“I’ll call you when I know our next move,” the man said. “It should be soon, so be ready.”
The call ended, and Vitali resisted the urge to throw the phone across the room.
It would be best, he realized, if he put his rage into his workout. Tear his muscles to shreds so they would rebuild and be even stronger than before. Push his heart and lungs further than they had ever been pushed.
He stripped down to his boxer briefs and was about to do pull-ups from the molding above the closet door when he began to wonder what the woman being sent to him would look like.
Would she be attractive? Would she be older than he or would she be younger?
Would she be submissive?
Then another thought crossed his mind.
Would he, when this was over and done with, strip her naked and kill her, then leave her body in this room and quietly make his escape from this country once and for all?
Chapter Eight
Haley Siner slept only an average of five hours a night, was usually awake and up well before Johnny, so when he woke and realized that her side of the bed was empty, he wasn’t too alarmed. He could tell by the sounds coming from beyond the heavy curtains hanging in front of the half-open bedroom window — passing street traffic, voices, a single bird singing — that it was daytime. A quick glance at the ticking clock on the floor confirmed this.
So nothing to be concerned about, except maybe that he wasn’t at this moment hearing any sounds coming from the front of their apartment. But it was likely that she was meditating. They were safe here, under the protection of a man Johnny trusted more than anyone alive. Still, Johnny got up and pulled on his sweatpants, then walked quietly down the narrow hallway that ran from the bedroom to the kitchen.
Ready for the worst.
But as he neared the end of the hallway, he saw that Haley was seated at the secondhand folding table at which they ate their meals. Just as she should be, just as she always was. Dressed in yoga pants and a tank top, she was sipping peppermint tea and reading from her well-worn copy of Thich Nhat Hanh’s Being Peace.
He felt an instant wave of relief, though anyone looking at him right then wouldn’t have seen it; he hid his inner life well — or did from strangers, at least.
The difference between the kitchen at the front of their apartment and the bedroom at the back was the difference between the light and dark sides of the moon. Both he and Haley worked long hours, from early in the afternoon to well into the night, did this six days a week. They often didn’t come home from the bar Johnny ran — he was also one of three bartenders, she one of two cooks — till five in the morning, so keeping their bedroom as dark as possible was crucial to a good night’s rest.
Haley sensed him in the kitchen doorway and looked up from her reading and smiled. She wasn’t startled to see him suddenly there, had grown by now accustomed to his ways, was even grateful for them, grateful that he thought in a manner she simply didn’t.
And wouldn’t have to, as long as he was around.
“Hey, there,” she said softly. Her long red hair was pulled back into a ponytail, her green eyes alive in the bright morning light that filled the tiny kitchen. She had a natural beauty, wore little makeup, but it was her inner tranquility, a product of years of Buddhist practice and study, that elevated her to the level of stunning.
Johnny envied her for her peace. She was dawn to his night, the promise of calm to his storm. In his quietest moments, Johnny often considered where he would be had he never met her, had she not given him reason to pull himself back from the darkness into which he had willingly wandered.
“Hey, right back at ya,” he replied. “You good?”
“Yes. You?”
He nodded and ran an open palm over his shortly cropped hair, something he always did when he first woke up. He had the dark hair and olive skin of his father — among Johnny’s few possessions were photographs of him — but the steady blue eyes of his mother. There was, to his regret, only one photo of her. His eyes were what had first caught Haley’s attention when they met a year ago. They still caught her now, every day.
Eyes she could look into, eyes she could trust, eyes that would never — could never — lie to her.
She’d never known anything like that before.
“Any bad dreams?” she asked.
He shook his head. “None.”
She smiled again, pleased by what to her was clearly progress. “That’s good.”
He leaned down and kissed her good morning, tasting the peppermint on her lips.
“As good as it gets,” he said.
Johnny needed more than tea to get started in the morning. They didn’t own a coffeemaker, so he filled a small soup pot with tap water, then put it on the burner to boil. As he waited, he dropped three scoops of a generic instant coffee into a plastic thermos.
“Ready for today’s quote?” Haley asked.
A small Zen Quote of the Day calendar sat on the folding table. It contained sayings by everyone from the Buddha to the Dalai Lama to Thoreau and Einstein and Miles Davis. Each morning Haley removed yesterday’s page and read today’s to Johnny.
“Yeah, let’s hear it.”
She had torn off yesterday’s page already. Picking up the calendar, she read, “‘Better to live one day virtuous and meditative than to live a hundred years immoral and uncontrolled.’ The Buddha.”
Johnny, having not had his coffee yet, needed to think about that for a moment. Finally, he nodded and said, “Sounds good to me.”
“Yesterday’s was good, too.”
He was looking out the window, over the roof of the adjoining building. The East River was just a few blocks away, and beyond it lay Manhattan.
They had been home for a year, and he had managed to not once go there.
“Remind me,” he said.
“‘What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters, compared to what lies within us.’ Ralph Waldo Emerson.”
