by A. C. Bextor
“Yes, I do,” I answer, moving to the seat he pointed out seconds before.
“Do you know my purpose in being here?” he asks, then clarifies his question. “Why I’d choose this place of any place to be?”
“No. I can’t say that I do.”
Once he’s finished filling the two glasses, he turns back to me and sets one on the edge of his desk as my invitation to take it. With my nerves on edge after my discussion with Hoss, then my run-in with Dee Dee, I accept the drink and down it in one pull. It’s smooth and unlike anything I’ve ever tasted.
And it tastes expensive.
“You’re not a man who savors, I see,” he comments with a smirk after he watches me indulge.
Judging from his appearance alone, I mark Viktor as a man who enjoys all the finer things. He’s dressed for business. His black jacket and white dress shirt are obviously tailor-made, and both are void of visible creases. His hair, mostly grey, is combed back nicely and his complexion is nearly flawless. He’s a business man left without any jagged edges. It appears he’s never lived a day in the blue-collar life as I have.
Sitting back in his chair, he rests his drink on his clutter-free desk before pulling back to rest on the chair’s arms.
“Do you know why you’re in my office?” he asks pointedly, once again getting down to business.
“No clue,” I return the answer as quickly as his question was asked. Aside from what Hoss mentioned, I’m only here for me, to get my questions answered.
“Your little skirmish last night drew in some unwanted attention. I’ve no doubt your reaction to a man who wanted to say hello to Emilyn Richards has caused the lazy eyes of law enforcement in this godforsaken town to look further into you.”
My breathing stops at the mention of details from last night.
He knows about my altercation.
He knows the reason for it.
And he knows Emilyn by her full maiden name.
“I’ll handle James Fuller, though. That’s easy enough,” he tells me.
This confirms the police department, namely James, has been paid to look the other way. I’m just not sure how many instances they’re paid to turn a blind eye at.
Playing it cool, I sit back in my own seat after discarding the glass back on the desk. Before I’m able to speak, Viktor nods to it with another invitation.
Moving my hand in front of me, I wave him off to answer his unasked question. “No, thank you. I’m good.”
“Tell me, Max. What could’ve persuaded you to strike an innocent man?” he asks.
“Innocent?” I ask. “He did this to me,” I explain, pointing to my black eye. “He offended me.”
“How so?”
“Honor, Mr. Koslov.” I hate respecting him with my address, but I’m also not a fool. I want to know why I’m here and what he’s willing to tell me, so I’ll play his demented little game.
“Honor,” he repeats. “Yes. I understand that.” He nods. “Did the man offend your sweet Emilyn in some way?”
“I call her Emma, but I’m guessing you already knew this.”
Nodding again only once, he returns with a fiercer tone, “I did. Now answer my question.”
“Yes. She was on the back of my bike last night and he insulted her by making her uncomfortable.”
“So, you have honor, too. Am I right?”
“I’d like to think so,” I tell him honestly. “What’s the point of me being here?” I add the question to my answer. I’m losing patience.
Getting right down to it, he answers without delay. “The man you assaulted was one of my men.” He pauses then continues, “He was sent to follow you and apparently, from what he told me, and judging by your reaction to him being near your woman, he did an outstanding job of it.”
“You’re having me followed?” I ask, realizing the extent he’s gone to find out more about me.
Viktor’s smirk tells me before he does, “Yes. I had a fair reason.”
My head starts to pound as I look into his calm demeanor. I’m no threat to him at all, which begs the question, “What reason would that be?”
“Later,” he tells me, brushing me off with his hand for added emphasis. “Tell me how it is you’ve come to know Hoss Lattimore.” His request comes with curiosity, but also a hint of impatience.
Carefully choosing my words, and being unsure what the correct answer is, I tell him, “I knew Hoss when I was younger. I did some work for him years ago.”
“Work?”
“Yes. I helped him collect debts he was owed.”
