‘Oh, man…’ he groaned, but then he shrugged and brightened. ‘More beer for me, then.’
My room was the one next to McTeer’s. Velasquez had the room across the corridor from mine, and Rink’s was next to his. We went our separate ways, Velasquez almost stumbling into his room out of fatigue. Although I should have been equally worn out, my head was buzzing and I doubted I’d sleep any time soon. I got out of my tux and splashed some cold water over my face, finger combing the moisture through my hair. I wasn’t ready for bed so pulled on some jeans and a shirt, and laced on my boots. I’d no intention of going in search of a party but the idea of a stroll on the beach called to me like the fabled siren’s song. Viewing the sea at night held a certain magical quality for me.
Before I slipped out of my room, my cell phone rang.
Unidentified caller.
But I had an inkling who might be calling at this late hour.
‘Hello?’ Trey’s voice held some trepidation.
‘Hello,’ I responded.
‘Is that Joe Hunter? You, uh, gave me your card?’
‘You decided to call then?’ It was rather a pointless observation, but it gave her a way to continue, without any awkwardness.
‘You said you could help me?’
‘I’m a man of my word.’
‘I… well, I guess I need your help. I…’ She paused, gathered herself. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Right now? I’m in a cab. But I don’t know where to tell the driver to stop.’ Her voice lowered; she didn’t want the driver to overhear her next proclamation. ‘I can’t go home, and I’ve no credit cards or enough cash with me to rent a room. Mikhail always controls those things.’
I gave her the name of my hotel and my room number. ‘Come here. You can take my room.’ Rink’s room was vacant; I would use his. ‘I’ll come down and pay your fare when you arrive.’
‘I’ve enough cash on me for the cab,’ she reassured me, ‘just not enough for the rest.’
She didn’t want to meet me at the front door. Somebody might misconstrue the arrival of a pretty young woman meeting in the early hours with an older man from out of town. ‘OK. Come up to my room.’ I gave her the number once more. ‘Trey?’
‘Yes?’
‘You can trust me,’ I said. ‘Not all men are like your husband.’
‘You don’t know the half of it,’ she said, and left her ambiguous comment at that as she hung up.
Trey was at my door within fifteen minutes. She was still dressed in her shimmering party dress and stiletto heels, but that made sense considering she’d had no opportunity to change. I stand a shade less than six feet tall, and in her shoes Trey could almost meet me eye to eye. The shoes forced her posture rigid, but that wasn’t the main reason for her standing so tall. She was trying not to look frightened. Her fear wasn’t because she had presented herself at the door of a relative stranger, one who’d proven he had a violent streak. She was so fearful of her husband that she had not gone home to gather her things in case he returned before she could leave. All she carried was her clutch purse. Inside it, I guessed, was the cell phone she’d called me on from the cab, and a few bits of makeup for freshening up, perhaps a few extra dollars Mikhail had allowed her. Her cheek was no longer inflamed from the slap she’d taken, and the other colour had drained from her features. She was as pale as alabaster, and looked more fatigued than even Velasquez, though still prettier with it. There was another obvious difference since last I’d seen her: the diamond ring had disappeared from her fourth finger. The missing ring was a statement of intent. I didn’t mention it.
I moved aside so she could enter my room. I’d hung my tuxedo in its bag pending return to the rental shop, and slung it from a coat hook on the wall. Otherwise my room looked clear of my belongings; I’d packed them in my bag ready to cart across to Rink’s room, and the bag was out of sight on the far side of the bed. The room was neat, clean and comfortable, but probably less than she was used to. But who knew how she usually lived. I’d met individuals who presented themselves immaculately but lived in hovels unfit for a dog.
‘Take a seat,’ I said.
She had a choice between a tub chair in front of a counter that held the TV and telephone, plus a coffee maker, or the bed. She chose the latter. Habit forced me to take a look out in the corridor. There was the faint murmur of voices from a TV in a room further down the hall, but that was the only hint of life. I closed the door and turned to check Trey out. She was staring back at me, eyes glistening with moisture, but it was a sheen of hope, not fear. Neither of us could find the appropriate words, so I indicated the coffee maker. ‘Can I get you a cup?’
