White Russian

by Steven Henry

“Yeah, they missed,” Erin said. “Vic got tagged, but he'll be fine.”

  “That wasn't what I meant,” Webb said.

  “Careful, Sir,” Jones said with a weak laugh. “You're gonna make us think you care.”

  “Nah,” Webb said. “You're a smart girl, you know better.”

  The door swung open again, hitting the wall with a bang. All of them whipped around to stare. Vic Neshenko stalked in. He was limping, disheveled, and sporting a pair of fresh bandages. There was a look in his eyes Erin didn't much like.

  “Where is she?” he demanded.

  “Interrogation room,” Erin said. “What are you doing here?”

  “We gonna throw that question at each other all night?” Vic shot back. “I don't need a hospital. I got 'em to turn the ambulance around.”

  “Vic, you've been shot,” Jones said. “Twice.”

  He shrugged. “I'll live. We need a warrant to get Vlasov, and the rest of his goons if we can. The guy Rolf bit is going into surgery, so he won't be talking for a couple hours. The medics said the dog broke a couple bones in his arm.”

  “Good boy,” Erin said, rubbing Rolf behind the ears.

  “So we haven't got a choice,” Vic finished. “I'm going in.” He started for the interrogation room.

  “No!” Erin exclaimed.

  Everyone stopped. Webb raised an eyebrow. “You giving orders, O'Reilly?” he asked quietly.

  “Sir, he can't go in there!”

  “Of course I can,” Vic said.

  “No, he can't,” she said. “She's his girlfriend!”

  “That's why she'll talk to me,” he said.

  “That's why he can't talk to her,” she persisted, still talking to Webb. Her voice was rising, but she didn't care. “Let me do it. He's too emotionally involved!”

  “And you're not?” Webb snapped back.

  “Like hell I am!”

  “Listen to yourself!” the Lieutenant fired back. “Get your monkey-brain out of the driver's seat and try to think like a cop, for God's sake! Forget how you're feeling and think about what we need from the girl. How are we going to get it?”

  “Monkey-brain?” Erin echoed. Her fists were clenched. She was awfully close to saying or doing something that might get her thrown off the force.

  Webb's face softened a little. “Erin, you're a better cop than this,” he said. “You're a better detective than this.”

  “She tried to warn me,” Vic said softly.

  “Huh?” Erin looked at him.

  “She was at the bar on the corner,” he said. “I couldn't park right in front. I got out of the car and she came out the door. There was this guy there. Just as he was walking toward me, she looked at me, flipped her eyes at him, and told me to run.”

  “She still set you up,” Erin said.

  “I need to know why,” he said. “I need to, Erin. And she'll tell me. She won't tell you, or anyone else.”

  “She's a hardened street kid,” Jones said. “I met a bunch of them on the gang task force. You threaten them, they just turtle up.”

  “She did what she had to,” Vic said. “But she didn't want me to get killed. I can use that.”

  Webb nodded. “Go on in,” he said. “The rest of us will observe.”

  “We need another cop in the room,” Erin said.

  The Lieutenant shook his head. “This has to be one-on-one,” he said. “It won't work otherwise.”

  Vic limped to the door. He turned with his hand on the knob. “It's okay, Erin,” he said with a hint of a smile. “You can have the next one.”

  “Hey, Vic?” she asked.

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s suka mean?”

  Then he did smile, just for a moment. “It’s Russian for ‘bitch.’”

  “Damn right I am,” Erin said.

  Webb, Jones, and Erin watched the interrogation room through the one-way mirror. A Russian-American cop from the 60th was there, by Webb's request, in case any Russian got spoken. Tatiana sat cuffed to the table in the room, staring at the stainless-steel surface in front of her. The girl's jaw was so tight Erin could see the muscles of her face trembling.

  “What do you think?” Webb murmured.

  “She's a tough one,” Jones said.

  “But she's brittle,” Erin added. She was still pissed off, at Tatiana, at Vic, at Vlasov, at Webb, at pretty much the whole world. She'd calmed down just enough to recognize Webb had probably been right to keep her out of that room. Angry cops interrogating suspects led to nothing but trouble, and sometimes lawsuits. But that didn't mean she had to be grateful to him.