Yesterday’s rain had caused Johnny’s left ankle to ache to the point where he almost limped, so he was glad to be looking now at a blue sky broken only by high, white clouds.
Early June — still spring, technically, but it was starting to feel like summer. He was glad, too, for the hectic day ahead of them, the long hours of hard work that would carry them till it was finally time to once more climb into bed.
Just the two of them then, alone in the dark together, nothing between them but the deep bond that comes from having escaped death.
And several locked doors between them and the world.
“Yeah, that’s a good one, too.”
“‘There wasn’t nothing he didn’t know,’” Haley said. It was a line from All About Eve, one of her favorite movies.
It wasn’t long after this that Johnny’s cell phone rang.
He had placed the phone on its charger on the folding table before going to bed just seven hours ago. Haley removed it from the charger and glanced at the display screen.
“I think it’s him,” she said matter-of-factly, holding out the phone.
He stepped to her and saw the number displayed. There was only one “him.” Taking the phone, he pressed the button marked Speaker held the phone a foot or so from his face, and said, “Yeah.”
Despite the limits of the small earpiece, Dickey McVicker’s voice managed to fill the room.
“Big Dickey” McVicker was what everyone called him.
“I’m sending Richter to pick you up,” the man said.
“What’s going on?”
“We need to talk. You and me, in person. Richter’ll be there in ten. Be ready.”
The call ended, and Johnny closed the phone.
He could feel Haley looking at him. He realized that he shouldn’t have put Dickey on speaker, but the man was his boss and called often enough. He owned, among other things, the bar that Johnny ran, not to mention the building in which he and Haley lived. So there really wasn’t any reason for him to think th
at this call would have been anything other than business as usual.
“What’s that all about?” Haley asked.
Johnny shrugged. “Haven’t a clue.” He pocketed his phone, then looked at her so she could see that he was as puzzled as she.
But also see that he wasn’t hiding anything.
“That was…abrupt.”
“Tell me about it.”
Johnny realized that, if they were danger, Dickey would have said something, would have told Johnny that he was sending his son to pick them both up.
So maybe it was business as usual. Maybe Dickey was just having a bad day. Even rich and powerful men had those, no?
Neither Haley nor Johnny spoke for a moment.
“Guess you’d better get dressed,” Haley said finally.
Johnny went into the bedroom, and Haley moved to the living room. She sat sideways on the sill of one of the two tall windows, leaning against the plastered window frame and looking down on Bedford Avenue.
Williamsburg was a “hipster” neighborhood — college kids, recent grads, young couples. Not unlike Khao San Road, the neighborhood in Bangkok that attracted an unusual number of long-haired westerners in backpacks. A mile-long street lined with guesthouses and hotels and clubs and shops, a sixties vibe but with a distinctly twenty-first-century hustle.
It was there, in the lobby of a small hotel where rooms cost just five dollars a night, that Haley had first spotted Johnny.
And where, just two weeks after that, men had come to kill her.
She had gone to Thailand to further her study of Theravada Buddhism, which, in the most basic of terms, called for “the destruction of the self”. Johnny had gone there, she learned on their second date, to mourn the death of his father. But it was more than simple mourning. He had begun his journey in Vietnam, where his father had fought, then over a matter of months had traveled throughout Southeast Asia. Roaming, his belongings in a backpack, hair long, bearded. If not for his eyes, she would have not looked twice at him. As travelers often did, he eventually made his way to the noise and frenzy that was Bangkok.
It had quickly become obvious to her that he had gone there not so much to mourn as to lose himself, to flame out and then disappear.
So they were there, really, for the same reason. Well, almost.
She had traveled there with a college friend who, she learned too late, had a secret agenda — more than one, actually. He had claimed to only want friendship but of course desired more than that, and waited till they had arrived before revealing that hidden truth. This she had been able to handle.
But he had also claimed to be a student of enlightenment, just as she was, and had offered to travel with her for that reason. Shortly after arriving, however — actually, immediately upon arriving — he contacted friends who had gone there ahead of him and through them got involved in the city’s drug business, a decision that ultimately put Haley’s life in danger.
As well as the life of the expat she had recently met.
What happened then, she could barely remember. Too fast, too much. Nothing shy of hell. She had all but blacked out, was lucky in that regard. Johnny, not so much.
But the dreams were occurring less often. It had been a while since she last woke to feel him clutching her arm, a man wild with fear, ready to do what he had to do to protect her.
She had gone to the window now to watch the people passing below. This always eased her mind, helped her feel safe. A reminder that they had made it home. But she found herself also watching for a black town car. Every time they had gotten a visit from Dickey McVicker — at the bar usually, but a few times here — he had arrived in a black sedan. That vehicle would easily stand out in this neighborhood, so there would be no missing it. And there was, really, no need for her to watch for it; it would arrive when it arrived.
Still, she did.
Of course, it wasn’t so much the vehicle that she was dreading but rather the man who always drove it. She’d only seen him a few times, but a few times was enough. The sight of him filled her veins with ice. Maybe it was the deference he showed Johnny that bothered her. Or maybe it was that he reminded her in some way of the men who had come for her, who had threatened to do terrible things to her, who had looked at her with no hint of compassion.