She shook her head politely.
‘OK then,’ I said, and went over and dragged around the tub chair instead. I sat, so I wouldn’t offer an imposing figure looming over her while she was seated. Trey turned side-on so she could meet my gaze, and crossed her legs. She clucked her tongue, reached down to her shoes. ‘Do you mind? These things are killing me.’
I’d no objections. She eased out of the shoes and set them aside. I noticed they had red soles and recalled that was a trademark of some highly expensive designer brand. My soles were dung-coloured rubber. Trey bent to massage her heels and toes, and I averted my gaze from the flash of creamy skin of her inner thighs. I’d said I was to be trusted and would give her no reason to suspect I’d an ulterior motive for helping. Though it wasn’t an easy task.
When I looked again at her she had her face in both hands, and her bare feet digging into the carpet as she rocked back and forward. I waited for sobs but they didn’t come. She straightened and stared back at me, her eyes glistening but now with a pointed intensity. ‘If Mikhail even suspected I came here, he’d kill me.’
‘Then we keep it between ourselves. He doesn’t need to know where you are, and in the morning I’ll move you somewhere safer until you can decide what you want to do.’
She touched the pale spot on her ring finger. ‘I’ve already made up my mind. I’m never going back to him.’
I nodded. Good decision.
‘That doesn’t mean he won’t try to force me to come home.’
‘Then you go to the courts and get a restraining order.’
She blinked in surprise. ‘You’re kidding, right? I didn’t think you were so naive.’
I wasn’t naive, I was pumping her for information, but in a manner in which she’d offer it willingly. If I asked her outright what kind of enemy I’d made then she might not be so forthcoming with the truth. To be honest I was also trying to determine exactly what kind of trouble I could be getting into.
‘I’ve a friend up in Tampa, called Bryony. She’s a police detective; I’m sure she can put us in touch with professionals who can help you get away from your abusive husband.’
She snorted. ‘You’re talking about social workers? I think I made a mistake coming here after all. When you said you could help, well, I was thinking in another way. Do you seriously think Mikhail Viskhan’s the type to take this lying down?’ She said his name as if I should recognise it.
‘Viskhan?’ I clarified. ‘He’s not called Shaw like you?’
‘I prefer my maiden name; alas, our marriage was not one blessed by a holy man.’
‘More a contract of convenience?’ I ventured.
‘For him it was convenient, for me… well, I’d little choice in the matter.’
‘There’s no love between you?’
‘You saw what he was like in that washroom: does Mikhail strike you as a person who loves anyone but himself?’
‘I’m only asking…’
‘You want to know if I’m going to have a change of heart and go running back to him in the morning? Trust me, Joe, that isn’t going to happen. Hell, I’ve been looking for an opportunity like this for years. Since… well, since even before I met Mikhail.’ It was clear there was more she thought about adding, but I was still a stranger
to her, and she wasn’t yet ready to give up all her past. That was OK, because, reading between the lines, she had not been a willing party to the marriage, but had been pressed into it. Similar arrangements were made daily across the planet, and often for the wrong reasons. I decided not to speculate. She would tell me her story when she was ready. But I wanted to learn more about Mikhail, the person I was making an enemy of.
‘He’s obviously a wealthy man,’ I said. ‘Russian new money?’
She frowned at the term.
‘Dirty money?’ I pressed.
‘He’s an entrepreneur, made his fortune in importing and exporting. His rise from poor Chechen immigrant to successful businessman is celebrated by many, proof that the American Dream is still possible for those willing to work hard for it.’ She barked a scornful laugh and looked me dead in the eye. ‘You know what I mean by “import and export”?’
‘Drugs? Weapons?’ I shook my head in regret, realising the obvious. ‘Something even more valuable?’
‘A good percentage of sex workers in this city are owned by Mikhail. I told you we were invited to that gala dinner as guests… it wasn’t entirely true. We were there to ensure that Mikhail’s girls behaved appropriately. Unfortunately he was the one that ended up embarrassing himself.’
‘He supplied those escorts, huh?’