“Did you enjoy this work?” he asks without hesitation.
My patience is waning slightly and being that I’m still not completely sure of my reason for sitting across from him, my nerves are on edge, as well.
“Didn’t enjoy it, but at the time, the money was good,” I answer.
Nodding again only once, Viktor’s steel grey eyes bore into mine. My gaze moves quickly to the glass he’s spinning on the table with his fingers.
“You’re not even the slightest bit nervous right now, are you?” he asks quietly.
No. I’m not. My edginess is caused only by the unsaid reason of why I’m truly here, not because I’m alone in his company. “No.”
“That’s impressive.”
Getting further annoyed, my agitation comes through with my sarcastic remark. “Glad you’re impressed.”
“You’ve seen quite a lot in your life. Am I right?”
“Some would say.”
“Hoss tells me you once had a younger sister and that you cared deeply for her,” he observes out loud before taking a drink from his small glass. I don’t respond, so he places it down on the desk again and continues. “He also told me she was a beautiful girl who was viciously murdered in cold blood.”
“Yes. Her name was Marie.”
“Beautiful name,” he comments. “And her killer still roams free?”
“As far as I know, yes.”
“Max.” My name, clearly stated through his Russian accent, makes my skin crawl with bated expectation. “You and I aren’t so different. We each treasure those we care about.”
Scooting his chair back, he opens a desk drawer and pulls out a piece of familiar-looking paper. The edges are worn and the paper is flimsy.
Laying it down on the desk, Viktor slides it over to me. It’s face-down, so I can’t see what’s on the other side, but I already know where it came from.
Casey.
“Before taking a closer look at it, can you tell me what this is?” he asks.
“Yes,” I give him my honest answer. He displays no outward expression at all.
“Take it,” he tells me. “Look at what she’s done.”
After inhaling a breath, I reach out to grab the edge and turn it over. My intention was to leave it on the desk, not let him notice my reaction to it. This fails when I look at what Casey’s drawn.
In the picture, she’s drawn herself. It’s not the first time I’ve seen her draw a self-portrait, but it’s the first time I’ve seen her truly smile. Her teeth are straight and she’s drawn a dimple I hadn’t noticed her ever having. My face is next to hers and my temple rests on the crown of her head. This one is perfected and different than the one she showed me earlier. In comparison, the one she has in her room looks incomplete and rushed.
My thoughts are interrupted with Viktor’s words. “She’s a little girl with a special gift,” he comments first. “And who seems to love you like a child would love or trust their favorite uncle.”
“She’s a good kid,” I admit the truth freely.
I haven’t spoken outwardly to anyone other than Emma and the guys about Casey. Hearing Viktor praise her in one breath, yet knowing he’s holding her captive in this place with the other, erases any compliment I thought in favor to him.
Setting the picture down, face-up, I keep my eyes trained on those of hers she drew. “Why are you holding her here?”
“Holding her
here?” he asks with innocence as if he doesn’t have a clue what I’m talking about.
I clarify my statement with urgency. “In that filthy room.”
“Her mother lives in this godforsaken place, Max,” he states plainly. “Casey and her mother are hardly being held against their will.”
As I reach for my pocket, Viktor’s eyes stay focused on my hand. His eyebrows raise in question when I slide the key to Casey’s room across the desk; the one I took from Dee Dee.
“Her mother is trash,” I explain what he should already know.
Leaning over and picking it up, Viktor studies the key. His manicured fingernail bites into the top of it as his words come out through a clenched jaw. “Where did you get this?”
“Casey’s mother, Dee Dee.”
Narrowing his eyes briefly, he tosses it in his drawer before turning back into the calm and collective man he was before I shocked him with what he obviously didn’t know she had. “Family is family. You know something of this.”
I won’t let this shit slide. I’m pushing and it could be a mistake to do so, but I’m making a point. “When I walked into Casey’s room this evening, Dee Dee was there. She wasn’t there to hold her, either. She’s Hangar’s old lady, but I’m guessing you already knew this.”