  “You're right,” Webb said. “If all we were after was a confession, we could break her down. But we need her on our side. You think Neshenko's up to the job?”

  “Find out in a minute,” Erin said without looking at him.

  The door to the interrogation room opened and Vic limped in. Tatiana took a deep breath and looked up. When she saw who it was, her eyes widened.

  “Victor?”

  “She's confused,” Webb said, mostly to himself. “Throws her off balance. Good.”

  “Hey, Anna,” Vic said. He crossed the room and took a cuff key out of his pocket. “Let's get these off you.”

  “You are not afraid of me?” she asked, her mouth twisting into a wry half-smile.

  He unfastened the cuffs. “Course not,” he said. “You don't want to hurt me.”

  “Your friends think I do.”

  Vic snorted. “You wanted me dead, I'd be dead now.” He sat down in the chair opposite her. “It's okay, Anna.”

  “You are not angry with me?” she whispered.

  He shook his head. Then he reached across the table and laid his hand over hers. Erin knew this was risky. Any physical contact in an interrogation room could be twisted by a lawyer to look like coercion. Cops were allowed to lie and cheat, but they were absolutely not allowed to beat confessions out of suspects.

  Tatiana swallowed. A tear spilled out of her eye and rolled down her cheek.

  “Anna, you already helped me tonight,” Vic said. “You warned me about the gunman. I need you to help me some more, and to help yourself.”

  “I am cop-killer,” she said bitterly. “That is what they call me. How can you help me?”

  “They made you do it, didn't they?” Vic said, keeping his voice quiet and reassuring.

  She hesitated, then nodded. “There was a man at the telephone with me.”

  “Was it one of the guys who was waiting for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which one?”

  “The one with the pistol. The one you shot.”

  “What was his name?”

  Tatiana hesitated again.

  “Anna, he's dead,” Vic said. “It doesn't matter to him.”

  “Alexei.”

  “Do you know Alexei's last name?”

  “Borodin.”

  “On it,” Jones said. She'd borrowed a laptop from the boys in the 60th. It was already open and powered up. She started typing.

  “Anna,” Vic said. “Can you tell me what happened? From the beginning?”

  She lowered her head so her hair fell in front of her face. Then she nodded. Still looking down, she started talking.

  “I was born in little village north of Saint Petersburg. Volochaevka. You do not know it. When I am sixteen, I meet a man from the city. He seems nice man, good clothes, talks well, expensive shoes. He tells me there is job in Saint Petersburg for pretty girl, as waitress. Maybe singer in club. He gives me telephone number. I am stupid. I go to city on weekend, make telephone call, go to club. They give me drink. I go to sleep.

  “I wake up in metal box. Box moves up and down, side to side. There are other girls with me, no lights. We talk quietly. If we are not quiet, men hit sides of box, shout at us. They give us little food, water. We decide we are on ship.

  “I do not know how many days we are on ship. Sometimes men come, they take one, two of the girls. They bring them back, th
e girls are hurt, bleeding, crying. Then... they take me.”

  Vic didn't want to ask, Erin could see it in his eyes, but he was a good cop in spite of it, and he had to ask the question, had to establish the crimes that had occurred. “Did they rape you?”

  “Yes.” Tatiana tried to pull her hands away from him. Vic held on with one hand. With the other he wiped away one of her tears. She wasn't able to go on for a few minutes. He let her take her time. The detectives watched her pull herself together, rebuild some of her psychic armor.

  “I do not see statue when we come to New York,” she finally went on.

  “Statue?” Vic echoed.

  “Big green statue,” Tatiana said. “Lady Liberty. I am still in box, no windows. I would like to see her. I have never seen her.”

  “She's in the harbor, right there,” Vic said. “You can see her from Manhattan.”

  “I never leave Little Odessa,” she explained. “They do not let me go.”

  Vic wanted to say something else, but didn't. He kept holding her gently, but his eyes showed nothing but pure, murderous rage.

  “They put me in apartment with bars on the windows,” she continued. “There are other girls there, many girls. They do not let us out during the day, not at first. Later, only with one of them. They bring the men to us, to our rooms. They give to us pills, and needles. With the needles, it is not so bad. The needles make us not to care so much. We dream without sleeping, and we feel nothing.