‘It’s typical of him. All of those girls on hand, and he still dragged me into that bathroom.’ A shiver went through her and for a moment I wondered if in some absurd way she was envious of some of the younger women. But I was wrong. She was ashamed; angered that Mikhail still treated her like a whore to obey his dirtiest command. I recalled her assertions on more than one occasion where she’d iterated that she wasn’t a slut.
‘How long have you been his prisoner?’ I wasn’t going to play things down. She had been held and controlled against her will, so what else was she?
‘Ten years as his wife, two more before that.’
‘Mind if I ask what happened?’
She inhaled deeply, folded her hands on her thighs. ‘Stupidity, I guess. Yeah, stupidity. I suppose I have to take some responsibility for what happened.’
I shook my head. Hers was the typical response I’d been expecting. ‘No, Trey. You are not to blame.’
‘I left myself vulnerable, got split up from my friends, and made the mistake of trusting the first smiling face I met.’ She halted there, perhaps wondering if she was making a similar mistake again. She nibbled her bottom lip, then decided to carry on. ‘I was on a gap year from college, and went on a backpacking trip with some friends and ended up in this nightclub in Bulgaria. We were a bit wild, got drunk, but we were young… it wasn’t enough for us. We got stoned. I don’t remember much after that besides speaking with this kind girl who offered to show me the way back to my hostel. Next I remember is waking up in a room with a chain round my ankle and needle holes in my arm.’ She stopped then. Her story after that could only get much worse. I wasn’t going to press her on it for now.
‘Mikhail found you there?’
‘I’d been moved to another brothel by then, but still in Bulgaria. He chose me from a bunch of other girls, but primarily because I was American. I acted stupidly and got taken, but I’m not a fool. I knew immediately that servitude to Mikhail wouldn’t be pleasant but it was my way back home.’
Now I was the one with my head down and my hands folded in my lap. Trey had halted again and she allowed the silence to add gravitas to her situation. I raised my gaze. Even haunted by her plight, she was stunning. I assumed the narcotics she’d been purposefully addicted to were a thing of the past, a more potent weapon used to bend her to Mikhail’s will since: terror.
‘You couldn’t reach out to your family for fear Mikhail would harm them?’
‘He swore that if I tried to contact my parents he’d have them burned alive in their home. I believed he was capable of doing that. He has made many threats over the years, and I’m sorry to admit I kept my mouth shut out of fear.’
‘Turning to the local vice squad was also out of the question,’ I supposed. ‘They would have protected you as an informant, but that wasn’t enough to save your parents or others Mikhail threatened to harm.’
Trey didn’t reply; she didn’t have to.
‘So why now?’ I asked.
She looked at me.
‘You’ve turned to me for help,’ I went on, ‘despite the consequences.’
Her tongue darted between her lips. ‘Two reasons,’ she said. ‘You’re not a cop, and Mikhail needs to be stopped. Permanently.’
I exhaled. ‘I don’t know what impression I gave you but I’m no hitman.’
‘Aren’t you?’ The way in which she said it she was inviting me to peer deeply into my own soul. ‘If you knew what Mikhail is planning, I bet you’d have a different opinion.’
I sat straight in the chair. Stared at her while she stared back. She wouldn’t know it from my outward appearance, but I was fizzing with adrenaline inside. I hated torpor, and it was a reason I couldn’t help getting in trouble. Earlier I’d wondered what I was getting into, having interjected on Trey’s behalf, but with little concern about the consequences. Her latest announcement had certainly given me a metaphorical kick in the butt where I sensed there was an opportunity to lift me out of my self-imposed doldrums. The more dire the answer to the mystery she posed, the better for me.
‘Tell me,’ I said, eager to hear.
‘I need to know I’ve reached out to the right man first,’ she said.
‘Tell me about Mikhail and we’ll see.’
‘He’s not only a pimp, a criminal. He’s a very dangerous man.’
‘How dangerous?’
‘Let’s put it this way. Once he puts his mind to something, there’s no stopping him. And if I’m right about what he’s planning… there will be casualties. Many casualties.’
Her announcement sent a jolt through me, but its only outward manifestation was a nerve jumping in my jaw. ‘You need to tell me everything, Trey. Right now.’
