by Mike Faricy
“Look, I know this was, a business arrangement, but she was really nice to me. Tell you the truth I would have seen her more often, it’s just that on an assistant librarian’s salary it’s pretty tough. Well, and of course my wife.”
“I guess I can understand that. How did you first meet her, Nikki?”
“I answered one of her ads, on-line. She emailed back, then sent a picture for my picture, that sort of thing. Then sent her phone number and I called her.”
“This was about a year and a half back, you said?”
“Yeah.”
“So then what? You got together for a night?”
“No not really. Tell you the truth that’s what impressed me. She met me in a public place, a bar out at the Mall of America. We had a couple glasses of wine, chatted, then she said she figured I was okay and I could call her and we’d set something up.”
“Did you ever have a sense there was anyone else around, watching you or anything?”
“No. Well in fact she left and I paid the tab. Then I followed her out, from a distance you know, so she wouldn’t see me.”
“And?”
“And she did just what she said she would do. She got on the light rail and left. Took her time in a couple of stores along the way, not in a hurry. Never met up with anyone else or anything. You always hear about guys getting together with some woman only to get set up. She arrives with three or four friends who empty the guy’s bank accounts or something. I didn’t need that.”
“So you eventually got together with her?”
“Yeah, she met me in the lobby of a hotel, over in Minneapolis actually. I gave her a lift to a high-rise downtown afterwards. She said she lived there. I always picked her up and dropped her off there but I never actually went inside. I never saw her apartment or anything.”
“She ever go to your place?”
“No, you kidding? She was never even curious about where I lived, beyond making casual conversation.”
“She have an accent?”
“Yeah, that was kind of funny. It was Russian, possibly from the Baltic region, you know Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania. Up there.”
I nodded like I was following where this was going.
“Funny thing, she told me she was German. I happen to speak German, fluently. I asked her something in German a couple of times that first night, she answered but she had an accent.”
“You mean her German?”
“Yeah, right. And her grammar was okay, but not always correct. See, I also speak Russian. I’m not fluent, but I can get around okay.”
“She know this?”
“No, I never mentioned it. I spoke German to her a few more times and always the same result, but to tell you the truth, I wasn’t seeing her to practice German, you know. Then a few times, in what you might call the throws of passion, she would blurt something out in Russian, nothing specific like ‘I’m from St. Petersburg’ or ‘I like Vladimir Putin,’ but, well, you get the idea, right?”
I nodded.
“We didn’t stray into each other’s personal life, kept things strictly business. Anyway, the last couple of times I tried to phone her there was no answer. Then, like I said earlier, three or four months ago I phoned and the line had been disconnected. End of story.”
“When you phoned her, did you ever go through an answering service?”
“Answering service? No, never. I’d always leave a message, but it was her voice, on the recording. I still remember it, ‘Hi this is Nikki, leave your message, thanks.’ Doesn’t sound as good when I say it but it was cute, sexy. Then she’d phone back, sometimes in a few minutes, sometime in a few days.”
“You ever pick up on anything with her? You know like something was wrong or she might be frightened? Anything?”
“You know I’ve been thinking about that as we’re talking. Maybe the last two times we were together, she was almost clingy, wanted to be held, cuddled. Not a complaint from me, at the time I was thinking, man, this hot chick is falling for me big time.”
“And she wasn’t?”
“Let’s just say when some gorgeous women is lying next to you, naked, and she can’t seem to get enough of you, wants to stay with you awhile longer, who cares why? It’s not that far a leap to delusional.”
“You recognize anyone in this besides Nikki?” I asked taking out my printed copy of the photo, Nikki on the beach with Mai and the Lee-Dee boys.
“Yeah, that’s her all right. Damn, I miss her. Don’t know any of the others,” Wayne shook his head and sounded wistful.
“You know, the last time I dropped her off…”
“Downtown?”