Dismissing me again, but this time with a terse tone, he promises, “I’ll address it.”
“Emma is her aunt,” I tell him what he knows. “She’s family, yet you’ve kept Em from her for over a year.”
“And there are reasons for this.”
Raising my eyebrows, I ask, “What would those be?”
“Reasons that are my own,” he responds, correcting his prior claim.
As Viktor stands from his seat, he grabs my glass and turns to pour us both another drink without asking if I’d like one. I hadn’t noticed he had finished his, but rather have been concentrating on our conversation.
With his back to me, he continues talking. I hear the clink of the carafe hitting each glass in turn before he speaks. “Anna tells me you’re not a member of this club. She tells me you’ve been good to the girls, and she also tells me you’re very good to her and Casey.”
After he sets the glass in front of me, I reach to grab it and then do the same as I did the one before. I slam it back and set it down on the desk, also finding him shaking his head mildly and holding in a smirk.
No, Viktor. I still don’t savor your expensive shit.
Lifting his chin while looking down at the empty glass, he smiles with this statement. “That’s a three hundred dollar glass of liquor. You’ve drank over six hundred dollars so far and we’ve still got things to discuss.”
“Beer is better,” I answer with my own smirk as I see him cringe with disgust. “Cheaper, too.”
“Americans,” he replies with a light smile which isn’t genuine. “You people savor nothing.”
Bringing him back to what we were discussing, I reiterate, “Anna.”
“Yes.” He clears his throat after he answers. “I want to thank you for taking care of my girls during their stay. They’ll all be leaving very soon.”
“Leaving?” I ask. I hear the panic in my voice as I’m unsure if Casey is on the list to depart and if so, I need to talk to Aimes.
Sighing with what appears to be boredom, he tells me, “Hoss and I don’t see eye to eye. He allows his people to do as they please and it’s become unacceptable.”
Sitting in my chair, thumping my finger on the armrest, I attempt to push him. “What does this have to do with me?”
“Anna likes you,” he states bluntly. “And as I said, Casey obviously thinks highly of you. Anyone can see by her drawing there,” he finishes, pointing to the picture.
“And?”
“And until I’m absolutely ready to go, I need your help. So far, I’ve relied on Cilas to help me negotiate.”
Before he can keep talking, I interrupt. “Negotiate?”
“Deals.”
“What type of deals?”
Hesitantly, Viktor’s eyes scan my face. They move to my hand which is now clutching the armrest. As if he thinks he’s mumbling to himself, he utters, “I wish I knew what my sister saw in that vile man. He’s fat, uneducated, and God only knows what despicable things he’s capable of.”
Sister?
As if he heard my questioning thought, he continues. “Half-sister, I should say. Hoss was married to Ursa. Unfortunately, though, Ursa died of cancer years ago. I hate to think God was punishing her for marrying into such an outfit, but I also like to believe she led a happy life here.”
Noting his sad expression, I offer, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
Using his drop of guard and brief relapse into the past in remembrance of his sister against him, I ask, “What is it you do… exactly?”
“Before Hoss, my sister was a lot like the women I try to help. When my father divorced her mother, she and I didn’t see each other again until years later. As I later found out, her mother married a man who took a special interest in her. She was full of drugs and used from men before she finally found her way back to me.”
The look on Viktor’s face strikes me as regretful. I know what it’s like living through something you don’t want to think about again, so I don’t prod.
Focusing back on the matter at hand, Viktor lays his version of truth out in one simple statement. “It’s because of my sister that I’ve made it my life’s work to find homes for women who are in dire need of my help.”
“Homes?”
“Yes. Homes. For those not unlike Casey, as well as many others.”
“You said Casey’s mother is here,” I state plainly and with little emotion. “She shouldn’t need a home.”