  “I am there three, four months, I think. I become a little friends with some of the other girls. One of them, Ludmila, has still a little hope. She knows a name, she has heard it. It is name of a man, a good man who helps people like us.”

  “What's the name?” Vic asked. They already knew the answer, but he needed it for the record.

  “Gregory Markov,” Tatiana said. “Ludmila, she makes plan. I help her. Sometimes man comes, wants two girls at same time. We work together. While I keep his attention, she takes phone from his jacket, hides it under mattress. When he goes, she calls information number, gets number of Gregory Markov.”

  “Why not call the police?” Vic asked.

  She gave him a look that told the whole history of the NYPD, the Russian police, and police corruption in general. “And tell them what? We are criminals. They will lock us away, or send us back to Russia. I cannot go home. I am ruined, broken. My papa, he will not let me come back. All that is waiting in Russia is same thing.

  “But Mila has hope, and she has Gregory's name. She calls him on cell phone, very careful, very quiet. We do not know where we are, but she tells him name of man who owns apartment. He says he will use name, will come to find us and help us.”

  “Anna,” Vic said. “What's his name?”

  “He will kill me,” Tatiana said.

  “No,” Vic said, “he won't.”

  “You will protect me?” She took hold of his fingers in both hands.

  “I promise,” he said. “But for me to be able to do that, you have to tell me what you know.”

  “His name is Pyotr. Pyotr Vlasov.”

  “That's it,” Webb said triumphantly. “That's our warrant.” He snatched out his phone and speed-dialed a judge.

  “Good,” Vic said. “We can get him now, arrest him. He'll never be able to hurt you, or another girl, again.”

  She shuddered. “Six, seven days go by. Mila is afraid. She takes apart cell phone, flushes it down toilet, so they do not find it. We cannot talk to Gregory. I am not hoping, but she says he will come. She says he has kind voice.” She looked at Vic. “Like you.”

  “First time I've heard that about Vic,” Jones muttered.

  “Then he comes,” Tatiana went on. “He pretends he is just another man. But Mila tells me what he does. He does not touch her. He gives to her some money, new phone to hide. He tells her where to go, what to do. Then we wait.

  “The men with us, they are sometimes careless. They drink vodka, get drunk and sleepy. One night, Mila sees chance. She runs away. She tells me to go with her. I am afraid, but I tell myself I must be brave. We run, together.

  “We are lost. We know no one. But we have Gregory and his telephone. Mila calls him. He comes to get us, takes us to apartment. He pays rent for us, brings us clothes. He tells us we are safe.

  “It is not easy. We start to miss the needles, the pills. We are sick. I think Mila will die, she is so sick. I want to die. I try. I cut my arms with kitchen knife to make pain stop.” She turned her arms over and showed a pair of ugly crosswise scars on her wrists. “But I have no strength. I cannot cut deeply. I bleed little while, then stop. I get better. But Mila is still sick. After little while, we find out she will have baby.

  “Mila does not want to be mother. She knows she cannot take care of baby. She talks to Gregory, asks him what to do. He takes her to doctor, helps her. He finds job for her, for me.

  “Gregory tells Mila not to kill baby. He says he and his wife have no baby, that they always want baby, but something is wrong and they cannot. He says baby is gift from God, not to throw away. Mila tells me, she has idea. She will give baby to Gregory and his wife. They will be happy, and baby will have happy life.

  “We go on three, four months more, no problem. I move into my own apartment, down the hall from Mila. Is more space for her, for when baby comes. Then one day, I am working, as waitress in coffee-house, and Yuri comes in.”

  “Who's Yuri?” Vic asked.

  “Yuri is man who works for Pyotr,” Tatiana said. “Is little man, eyes like rat, little mustache.”

  “Sounds like the guy Rolf chewed on,” Erin commented.

  “Hope he doesn't get indigestion,” Jones said.

  Webb hung up from his phone call. “We'll have the warrant as soon as the judge gets it to us,” he said. “We can grab Vlasov, plus any of his known associates. What'd I miss?”

  “They got out,” Erin said. “Markov set them up with a place to stay.”