“Yeah, she always wanted to be let off near a side door of the building. I figured she wanted to avoid the lobby, maybe prying eyes or something. Anyway, that time she wanted me to drop her off in front of the building. She made a point of saying she wanted to get out of the car where it wasn’t dark, somewhere there were a lot of lights. Then said there had been some purse snatching in the area or something. Think maybe it might have been something else besides purse snatchings?”
“Could be, I just don’t know,” I said shaking my head.
We chatted a few minutes longer. I was reasonably sure Wayne wasn’t going to add anything and I didn’t need to know specifics of their sexual preferences. He gave me the name of the building where he’d dropped her off, the Baltimore. I handed him my card.
“Wayne, will you call me if you think of anything else?”
“Haskell Investigations?” he said looking up at me, back at the card then back up at me, blinking wide blue eyes.
“That’s me.”
“I thought you said you were with the police?”
“No, I think that may have been an assumption on your part, Wayne. But I am investigating the disappearance of Nikki Mathias. What you’ve told me will remain in strictest confidence. And I’m sure it will help,” although in truth I really couldn’t see how.
Chapter 34
I went back to working the phone numbers from Da’nita’s computer. Actually talked to four different guys, none of whom were of any real help, other than they more or less corroborated what I already knew. Nikki Mathias was an escort. Her contacts either originated on-line or from when she was entertaining at a party. She had an accent, was a gorgeous redhead, hadn’t been heard from for a couple of months, and apparently was rather memorable since two of the guys asked me to pass their names and numbers along if and when I did find her. The name Lee-Dee meant nothing to the gentlemen I spoke with. I saw no point in meeting with any of them personally.
Chapter 35
I could say all roads led back to Kerri, but I had no idea where she was, so I guess they led back to the Moscow Deli and my friend Tibor. Except that it wasn’t really a road, more like a footpath, and not well traveled at that.
After creeping past and spotting my Neanderthal pal Tibor, I parked at the far end of the desolate parking lot outside the Moscow Deli a good hour before it closed. Not that there was anything in the way of last-minute customers. I thought it might be best not to confront Tibor in his place of business, knives and cutting blades being a staple of his skilled trade.
For all I knew he’d locked the door an hour before closing just so he wouldn’t have to deal with pesky customers wanting him to dirty a knife. Fifteen minutes after his posted closing the lights went off and Tibor exited the front door, locked it, then looked cautiously left and right before walking toward a sprawling, dated apartment complex across the street.
The complex, known as the Sibley Apartments, consisted of thirty or forty three-story stucco and brick structures built just after the Second World War. They’d served as home to returning GI couples in the early fifties. Then refugees from Castro’s Cuba, the Hungarian revolution, Vietnamese boat people, Cambodians fleeing the Khmer Rouge, and now Eastern Europeans and Russians, just a stop on the road to the American Dream.
I attempted to shuffle aimlessly, hands in my pocke
ts, walking a parallel path across the street from Tibor. He had a noticeable limp, maybe arthritic, and although he was glancing around constantly, he seemed not to notice me. Two blocks into the complex he made a B-line for a buff-colored building with painted orange trim.
There was no point in running. I was just far enough away to not be able to reach him before he ducked inside the security door. I watched from across the street and a minute later the lights came on in an apartment on the third floor, just to the left of the stairwell window. Tibor appeared for a brief moment as he lowered a window shade.
I walked around the rear and checked things out, then drifted back to the front door. The door lock didn’t look all that difficult and I was about to retrieve the pick set from my car when two boys approached. They looked to be about ten. One pulled out a key and unlocked the door, never stopped his conversation, which wasn’t in English and sounded decidedly Slavic. I smiled, held the door as they entered, and then followed. They couldn’t have cared less although I suspected they’d been lectured a good portion of their young lives about the danger of strangers.
