by Chris Niles
Chapter Thirty-Four
The van jerked to a halt, then their captors yanked Kate and Kara out. A heavy breeze tickled the hairs on Kate’s arms. Even under the thick hood, the air smelled salty. Fresh. High above, she heard the rustling of palm fronds in the wind and of waves breaking on sand. They had to be close to the ocean.
From beneath the hood, Kate took a shot, “Guys, you’re on the water. We know where we started, and how long we were driving. It won’t be hard to figure out—”
A low voice passed through the nylon. “Boss is, how you call it? Old school. He does not know the Google Maps. And effect works for him.”
The men shoved her forward, and Whiskey snarled, fighting against the muzzle the men had wrapped around his nose.
Then a shout. “Dima. Losha. Where are your manners? Our guests must to breathe beautiful sea air. Take those things off. Let me see beautiful faces.”
Kate’s captor fumbled with the tie at the bottom of the hood, then tugged it down from the back, ripping it across her face. While he released the bindings on her wrists, she sucked in a breath of fresh, briny air and squinted in the blinding sun. As her pupils adjusted, she slowly raised her head. Before her — wearing a dark blue track suit, white wifebeater, gold mirrored sunglasses and thick gold chain — stood the quintessential stereotype of a Russian gangster.
She stifled a laugh.
The man slowly stepped toward them, his gaze creeping up Kate’s legs, resting a few seconds too long on her chest, then making its way to her face. Kate held his stare until he moved on to Kara, giving her the same slow leer.
Finally, he stepped forward and lifted Kate’s identification badge.
“Cavil Media.” He flipped the badge over and brushed a bit of glitter. It drifted to the ground and landed on a paving brick.
Finally, the man dropped the badge and nodded to the men. The one he called Dima handed a thick leather leash to Kate, then the two men climbed into the van and sped away.
“Kraseevaya sabaka. Beautiful dog.” In his Russian accent, the last word landed thick and heavy on Kate’s ears with a long oh sound.
He crouched, then scratched Whiskey behind the ears, catching the strap of the muzzle between his fingers. “Poor boy. This feels uncomfortable.” Without looking up, he asked, “Are his manners better than my men’s? Can I remove?”
Kate nodded, then cleared her throat. “Yes. He’s well trained.”
“Good, then.” The man unfastened the buckles and gently pulled the muzzle from Whiskey’s nose. The dog stood stone still, his muscles vibrating, the hair on his back raised.
“Whiskey, no. Sit.”
Without moving his head or releasing his stare at the strange Russian, the dog lowered his back legs, his tail barely grazing the ground. The Russian rose to his feet and grinned. Stretched his hand out. “Where are my own manners? I am Vladimir Rostokovich. But you, my friends, you can call me Vova.”
He shook the women’s hands, his eyes popping at Kara’s firm grip. “You shake like—” He looked closer at Kara’s throat. The two froze for a split second, then the man’s smile widened and he pumped Kara’s hand. Introductions over, he turned and gestured up the brick walk to a deep, shaded portico. “Ahh, welcome. Please come in.”
As Kate walked up the path, she scanned the front yard. Thick hedges lined either side, separating all but the tips of the roofs of the estates on either side. The two-story Spanish villa spanned the entire width of the lot, blocking Kate’s view of the side yard or beyond. On a narrow catwalk on the north end, she spotted a figure in black, a compact rifle slung across his back.
Far from subtle.
Vova led them through a sweeping foyer and a grand center hall with curved staircases lining both sides, then out onto a tiled verandah overlooking an infinity pool and the ocean.
The high hedges continued along the borders of the property. Two blonde women lay sunning themselves on lounge chairs beside the pool.
“Well, they won’t have any tan lines.” Kara muttered.
Vova shouted in Russian. The women collected their things then scurried inside.