Trey’s mouth opened, but before she could say another word I heard movement in the corridor. I glanced at the closed door, just as there was a soft rap on wood. The knock wasn’t on my door, but on McTeer’s, the adjoining room. That’d be the courier arriving with his beer, I supposed. My friend’s voice was partly muffled as he responded to the knock, and only marginally clearer when he answered the door. He sounded ebullient enough… at first. But then McTeer cursed harshly, there was a drumming of feet, and a gun barked. By then I was already leaping to grapple Trey, taking her over the bed and onto the floor beyond. She landed on top of my overnight bag, and I pressed her down with my body covering hers even as chaos reigned in the adjoining room. A gunshot cracked again, followed by a drawn-out moment of silence, before something crashed down. I felt the heavy impact as a shudder through the floor and the trickle of adrenaline through my body became a deluge.
8
Seconds ago, Jim McTeer had been reclining on his bed, shoulders and head propped on pillows stacked against the headboard, secretly pleased that Hunter and Velasquez had declined a night on the tiles. He’d been talking BS, because it was what guys did when they were together and didn’t want to be perceived as the lamest of the bunch. In his mid-fifties, his partying days were over. He was happier sitting in his jockey shorts with his dress shirt unbuttoned over his hairy belly, while he watched some nubile young things cavorting on-screen on one of the pay-per-view channels. He’d kept the sound muted, so was robbed of some of the enjoyment, but was spared any embarrassment should one of his buddies overhear the TV. Hunter’s room had one of those adjoining doors, so the soundproofing was minimal. In fact, he’d been enjoying his movie while keeping half an ear cocked to the soft murmur of voices filtering through from Hunter’s side: no wonder Hunter didn’t want to go out when he’d already organised some female company.
‘Lucky bastards,’ he’d whispered, thinking of both Rink and Hunter, ‘but
all power to you.’ McTeer had a wife, his second wife actually, and hell, despite theirs being a long-distance marriage, if she learned what kind of movies he enjoyed while away from home she’d string his balls in a sling for a month. When he heard the approach of feet, and the knock at his door, he first made sure to power off the TV before going to greet the courier. He’d downed a couple of miniature vodkas from the mini-bar, and was ready to wash them down with a few cold ones before settling down for the night. ‘Who’s the lucky bastard now, guys?’ he grinned.
McTeer was no dope. He’d been a big city detective for the full twenty-five, and had worked as a private dick and security consultant since taking retirement from the force. Usually his internal instinct to danger pinged warnings, but his senses were dulled by the thought of cracking open a beer and getting back to the cavorting beauties on-screen, and, by then, vodka that had already set his brain buzzing: he wanted the courier gone quick time. He leaned to glimpse through the security peephole in the door, caught the warped image of a guy holding up a box, and pulled down on the handle before his brain registered that other figures loomed beyond the courier. The door was already on its inward swing before his inner voice told him, Set up. And then it was too late.
‘The fuck is this?’ McTeer snapped.
Three men pushed into the room, the first – a mean-faced Latino – thrusting the boxed beers into McTeer’s exposed stomach so that he’d no option but take them in his hands or allow them to drop on his bare feet. It allowed the ‘courier’ to free up his hands and yank out a revolver.
‘With the compliments of Mister Viskhan,’ the Latino sneered, and brought up the gun.
McTeer thrust the beers away, directly under the barrel of the gun, just as it barked. The bullet found the box and the bottles inside and there was an explosion of amber froth. McTeer lunged in as the leaking box tumbled down the gunman’s body to the floor, the sound softened by the resistance of his slightly bent legs and also McTeer jamming up against it. McTeer grappled for the gun, twisting around with his assailant so he faced the other two men also holding guns. They couldn’t get off a shot for fear of hitting the Latino. McTeer reared backwards, dragging the gunman with him, then managed to yank his hand round and insert his own finger through the trigger guard. He popped the nearest man in the chest, and there was a moment where silence descended over the tableau as realisation hit. The would-be assassin toppled slowly and then gathered speed as gravity took hold of his dead weight. The corpse’s impact sent a thrum of vibration through the floor that McTeer felt through his bare soles.
Marked for Death Page 5
