  Oy vey.

  “Then I should tell you that I’m probably a bit different from other women that you’ve known.”

  Galinov’s eyes narrowed under their heavy lids. “In what way? Do you have something under your clothes that other women don’t?”

  Wrong thing to say! I didn’t need him to start an exploratory journey.

  I forced a flirtatious giggle. “No, I just like a little foreplay.”

  “Me, too,” Sergei eagerly agreed with a lunge.

  I raised my hands to fend him off. “I mean it excites me to know what a powerful man you are. I find it very arousing when you talk about your business.”

  Sergei’s mouth slid into a roguish grin and his hand intimately rubbed my leg. “My perfect Priscilla! I’ll tell you a little secret. That excites me, too. What should we discuss to heighten our pleasure?”

  “Why don’t you tell me about the Velvet Kitty?” I purred. “It seems like a very sexy place.”

  Sergei’s lips began to explore my neck. “What do you want to know?”

  “You must have, what? Twenty, maybe twenty-five girls working for you? That’s a lot of women to pay. Is the club lucrative?”

  Sergei broke
into a hearty laugh. “The Velvet Kitty is a treasure chest! But then, I have a good deal. My girls are all from Russia and the Ukraine. They work for room and board, plus a little spending money. But they’re happy, and it’s far better than they could do back home.”

  “Still, I’m surprised they don’t demand large salaries. Or worse yet, go to another club. Surely the girls do more than just lap dancing?”

  I felt Sergei hesitate and immediately ran my fingers seductively down his chest.

  “Personally, I think they should be happy working for you,” I cooed.

  Sergei relaxed, and his lips continued to glide along my throat. “Of course they do more than lap dance. It’s all part of their job.”

  “But if you don’t pay them much, why do they stay?” I persisted, my hand teasingly rubbing his thigh.

  Galinov stared at me a moment, as if making up his mind. “Okay. I tell you the truth. These girls, they think they’re coming over to be models, or big-time actresses. It’s crazy, but they are from the countryside. Once they get here, they learn to deal with the situation. Besides, I tell them this is the way American girls break into show business. Since my partners in Russia front their travel expenses, I hold on to each girl’s passport until we’ve been reimbursed.”

  I knew Galinov was lying about the details. He also seemed to sense I doubted him.

  “Do you have a problem with that?” His voice held a menacing tone.

  “Not at all. In fact, I just had a thought. If so many women are anxious to leave Russia, why not supply other clubs with their services?”

  “You mean, sell these girls to them?” he asked carefully.

  “I’m sure they can work out an agreeable arrangement with their new bosses,” I responded, hoping to erase his doubts.

  Sergei looked at me in amazement. “Now I know we truly are soul mates! I am already doing just that.”

  “That’s incredible!” I marveled. “Tell me, how many women have you brought over so far?”

  “Many!” Galinov boasted.

  “How many?” I pursued, shivering under his touch.

  Sergei took it as a sign of passion. “Well over a thousand women.”

  I was heating up, all right. Only it was due to the transmitter taped to my leg. Something had to be wrong; the damn thing was burning my skin. “Do you keep a list of the clubs that bought them?”

  Galinov instantly froze. “Why do you ask?”

  “So you can follow up and see if they want more women,” I replied with a smile.

  Sergei pulled me onto his lap and held me tightly in his arms. “Yes, I keep a list. But you are like a child who wants to know too much. You must learn to be patient. What I will tell you is that I plan to open an even bigger, better club in Mississippi with many more girls. Who knows? Maybe you can run it. We’ll see how well you please me tonight.”

  I suddenly felt no different from Tatyana and the others, as Galinov’s fingers began to slide down toward my breasts. The FBI could go to hell; Mata Hari was about to retire. My hand edged toward the heavy glass bowl with one thought in mind: I’d knock Galinov out, grab his keys, and quickly search his files. Sergei was saved from one hell of a nasty hangover by the piercing ring of his phone.

  I remained pinned on his lap like a ventriloquist’s dummy as he picked up the receiver. Galinov listened closely before uttering an abrupt response and pressing the hold button.

  “I’m sorry, Priscilla, but this is an important overseas call which I must take upstairs. It should only last a half hour at most. So eat some caviar and enjoy yourself. I’ll be back soon.” Sergei kissed my hand. “Promise not to go anywhere?”

  I batted my lashes as I imagined Priscilla might do. “I promise,” I vowed, and meant it. There was no way I was about to leave with the golden opportunity I was being handed.

  Sergei lumbered out of the room. My ears listened to his footsteps as they climbed the stairs. Then I glanced at my watch and noted the time. If Tolliver had wanted to rein me in, he should have found a way to remain on the job tonight. I planned to resume my own work.

  The filing cabinets in Galinov’s basement lured me like tantalizing sirens, seductively whispering they contained everything I wanted to know.

  My fingers wrapped themselves tightly around Galinov’s keys and I dashed to the cellar door, where I fumbled with the lock.

  Come on! Let me find the right key! I prayed.

  Somebody up there must have been listening. The door swung open; the light flicked on at my touch.