This much she could remember.
Johnny entered the living room then, saving her from her thoughts. He was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt and carrying black cowboy boots. His belt was loose, his jeans unbuttoned. He set the boots on the floor, then tucked in his shirt, closed his jeans, and tightened his belt.
He moved quickly. Swiftness defined him. Her father and brother had both boxed, and Johnny had that thing boxers had, that manner. Swift, but always calm, always deliberate. Efficient. Even when the Saturday night crowd at the bar was four deep, even as he was leading her by the hand out of a Bangkok hotel…
“How long do you think you’ll be?” she asked.
“Not sure.”
“I’ll open up the bar if you don’t get back in time. Today’s delivery day for the kitchen.”
“I doubt I’ll be that long.”
Haley nodded, then turned her head and looked down on the street again. Johnny had sat down on the folding chair and was pulling on his boots. He sensed her tension and knew the reason for it.
“He’ll probably just pull up and beep the horn,” he assured her. “You don’t have to watch for him. He won’t come up.”
“I’m just looking at all the cute boys walking around,” she teased.
Johnny smiled. “Look all you want, babe.”
“So cute. So…young. How long will you be gone again?”
Johnny didn’t take the bait. Still smiling, he said, “You don’t like Richter, I get that, but the thing is, you’re not supposed to like him. That’s his job.”
“Well, he’s very good at it.”
“It’s not a bad thing to be good at your job, Hay. He’s not a bad guy, though. He’s actually kind of funny.”
“Funny?”
“In his way.”
Johnny had the first boot on and was reaching for the second. He had gotten in the habit of wearing cowboy boots back when he needed to keep his ankle wrapped for the support. Before that he’d always worn military boots, even as a boy, and all the way through high school and college. Now he was just used to not having to lace up. And a cowboy boot was a good place to hide weapons as well.
“You know,” he said, “you should ask him about his name sometime.”
“What do you mean?”
“His name. Richter. Ask if he was named after the Richter scale.”
“Why?”
“Just ask him sometime, that’s all.”
“I think I’ll pass.”
“Suit yourself.”
She looked out the window again. Neither said anything for a moment. Johnny was pulling the cuff of his jeans over the second boot when she spoke.
“He’s here,” she announced.
Johnny stepped to the window, the hard soles of his boots thumping on the floor. The town car had pulled to a stop and was double-parked directly below. Instead of sounding the horn, however, its driver emerged from behind the wheel.
Six foot three, shaved head, sunglasses. Wearing a suit that both Haley and Johnny could have fit into. He was Johnny’s age — the two had been friends in their youth, or at least had known each other back then. Though Johnny wasn’t in any way secretive, he didn’t talk much about his past, which suited Haley’s “we live in the now” philosophy.
The man named Richter was looking at a car that had pulled up behind the town car and, because the town car was double-parked, was unable to pass. Richter glared at the driver, and not even his aviator sunglasses could hide his look of menace and contempt.
The driver of the blocked car didn’t beep, simply waited.
“I’ll call you after,” Johnny said. “If it looks like it’s going to take longer than an hour, I’ll break away an
d call you, anyway. Cool?”
“I’ll be okay.”
“Either way, I’ll call you in an hour,” he insisted softly.
She nodded. “Thanks.”
He kissed her, then said, “I love you, Hay.”
She smiled. “I love you, too.”
“Lock up behind me.”
“I will.”
She remained at the window after he closed the door, listening as he moved down the stairs. Every step in that stairwell was an echo that itself echoed. They were the only occupants of this three-story building — the business space at street level was for rent, or so the sign in the window claimed, and the apartment below theirs was used for storage. This offered them a large degree of privacy, which Haley enjoyed. She let out a guttural cry whenever Johnny made her come.
But more than that, living in this empty building meant they didn’t have to listen to the sounds of neighbors or patrons coming and going and wait for some factor, some quality of those sounds, to tell them that what they were hearing was in fact neighbors and patrons coming and going.
And not some specter looking to kill them.
Haley watched as Johnny stepped out onto the sidewalk and joined the man she feared. They didn’t shake hands, simply nodded to each other, each clearly respectful of the other.
And yet, from that giant man, a degree of deference.
Then Johnny stepped toward the back of the sedan. Its rear door, opened by someone inside, swung out, and Johnny nodded again to whoever had opened it.
This time he was the one to show deference.
Haley could not see from where she was seated, but who else could it have been?
Then, without looking up, Johnny got into the sedan. The door was closed and he was driven away.
Stepping to the door, Haley flipped the two dead bolts and began what she hoped would be a short wait for her Johnny to return.
Chapter Nine
“We might be closing the bar for a few days,” McVicker said.
Johnny wasn’t at all surprised by this; McVicker had his hands in a lot of different businesses, some legit, others not so legit, others outright illegal, and at times the man’s varied interests intersected.
The Betrayer Page 7