Names had been taped onto aluminum mailbox doors inset in the entryway wall. Last names with a first initial. Apartment 302 was listed as Crvek, T. T for Tibor I guessed. I quietly climbed the stairs. The hallways were a little too warm, a bit stuffy and smelled of heavy cooking. Fried things, bacon, pork, cabbage. I heard the hum of conversations in the hallway but couldn’t discern any words.
Tibor’s unit was at the top of stairwell, one of four units on the third floor, and if my bearings were correct the same unit where I’d seen Tibor drawing the window shade barely fifteen minutes before. Black plastic numbers on the door, just above the peephole identified it as 302. I felt fairly confident that if Tibor knew it was me knocking, I wouldn’t be welcome with open arms.
There was music playing inside the apartment, classical, possibly a cello solo. Who would have guessed Tibor for a culture vulture? I knocked softly, them stooped down so just the top of my hair would show through the peephole, hoping he would think it was a woman knocking and open.
Amazingly the music stopped a note or two later. Had he actually been playing? I could just make out footsteps approaching the door, padded, the floor would most likely be carpeted. A muffled voice was calling something, then repeating the phrase, whatever it was, it wasn’t English. I heard a body brush against the door, looking through the peephole. I pressed my head closer against the door, just below the peephole so my hair was visible. The voice repeated the phrase, a little louder this time, paused, then muttered something crossly, and then I heard the sound of a chain being unhooked.
The door opened widely, two or three cross words spilling out before they stopped, and Tibor, wide-eyed, wearing boxer shorts, white socks, and a strappy t-shirt attempted to slam the door closed.
I exploded from my crouch and burst through the door. The door flew open with a bang, knocking over a lamp that had rested on a small table just behind it. There was a slight pop and an audible fizzle as the light bulb broke when the lamp hit the floor. Tibor stumbled back. I wrapped him in a bear hug and tripped him to the floor. Fortunately I landed on top of him. Full force.
“Uff!” he gasped, then groaned.
I seemed to have knocked the wind out of him and though he struggled it was half-hearted. I was able to get on top of him, my weight pinning his shoulders and arms. He hissed and glared but that was about all he could do. A slight electrical burn smell came from the broken lamp behind us.
I pulled his ears back to the carpet between my thumbs and forefingers. They were slick, greasy, and slipped from my grasp as I attempted to keep his head still. Thankfully he didn’t scream out. I could feel his coarse beard bristle through my jeans, very unpleasant.
“Tibor, Tibor, I just want to ask you some questions,” I half growled through clenched teeth, squeezing his ears as hard as I could.
He seemed oblivious and began to struggle again, this time a bit more forcefully, moving my weight slightly. I didn’t have control of this by any stretch. I grabbed a handful of hair in both my hands. It was even greasier than his ears, but I hung on, lifted his head, and slammed it down hard into the floor. It seemed to have no effect, nor the second time when I slammed harder. The third time he blinked strangely and let loose with a low, throaty groan. But he didn’t struggle.
“Tibor, Tibor, listen to me. Now listen. I need to find Kerri, you know Kerri?”
He glared back at me.
I slammed his head into the floor, then did it again, as hard as I could.
“I’m going to ask again. Where is Kerri, Karina Vucavitch, Kerri, where is she?”
He focused on my face, glared again, I grabbed bigger handfuls of greasy hair, lifted his head to slam it.
“No, do not, no!” he said.
Thank God.
“Tibor, I need to find Karina Vucavitch, where is she? I just want to talk to her, she is in danger.”
He refocused on me, strangely. He seemed to be thinking, although one could never be sure.
I tightened my grip in his hair.
“With Braco, lives with Braco.”
“Who’s Braco?”
He looked at me like I was from another planet, studied me for a moment.
“Braco Alekseeva, she is his woman.”
“Braco Alekseeva?”
He actually smiled, at least that’s what I think he was doing. Lips curled, teeth exposed, or was he planning to bite me?
“Braco Alekseeva, he would like you to meet,” he half snarled.
