by John Bowers
He could get used to this.
Without warning, another dancer, a girl, swung in front of him, blocking Nicola, and danced expertly for thirty seconds. She was an attractive brunette with a dark complexion, and for just a moment Nick stared in dumb fascination as, smiling, she winked at him. Before Nicola had time to react, the brunette swung out of the way and returned to her own partner.
But not before Nick recognized her. Connie Ventura was on the job.
*
After thirty minutes of shuffling about the dance floor, Nick was done. If it was cold outside, the atmosphere inside the club was decidedly warm. With a wave of his finger at Nicola, he backed out of the crowd and made his way back to the bar. The drinks were still sitting there, but Nick didn’t touch his. Nicola sidled up to him with a pleased expression.
“Are you giving up so easily?” she cooed.
“I didn’t come here to dance. I’ve had enough.” He glanced at his watch. It was just after seven o’clock, nearly two hours until the boss was supposed to arrive. He dropped onto the stool with a frustrated sigh.
Nicola picked up her vodka and sipped it, then batted her eyes at him.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go upstairs? We have time.”
He shook his head. She was starting to annoy him.
“Exactly what is your job here?” he asked. “I mean, what do you do when you aren’t babysitting strangers who want to see your boss?”
She shrugged and downed the rest of her vodka.
“What do you care? I’m taking care of you, aren’t I?”
His eyes narrowed and he peered at her a moment.
“Why is your English so much better than everyone else’s around here? You almost sound like a Federation citizen.”
Her face flushed with pleasure.
“Thank you! That is the nicest thing I’ve heard all day.”
“It is? Why?”
“Most people on this planet speak Federation English, but they speak it in grunts and growls. Some of them mock me for speaking it correctly, so what you just said to me is a great compliment.”
“So where did you learn it?”
“I grew up in Kiev. Standard English is the second language there, and I always preferred it over Rukranian.”
“If you grew up there, what are you doing here?”
“It’s a long story. I wouldn’t want to bore you.”
“What else am I going to do for the next two hours?”
She smiled and slid a finger up his neck to the edge of his knit cap.
“We could dance some more. Or…”
She leaned in and kissed him. He pulled back a couple of inches. She gazed into his eyes.
“You don’t like me?”
“I don’t know. We just met. You never did answer my question.”
“Which question?”
“What your job here is. Somehow I don’t think you’re being paid to take customers to bed.”
“I am a hostess. I do whatever is required of me. Sasha told me to keep you entertained until the boss arrives.”
“Sasha?”
“You talked to him outside. He is the one who introduced me to you.”
Nick grunted. These Rukes and their fancy names. “Sasha” sounded like a girl’s name.
“More likely, he told you to keep an eye on me.”
“That, too.”
She settled back onto her stool and stared at him.
“Don’t you want to do anything?”
“Yeah, I want to meet your boss. Until he gets here…no.”
“Well. You’re not much fun.”
She ordered another drink. The bartender delivered it and walked away without payment. Nick ignored her for a moment and scanned the dancing crowd to see if he could spot Connie Ventura again. She was in there, somewhere, but he couldn’t see her. He glanced at his watch again. Nicola noticed.
“You certainly are impatient, aren’t you?”
“Not usually, but I’m in a pickle.”
“What kind of pickle?”
“The cops are after me. I need to see your boss, and if he doesn’t get here soon…”
Without warning, he slid off the stool.
“You know what? Forget it. I think you’re jerking me around. I’m outta here.”
Nicola looked startled.
“What—what do you mean?”
“I mean I’m leaving. Thanks for the dance.”
He turned for the exit but she leaped in front of him.
“Nick, wait! You can’t leave. Sasha said—”
“Fuck Sasha. I don’t work for him.”
“But—what about the cops? Where will you go?”
“Not your problem.”
He pushed past her and headed for the main entrance, the music pounding at his back. Nicola skittered around and confronted him again. She held up a hand, looking panicked.
“Wait! Wait one minute. Maybe I can speed things up.”
Without breaking eye contact, she fiddled with her earpiece and began to speak rapidly in Rukranian.
“Who are you talking to?”
She didn’t answer right away, still in conversation with someone on her earpiece. After a moment she nodded with a little smile.
“Da. Blagodarja.”
She released the earpiece and took Nick by the hand, her smile more relaxed.
“Come with me.”
Nick’s danger flags snapped to half mast, but he let her lead him toward a stairwell leading up to the mezzanine. The music was just as loud up here, but it was less crowded; the lighting was dim and people were seated at tables, some having dinner, others just drinking. A surprising number were smoking cigarettes.
Nicola led him to a table at the far end of the mezzanine, shrouded in gloom. Three men sat there, two with shaven, tattooed heads. With them was a woman close to Nick’s age, and if he had thought Nicola was hot, this one was stunning.