He pulled a chair from the table and waved Kara into the seat, then repeated his chivalry for Kate. When she was settled, he took the seat beside her. Another blonde, this one wrapped in skintight Lycra with peekaboo slits on every curve, delivered a wide tray filled with bottles and glasses, and a charcuterie board covered in thick piles of sausages, cheeses, and rolls.
“Please, please, what you like try first?” Vova dropped small glasses in front of both Kate and Kara, then filled them with clear liquid from a tall, narrow bottle. He carefully screwed the cap back on, planted the bottle on the table in front of him, then lifted his glass. “To new friends.”
Kate and Kara both tipped their glasses toward him before raising them to their lips. Kate took a small sip. Kara dropped the shot down her throat then slammed her glass on the table like a practiced frat boy.
Vova roared with laughter. “You drink like man. Is good.”
“I kept what worked for me.” Kara winked, then tugged at her wig. “Now, is there a place where a girl can freshen up and adjust her hair?”
Vova waved toward the house. Lycra girl appeared at the door. After Kara followed her inside, Kate leaned on the table toward her host. “What can you tell me—”
“Patience, Miss Kingsbury. We do business with friends. So first, we must become friends.” He topped off her vodka, then refilled his own. “Tell me, how is Nathan doing? I owe much to him. And his Bernard? Such cute couple.”
Kate filled her plate with a selection of sausage and breads while she made small talk, filling in Vova on irrelevant details about their mutual friends. She took a scoop of a brightly colored layered dip.
“This. Oh yes. This Herring under fur coat. You must like. Is herring with potato and beet and egg and, how you call smetana…oh. Sour cream. Yes, the sour cream.”
Kate was stuck on herring. But she scooped a bite onto a piece of dense brown bread. The flavors shocked her. The creamy sauce balanced the salty fish, and the potato and beet provided a blend of smooth and crunchy texture. The richness of the boiled egg on top nearly melted on her tongue.
“Okay, Vova. You win. This is delicious. Now, what’s that?” She pointed to another plate, piled high with whole dried fish carcasses.
Vova pulled one from the pile with his fingers and showed her how to pull the dried meat from the body, chasing every other bite with a sip of vodka.
As they ate, Vova told Kate about the New Year’s feasts his mother would put on. His eyes twinkled as he described his mother’s light fluffy pampushki and her hearty borscht.
“There are as many borscht recipes as there are women in Ukraine.”
Kara returned, her hair perfectly adjusted and her face adorned with fresh makeup.
“When I was little boy, we had nothing. Ukraine, it was very poor. But we celebrate the New Year. My Mama, she save the kopek all year in a little jar on a shelf in her kitchen. Then for New Year, she makes the feast.”
“New year is a big holiday for you, then?” Kate popped another chunk of smoked fish into her mouth.
“The biggest. We no celebrate Christmas like Americans. The New Year, it is new start. We have party with our friend, and these friends will be with us throughout the year. Is like family.”
Kara reached for the vodka bottle, but Vova stood and waved her off. “No, no. Woman does not put Vodka. Only man.” He reached for the bottle and filled her glass, then tried to top Kate’s off again.
“Katherine. Kate. You no drink fast? Drink like man.” He dumped another shot down his own throat.
Kate gazed at the shadow stretching toward the edge of the pool. It couldn’t be more than four-thirty. Maybe five at the latest. She twitched as Kara poured another shot down her throat and Vova refilled her glass.
Kate took a small sip. “What can I say? I’m a lightweight.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
/> Vova and Kate watched as Kara pulled off her heels and carefully climbed down the seawall onto the sand.
“Why your friend does not use the steps?”
Kate laughed. “My friend doesn’t do anything the way anyone expects her to.”
As twilight fell over the barrier island, Kate watched her friend wade into the warm surf, then turn south, allowing Kate some time for a real conversation with their host. As Kara passed out of view, her path blocked by the tall, thick hedge, Kate watched a black clad man pass through its shadow, then slip over the seawall. His shadow popped beyond the shadow of the seawall four times before he climbed up and returned toward the house against the opposite hedge.
“The man you see…” Vova added another pile of herring to Kate’s plate.