Judging by the look Viktor is casting back at me, I find it’s obvious he and I feel the same about Dee Dee. He confirms it when he objects, “Dee Dee is a waste of life. She has never been a proper mother to Casey.”
“Why is Casey locked in that room?” I push quickly, hoping he answers the question. “If you’re looking to give her a home, why is she locked away like an animal tied to her fucking cage?”
His eyebrows furrow; my tone somewhat upset him. He’s looking at me with irritability, almost anger, which I dismiss as I wait for my answer.
“Protection,” he advises.
“From?”
“I hate to think you’re not as smart as I’ve given you credit for, Max,” he lectures. His tone eases back to casual with his next observation. “Casey’s growing into herself. She’s becoming a young, beautiful woman.”
I sense my expression relays my confusion. I’m still not clear on what the fuck he intends to do with Casey.
“You can thank Anna,” he answers my unsaid question. “She loves Casey. She wants me to take her with me to Russia if I can’t find a home for her here.”
“Are you selling her?” I ask pointedly.
“I don’t know, Max. Are you in the market to buy?”
Exhaling heavily after hearing the question, I sit back and place both hands on my thighs and will myself to remain calm. The answer I’ve longed to have sits in front of me. The man staring back at me with a pointed expression sells women. And in his mind’s eye, he’s doing this shit as a charity, serving some higher purpose by locking those women up and selling them off to the highest bidder.
He’s fucking insane.
Before I can answer, he adds, “I’m selling Casey, yes. But not in a way you may think. She’s not like the others. She means more to me because she means more to Anna. The person I’ve got in mind is like-minded to me. He’s a businessman from New York City. Believe it or not, there are people out there, in places you don’t want to know or you refuse to think about, who want to help others.”
Seething through my jaw, I respond to his claimed innocence. “You just admitted you sell women, Mr. Koslov. You don’t help them.”
“Call me Viktor, please. We’re acquainted enough now
, so I think it’s proper. But yes, I do sell women, Max. Those I can help. Those I’m not too late for.”
“Anna?” I ask, still wondering about her position.
“Anna is mine,” he clips. “She’ll always be mine. Anna is the reason for my decision to pull roots here and go back home for good.”
“How’s that?”
“Hangar.” His one-word answer looms between us. His jaw ticks in anger and his eyes jump with each grinding pull.
“What about him?”
“He hurt her. He took his hands to her face. He’s a filthy human and is far out of control.”
“He’s dangerous,” I advise.
“He’s Hoss’ only family.”
This is new information.
“His family?”
Viktor grabs a file from a small table behind him, opens it, and places it over Casey’s drawing in front of me. Inside is a mugshot of Hangar from what must be a while back, along with a rap sheet appearing to be pages long. I note the rape charge first. It was the last entry and also the same rape Hoss must’ve explained.
Hangar’s real name is Jeffery Lattimore.
What the fuck?
“By adoption only,” he tells me as I process the information. “Along with suffering through a horrible illness that brought her death, my sister also suffered a terrible life with a child who was out of control for most of his. Ursa had Hangar when she was very young. Hoss took on both of them and adopted Hangar not long after they married. His role in Jeffery’s life may be the entire reason she fell in love with him in the first place. It would make sense, wouldn’t it?”
“Fuck,” I answer, sitting back and taking my eyes off the insane man in the pictures.
“Yes, ‘fuck’.” Viktor smiles. “He’s all Hoss has, so Hoss protects him. When Ursa passed, Hoss was left to deal with him on his own. Hoss is aging, as you know, and he’s less interested in taking care of Ursa’s mess and more interested in making money and getting out of here. As the VP of this… whatever it is, Hangar will end up taking over once Hoss is gone. It won’t matter to me who he puts in charge then, however, because I’m pulling out now. My loyalty to Ursa is done.”
“I never knew about Hangar and Hoss,” I say out loud, all while putting the pieces of why Hoss protects him together. “Hoss tried to sell me some bullshit story.”