The tattooed men were casually dressed, but the third wore an expensive business suit and a diamond stud in his right ear. As they approached, he lifted his chin to acknowledge them. Nicola seemed deferential as she leaned over and spoke into his ear, then she stepped back as he turned his full attention on Nick. Nick stood evenly on both feet, fully aware that the Rukes were almost certainly armed, while he was not. The man with the ear diamond pierced him with blue, laser-like eyes.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Russo. Nick Russo.”
“Russo. Like the money?”
“What?”
“Like the money. In Federation, money is called terro. Here, money is called russo.”
“Oh, I get it. Yeah, Russo, like the money.”
“What you want with boss?”
“I need a job. Look, I already told this story once, to the men outside, and I’m prepared to tell it again, but only to the man in charge.”
“If you want see man in charge, you tell me. Who are you?”
Nick compressed his lips, glanced at Nicola with something akin to hostility, then released a sigh.
“I’m a fugitive. I need a job…and a place to hole up.”
The cold blue gaze swept him again.
“Were you arrested at airport?”
“Yes. Has everyone on the planet heard about that?”
“I will ask questions. But yes, everyone knows.”
“Well, then you know I’m in a jam. I’m wanted in the Federation and I came here to avoid prison—”
“Why?”
“What?”
“Why you come here? You think we like criminals better than Federation?”
“No, but I was told that Beta Centauri doesn’t extradite. Maybe that was bad information.”
The ear stud man shrugged. “What does have to do with my boss? Why you come to Rodina?”
“I heard that he takes care of his people. If I work for him, maybe the Federation can’t touch me.”
“You heard, you heard. Who you heard this from?”<
br />
“Jesus Christ! You sound like a fucking prosecutor.”
Ear stud man glanced at his companions, who grinned at him. He turned to Nick again.
“I am not prosecutor. But boss will ask these things.”
“Then let him ask me. I don’t like to repeat myself.”
He reached up and pulled off the knit cap, revealing his bare scalp and its tattoos. Everyone at the table stared at him with sudden interest, and for a moment none of them spoke.
The Ruke with the ear stud never broke eye contact, but made no further comment. In fact, none of the men spoke again—it was the woman who took up the interrogation. She gazed at Nick with intense interest, her ice-blue eyes a stark contrast to her shoulder-length black hair.
“Tell me, Nick Russo—what does the Federation want you for?”
He shifted his gaze to her. Her English was better than the others, almost as good as Nicola’s.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Answer the question! Why does the Federation want you?”
“Oh, nothing too major. Just an operation that went sideways.”
“Sideways?”
“Yeah.”
The woman selected a cigarette out of a bowl filled with them and lit it with a laser lighter. She sucked it gently with painted lips, then blew a thin stream of smoke in his direction.
Jesus Christ! Polina was right—this is straight out of the holovids!
“What do you mean ‘sideways’? You kill someone?”
Nick clamped his lips shut, as if reluctant to answer. Finally he shrugged.
“It was just business. Unfortunately, the Feds didn’t see it that way.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed and she sucked the cigarette again. She was playing it cool, like acting out a script. Before she recited her next line, he interrupted.
“You still didn’t answer my question. Who the hell are you?”
“Call me Diana.”
“Diana. Well, as I said, Diana, I don’t like to repeat myself, so why don’t you just let us men do the talking and maybe I can get to see your boss before we all die of tobacco poisoning.”
The three men tensed, but the woman didn’t flinch. She stared coolly at him for another few seconds, then stubbed the cigarette out in a glass dish.
“The first thing you need to know, Nick Russo, is nobody sees the boss without interrogation first. You want to see the boss, you tell me everything. Then, maybe I make it happen.”
“You! I thought Mr. Diamond Man here was in charge.”
She offered him a wry smile.
“Just what you are supposed to think. But I am Diana Stepurin. The boss is my cousin.”
Chapter 9
Diana Stepurin was a chain smoker, but Nick wondered it if was all for show. She sucked smoke and immediately expelled it again, without apparently inhaling it. With a flick of her wrist she dismissed Nicola, who fled without hesitation, then she spoke a phrase in Rukranian and one of the men subjected Nick to another pat-down. That done, Diana resumed her questioning.
“What kind of work are you looking for?”
“Whatever you have. I’m in no position to be choosy.”
“What did you do in the Federation?”
“I was a specialist. I made problems go away.”
“Where did you work?”
“Joisey.”
“Joisey?”
“Yeah.
“What is Joisey?”
“It’s near New York. North America.”
“Who you work for?”
“Fitz-Kennedy.”
The man in the business suit leaned forward.
“Fitz-Kennedy!”
Nick glanced at him. “You’ve heard of them?”
“Da. They legitimate now. For a century, maybe.”
Nick shook his head. “So they want you to believe.”
“What did you do for them?” Diana asked.
“I told you. I made problems go away. I can do the same for you.”
“What do you mean, ‘go away’?”
Nick made a show of exasperation.
“Jesus Christ, do you need a fucking picture?” He made a pistol of his thumb and forefinger and mimicked firing it. “Permanent solutions.”
Diana never took her eyes off him; the three men glanced at her in anticipation of her reaction.