  The stairs hummed beneath my feet, and my breath raced to keep pace with my heart. Four plastic buckets filled with roe sat cooling in an ice chest at the bottom of the steps. The eggs probably needed to reach a certain temperature before being frozen.

  I headed straight to the filing cabinets, not wasting a moment. My hope was that they’d provide all the documentation I’d need to end Sergei’s career forever.

  I tugged at the top drawer to no avail. Galinov wisely kept his valuables under lock and key. I checked my watch. No need to rush. I guided key after key into the lock without any luck, until I thought I’d explode.

  Get hold of yourself! Think of something soothing, like listening to the ocean, my inner voice helpfully suggested.

  Yeah, right. I’d have rather had a stick of dynamite to play with. My eyes nervously glanced at my watch. Barely five minutes had passed. I tried the next few keys. Bingo!

  I quickly rifled through the files, finding folders for airlines, cruise ships, and restaurants. Well, whadda ya know? Each was aware they’d been buying counterfeit caviar from Galinov. In exchange, they received a discount. Meanwhile, these chi-chi places unloaded the stuff as authentic beluga to their customers.

  Another file listed Galinov’s network of fishermen, noting their daily delivery of roe, and how many tons of paddlefish eggs were regularly sent out of the country. But it was the sight of a ledger that set my nerves thrumming. I opened it and scanned its contents.

  Inside were copies of reports that Sergei had sent to his Russian partners. They detailed the amount of roe processed per month, along with what had been sold. One look quickly revealed the figures didn’t match up with what was in Galinov’s other folders. That’s when I knew I had Sergei by his sequins, spangles, and rhinestones.

  Galinov’s books were cooked. He was selling a hefty chunk of caviar and paddlefish here in the States, while reporting a far lower amount to his Russian comrades back home. Should his partners learn of this, Sergei’s days would be numbered. He’d have no choice but to reveal the identity of his associates when confronted with this information.

  I ripped the sheets out of the ledger and added them to the thin pile of papers on the floor. Then I checked my watch again to discover hardly any time had passed at all.

  I moved to the second cabinet, exuberant at what I’d found. More locked files meant even more confidential information. I wasn’t about to turn that down. I unlatched a drawer and quickly plunged my fingers in, only to have my flesh turn icy cold. It was as if I’d discovered a cache of ghostly spirits. Piled inside were hundreds of passports, each representing a life stolen for profit. The drawer was literally filled with them. I picked up a few and swiftly scanned their contents.

  They held the smiling faces of women unaware of the nightmare realm they were about to enter. I imagined they now viewed the world through eyes that were empty, their mouths tightly grim, no longer wearing makeup to highlight their beauty, but to hide the bruises marring their skin.

  Zap!

  An electric jolt shot through my flesh. It was the transmitter! I lifted my pant leg and began to reposition the Ace bandage, when my eyes fell upon the papers I’d collected. Quickly removing the bandage, I held the transmitter in place and molded the thin stack of papers to my leg. Then I tightly rewrapped the elastic. Having finished, I stood up, only to again come face-to-face with those hundreds of passports. I had no choice but to leave them buried where they were for now.
r />   I hastily moved on to the last drawer. When I jerked it open, my eyes fell upon a folder labeled Livestock Sales. I removed it and the taste of bile rose in my throat. In my hands was a list of every woman that Sergei and his partners had brought over and sold. Livestock. That said it all. The advertising slogan, “You’ve come a long way baby” could only have been written by a man. The majority of women in this world still had miles left to go.

  I slipped the papers inside the back of my pants and pulled my sweater down low. Then I peered one last time at my watch. My stomach instantly hit the floor. It was exactly the same as when I’d looked before. No wonder thirty minutes had gone by so slowly—my watch had stopped. I had to leave now.

  As if on cue, the door above creaked open, setting off a string of fireworks in my nerves. Sergei’s foot hit the top step like a thunderous drumroll. Another clap of thunder followed as Galinov came down the stairs. The sequins on his pants cast a lethal array of shimmering light and shadows as foreboding as demonic Tinker Bells.

  I quickly scooted over to his collection of radio equipment, knowing there was little time to lose. Though I tried to appear utterly absorbed, I must not have presented the picture of pristine innocence. Galinov stopped and stared as if measuring me for one of his freezers.

  “What are you doing down here?” his voice boomed.

  “Don’t be angry, Sergei. I became bored with waiting, and remembered you had all this interesting equipment.”

  But Sergei wasn’t appeased. “Give me the keys!” he demanded.

  I handed them over, turning into the little girl who knew she deserved a scolding. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. You will forgive me, won’t you?”

  I did my best to melt Big Daddy by blinking back a few tears. It wasn’t that I was one hell of an actress; I’d just learned to channel my fear.

  “That’s enough,” Galinov gruffly relented. “But don’t do anything like that again.”

  I hung my head in shame, only to have Sergei lift my chin and give me a kiss.

  “Since you’re so interested, I’ll show you my equipment.”

  Scratch the surface and Sergei was just like every other man. Boys and their toys.