  “Shush,” Jones said. “They're talking. Get it from the recording later.”

  “I hide in kitchen when I see him,” Tatiana said. “I think maybe he misses me. I tell manager I am sick, go out the back door, run to apartment.

  “When Mila comes home from work, I tell her. She calls Gregory, tells him she is afraid, but that she has something important to tell him. She will meet him somewhere else, at motel. She tells me where.

  “Mila goes to motel to meet Gregory. She will tell him her idea for baby, ask him to take both of us out of city right away. I wait at apartment.”

  Tatiana stopped. She pulled her hands back from Vic again, and this time she managed to disentangle herself. She buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking.

  “If I go with them, maybe nothing happens,” she said through her sobs. “But I stay. I am tired, and afraid to move. I think if I hide, maybe everything is okay. I think if I go outside, maybe Yuri sees me.

  “He followed me. Yuri and Paul come to my apartment.”

  “Paul?” Vic prompted.

  “Paul Ivanov. He has brother, Dmitri. Both of them work for Pyotr. Dmitri was soldier, in Spetznaz. How do you say?”

  “Special Forces,” Vic said.

  “Yes,” Tatiana agreed. “Paul is not soldier. He is in prison in Russia, then comes to America. He is big, strong. Yellow hair, blue eyes, lots of drawings on arms.”

  “Yeah, I've met him and his brother,” Vic said.

  “Paul knows how to open locks. They come in while I am in shower, drag me out. Paul has knife. He tells me he will cut my eyes, make me blind. He will... he will cut me... in other places. Yuri will help him. Yuri likes to hurt girls. It makes him excited.”

  Erin was getting less and less sorry about Rolf biting the son of a bitch.

  “They want to know where Mila has gone,” Tatiana said miserably. “I do not want to tell them. Yuri takes cigarette lighter, burns bottoms of my feet. Paul is ready to cut me. I am sorry, Mila. I am so sorry!” Her voice ended in a wail.

 
; “You told them where she and Gregory were,” Vic said. “It wasn't your fault, Anna. They made you do it.”

  “Paul takes telephone, calls Pyotr,” Tatiana said dully. “He leaves, Yuri stays with me. Yuri... hurts me. After couple hours, Paul comes back. Dmitri is with him. They tell me Mila is... is dead. They take me back to apartment with other girls.

  “Then you come to Little Odessa, asking questions about Mila.” She looked back at him. “Pyotr talks to me, tells me he needs to know what you know. He tells me to talk to you, be your friend. I am to be spy. If I do not do it, he says he will kill me, you, and all the other girls.”

  “Did he tell you to screw me?” Vic asked, and his voice had a sharp edge to it.

  She flinched, but didn't look away. “No. That is because I want to.”

  Webb glanced at Erin, eyebrows raised. “You knew they were sleeping together?”

  Erin nodded, then tilted her head back toward the interrogation room, not wanting to interrupt.

  “I talk to you,” Tatiana said. “I think you are good man. You are strong man, maybe protect me. I think... maybe I can trust you.”

  “Why didn't you tell me then?” Vic asked. “You didn't have to go back to them.”

  “I am afraid,” she whispered. “All the time, I am afraid. You do not know. I am weak, maybe. I am sorry.”

  It was Vic's turn to flinch. “No, I'm sorry, Anna,” he said. “I can be an asshole sometimes. It's not your fault. It's those bastards who did this to you.”

  “I tell Pyotr you do not know anything,” she said. “I try to protect you. But then you come to Pyotr's restaurant, with other cop, the suka. Now Pyotr is afraid. He knows you know it was him who killed Mila and Gregory.

  “So Pyotr has plan. He has me call you, tell you I am in trouble. He tells me where to meet you. His men are there. Alexei will shoot you, take wallet, make it like robbery.

  “I tell myself to be brave. Alexei is with me until he sends me out to wait for you. Then I tell you to run.”

  “I wasn't going to leave you there,” Vic said.

  She gave him a weak smile. “You are faster and stronger than I thought,” she said. “Alexei already has gun in hand, but you are too fast for him.”

  “He was quick, too,” Vic said, rubbing his wounded shoulder.