“Why do you think we need permanent solution?”
Nick heaved a sigh and rubbed a hand over his eyes.
“Okay, look—let’s stop with the song and dance, awright? Everybody on Terra knows about Bratva, and I mean everybody. Most people are afraid to say the word out loud, but they know, okay? When I had to make a break for it, I knew I could never outrun the Federation, but if I could make it to Beta Centauri, I might have a chance if I could hook up with you folks. If you can’t use me, then I’m done. I might as well put a bullet in my own head.”
“You speak Rukranian?”
“No, but I can learn if I have to. Now…can I please see the boss?”
Diana continued to stare at him. The man in the suit leaned over and spoke quietly to her. She stubbed out her latest cigarette and glanced at her watch.
“Okay, Nick Russo. Take a chair, sit. Boss will be here soon.”
Nick pulled up a chair and sat across the table from them. The butterflies in his stomach still fluttered, but so far so good. Diana insisted he have a drink, and it hardly seemed a good idea to refuse. The man in the suit poured vodka into a shot glass from a bottle on the table and Nick downed it in a single gulp; it was hot as napalm, at least a hundred proof, and he was glad he’d left most of the Ouzo on the bar down below. He hoped they didn’t push too much on him, because he’d done very little drinking since his mission to Tau Ceti 4. He felt the alcohol stream through his blood like lava from a volcano, but managed to keep his wits.
Diamond-stud man poured him another glass, but Nick pushed it aside.
“Thanks, but I don’t think your boss will want to talk to me if I’m drunk.”
“You get drunk easy?”
“I never drink much. I was always on duty. Fitz-Kennedy wanted their specialists to keep a clear head.”
“Use drugs?”
“No. Sometimes I take a little cannabis if I have trouble sleeping. Nothing else.”
This statement was met with a nod of approval; Nick wondered if the vodka had been a test.
“Okay, Nick Russo. No more vodka for you.” The man grinned, his expression almost friendly. “I am Boris. If boss hire you, then we see each other often.”
Nick nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
He tried to remember if Valentin had mentioned anyone named Boris, but couldn’t recall. He glanced at the other two men but they remained silent; no one introduced them and he didn’t ask. He had no idea what to say next, and an awkward silence followed. Then the Rukes began talking among themselves in their own language, leaving him out of it.
Fine.
Forty minutes later, Diana stood up. The men all followed suit. She motioned to Nick.
“Come, Nick Russo. Is time to meet the boss.”
*
Accompanied by Boris, Diana led Nick down a corridor toward the back of the building. The music was fainter here, giving his eardrums a break. The relief was welcome, though his ears rang a little from the sustained assault of the last couple of hours. He could still feel the beat through the soles of his shoes.
No one spoke as they entered an anti-grav lift. Nick realized he was now truly in the belly of the beast. Except for his hands and feet, he was completely unarmed and at the mercy of these people. On the surface they seemed civilized enough, but he’d been in the presence of evil before and took nothing for granted.
“You have a wife, Nick Russo?” Diana eyed him as the lift rose.
“No.”
“Girlfriend?”
He shrugged. “Now and then. Not much future for relationships in my line of work.”
Her lips curved faintly a
nd she fell silent. The lift stopped on the fourth floor and Boris exited. Diana waited until Nick followed, then joined them. Boris led the way down a dim, quiet corridor to the left. Twenty feet ahead he saw a heavy door padded with leather. Two goons flanked the door, standing more or less at parade rest. They stiffened as the party approached, faces grim as they stared at Nick. Boris said something in Rukranian and they relaxed a little. Diana opened the door and entered first, followed by Nick, then Boris.
It was a large office with a view of nighttime Periscope Harbor. Actually it looked more like a den, with a fireplace behind the desk and a wet bar to his right. The desk was massive, half the size of a conference table, and appeared to be made of oak, or something equally substantial. Electronics adorned the wall by the door, half a dozen holo-screens that could be used to spy on probably anyone in the city. The air carried a faint smell of cigars.
The man behind the desk looked to be in his early fifties. He was somewhat rotund, if not exactly fat, and his clothing must have cost a fortune. Diamond rings adorned most of his fingers and his wristwatch must have weighed nearly a pound. It looked like one of those multi-purpose jobs that included a compass, GPS, and probably radar as well. He wore old-fashioned eyeglasses with heavy black rims. His head was mostly bald except for a few strands of hair plastered across the top, and his skin was the color of marble.
Seated to one side of the desk was another man a dozen years younger, just as expensively dressed, but much fitter. Both stared at him as Diana approached and made the announcement.
Whatever she said was in Rukranian, but her last two words were “Nick Russo”.
The man behind the desk managed to conceal his excitement as he appraised Nick with a flat stare. Nick tried to keep a neutral expression as he stood in front of the desk with his hands clasped before him, trying to look nonthreatening. No one spoke for thirty or forty seconds. The rotund man lit a cigar and puffed it to a satisfying glow, then regarded Nick again.