“What about the ones I don’t?” Kate eased her chair back from the table and stretched out her legs.
“They’re not to worry about. My home, it is safe.” Vova winked.
“Aren’t you concerned about the police?”
He laughed. “The police are too worried about chasing the black boys down street and arresting my customers. Videos of cops in riot gear throwing tear gas get far more views on the YouTube than the news footage of them getting defeated by my security. They know optics. Looking tough on crime is far safer than actually defeating it. Drugs are winning this war, my friend. Write that in your newspaper.”
Kate shrugged. “You’ll get no argument from me. I wrote a piece on your brothers up in Brighton Beach back in the day. Not much has changed.”
“Everything has changed and nothing has changed. This is how world works. You think we are corrupt. You think you are better? That you follow law. You have, what you say, moral high ground? But America is no better. Perhaps she is worse. The illusion of law. Of morality. But under this facade, you are the same as us. Every man for himself. Leave the poor behind.” He slammed another vodka. “Is fine with me. Good for business.”
Kate sipped her vodka and leveled her gaze at Vova. “I suppose it would be. So, now that you mention business…”
Kate’s host eyed her warily. The hairs on her arms rose, and she felt Whiskey stiffen at her feet.
Vova set his glass down and leaned back in his chair. “This is for newspaper?”
Kate pulled the lanyard over her head and tossed the badge on the table. “We’re friends. Just friends having a friendly conversation.”
“And my name will not…”
“What name?” Kate winked and took another sip.
Vova grinned. “We understand each other, then.”
“We do.”
“So, how can I help you, my new friend?”
Kate took a deep breath. “I’m wondering, hypothetically, of course—” Kate paused, eyeing the Ukrainian, relaxing when his eyebrow rose slightly with his nod.
“Of course. Hypothetically.”
Kate continued. “What might happen if your supply chain was disrupted? If an… incoming shipment might not arrive?”
Vova reached for a slice of cured meat, then leaned back, his index fingers pressed together like a steeple. “It would depend. What is product?”
Kate shrugged.
“Courier or…”
“Let’s say courier.”
“And it is not arrive on time?”
“Or not at all.” Kate watched every twitch of the man’s face.
“Not at all? This is not… acceptable.”
“Not acceptable? But what if—”
“This would not happen.”
“But if it did?”
“There would be consequences.”
“Like…” Kate let the question hang in the air.
“It would be painful.”
“What if you could not find the courier?”
“I would find his family.”
Kate’s blood chilled. “His children?”
Vova popped forward, his eyes earnest. “No. Never. Young children are off limits. Everyone knows this. Everyone respects this.”
Kate nodded, changing course. “Does this happen often? Shipments disappearing?”
“With my couriers? Never.”
Kate released the breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. “What about any of your … peers?”
Vova kicked his feet out, crossing his ankles and staring across the water at the stars blinking into the evening sky. “I know of only one.” His face darkened. “The Dixie Kings. What ridiculous name. But men are serious. Do not negotiate. Do not respect boundaries or agreements.” He took a slow sip of his vodka. “No, these men are different.”
“Sounds like you’ve crossed paths with them?”
He nodded slowly. “I have.”
“Can I ask—”
“Nyet. You may not. It is not to be spoken of.” He sat up and looked back over his shoulder and spit three times. “It will never happen again.”
Kate gripped her glass and glanced up toward the roof. Vova nodded.
“What about the Rojas?”
Vova’s eyes widened and he crossed himself.
“You know them?”
“You do not say the product was the gems.”
Kate shrugged again, and her host shifted in his seat. “This is not good idea.”
“I need an introduction.”
“I need you to tell truth.”
“Fine. One of their couriers missed a drop. She got scared and… let’s just say our paths crossed. But now she’s missing. I need to find her. So I need to know who can make a deal.”
“No. If they have found your friend, she is certainly no longer alive. They would take her to Colombia and make example of her.”
Kate avoided his gaze.
“Unless she did not have product?”
“Then it would simply take longer time.” He lifted the glass from her hand and set it gently on the table, then clasped her hands in his. “Kate, my new friend, I cannot let you step into den of lions. Their war against the Irishman has killed many innocents and soon, when Ernesto is gone, his daughter will kill even more. I will not send you to your death. I do not know what you are seeking, but I know is not newspaper story. Whatever it is, is not worth price you will pay. What is word? What’s going to happen is going to happen, and you cannot stop it?”
Kate searched the sky, then finally replied, “Inevitable?”
“Yes, yes. Inevitable. This is truth. You cannot change. If you want to stay alive, you will leave this alone. Now, please. Eat. Drink. Tonight, you are my guest. Tomorrow, you will decide your fate.”
He refilled Kate’s vodka glasses, then raised his own. “Za zdarovye!”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Bright rays of morning sun pierced Kate’s skull like a KA-BAR. She rolled over, pulling the white silk sheet over her head, but its fine threads weren’t enough to block the light or ease the pounding in her head.
She squeezed her eyelids tight against the morning.
Beside her, the sheets rustled. Hot breath moistened her forehead.
But… no.
The previous night came back in flashes. Bursts of vodka and barely dressed women dancing by the pool and—
Kate’s chest tightened, and slowly, she pulled one eyelid up.
Her movement was met with a hot, wet tongue stretching from Whiskey’s black snout. He licked her open eye, then the closed one, his tail pounding against the mattress.
“Crap on a cracker, Whiskey. Get down. Down.”
The dog tucked his tail down and climbed to the floor, then spun and rested his chin on the edge of the mattress. He stared at her, a steady low whine hanging in his throat.
Kate sat up and rested her head in her hands. “What the hell happened last night?”
The dog replied with a silent stare. She glanced around the room, tastefully decorated in Colonial Caribbean, with white walls, gauzy netting, and deep mahogany furniture.
“Not what I’d expect from the Russians,” she muttered, then pulled herself from the bed a
nd rummaged in her backpack.
“We often surprise.”
Kate toppled back, thwacking her head on the sturdy bedpost. Vova’s disembodied voice shot through the crack in the door and bounced against the dark wood floor. Then his heavy footsteps passed down the hall and descended the wide spiral staircase into the foyer.
She tugged a black ribbed tank over her head, then shrugged into a lightweight plaid shirt, ignoring its row of tiny buttons. She climbed to her feet, grabbed her toothbrush, then pushed the door shut before stumbling into the ensuite. Whiskey followed, stretching his nose into the toilet and lapping noisily.
When she made her way down the grand staircase, Kara’s laughter echoed through the room, leading her to the bright kitchen. Her friend sat at the table, gobbling scrambled eggs and bacon.
Kate lifted a chair and gently set it away from the table, then lowered her aching body. As a blonde woman in a caftan placed a plate in front of her, Whiskey ran to the sliding door and began to whine.
“Oh, crap.” Kate started to push herself to her feet, but the blonde set a hand on her shoulder, then pointed to herself, opening the door. Whiskey sprinted around the pool and across the lawn to the far end of the hedge where it met the sea. Barely stopping to sniff, he squatted for his business, then returned at a far more leisurely pace.
Kate’s stomach rolled at the sight of the eggs. She pushed the plate away and took a sip of the sweet freshly squeezed orange juice.
The blonde pointed to the glass, then out across the lawn. “Tree?” Then back to the glass.
“Oh.” Kate moaned, her own voice echoing inside her skull. “The oranges are from your tree?” She pointed vaguely outside.
The woman grinned and nodded. “Da. Yes. Oranges from tree.”
Kara turned to Kate. “This is Vanya. She understands more English than she can speak, but she’s getting it. We’ve been—”
“Kara, how are you not hungover?”
“Kate, you forget. I own a bar. And I’ve got a few pounds on you. On almost everyone, really. I can drink anyone under the table and run a marathon the next morning.”