“This Braco, he wouldn’t drive an LX11 would he? He drive a big red car, Tibor?”
He nodded, eyes glaring.
“You tell Braco, I’d like to talk with him, I’m going to find him and…”
“Braco find you,” he gasped.
“Good. It’ll save me time. Now Tibor, I’m going to get off you. I want you to stay on the floor. Understand? Nod your head yes.”
He did.
I climbed off carefully, but quickly. Tibor lay on the floor, glaring at me in his strappy T-shirt, striped boxer shorts, and white socks, I noticed the tip of a big toe poking through one of his socks. The rest of him, hairy shoulders, arms and legs with a beer belly beneath the T-shirt rising and falling from his heavy breathing.
“You just stay there, Tibor. I’ll let myself out. Sorry about the lamp. Nice music by the way,” I nodded in the direction of a cello leaning against a wooden chair in the far corner. I backed to the door, began to pull it, bits of broken lamp and shards of glass clinked and tinkled as I closed the door.
Tibor lay still, smiling strangely, like he was the only one in on the joke.
In the hallway I left the opposite way I came, going down the back stairs and out, if only to avoid Tibor tracking me from his window or worse, following. I walked quickly past two buildings, turned a corner, then jogged to my car. I didn’t believe anyone was following but why wait to find out.
I thought about Braco Alekseeva all the way home.
Chapter 36
“What do you mean, how did I get that name? I’m an investigator, remember? I came across it as part of my investigation. So what can you tell me about my friend Mr. Alekseeva?”
“Braco Alekseeva, Braco the Whacko, believe me, you want to stay as far away as possible from that guy,” Aaron said.
We were having dinner at Geno’s, which might sound casual but was very trendy. I had once dated a waitress from Geno’s for a torrid three and a half weeks a couple of years back, then broke it off when her ex-husband entered our relationship. He was a professional arm wrestler. Well that, and the fact that she went off her meds. Our parting had been unpleasant, public, and memorable when she attacked me with a steak knife on the outdoor patio of a restaurant I’ve never revisited since. I figured given the mobility of servers in the restaurant biz and her craziness I had a pretty good chance she wasn’t still employed here. Wrong again.
“Good evening, gentl
emen, may I get you something from the bar or perhaps you’d like to see our wine… Dev, Devlin Haskell?”
“Oh hey, Renee, how you doing? I’m here with officer LaZelle. So, you’re still working here? Going well, I hope.” I was praying the idea of police protection might fend her off for the evening.
Aaron nodded, smiled, then turned to the page marked “prohibitively expensive” in the wine list while Renee glared at me and never blinked.
“Well, yeah, I guess it’s going okay. You know, the handicap and all, tough to get work so I’m just thankful I’ve got a job to go to. You know me, soldiering on, uncomplaining,” she said sounding serious, I guessed it must be whatever meds she was on at the present.
“Gee, that’s great, you look fabulous,” I said, and she did.
“I think we’ll have the Sangiovese, bin nineteen,” Aaron smiled.
“Oh, very nice selection, sir, I’ll be right back with that,” she smiled, then flashed her eyes at me as she left.
“Is this place okay or would you prefer somewhere else?”
“The table?” Aaron asked looking at me like I was crazy.
“No, the restaurant, look I have some history with our waitress there, and…”
“No Kidding? Not bad, man, you may have just gone up a notch in my estimation.”
“Oh God, don’t even go there. Bottom line is she wigged out, tried to kill me with a steak knife out on a patio.”
“I’d like to hear her side of it. Were there witnesses?”
“Witnesses! God, it was at a restaurant, she went absolutely crazy. Look, I don’t want to get into it tonight, okay. But I’m more than a little uncomfortable with the whole thing right now. Look, just watch my back here, will you?”
“Oh God, will you relax? Someone that good-looking, believe me, she’s glad to have you out of her life.”
“Thanks for the…”
“Gentlemen, would either of you care to sample before I pour?” Renee smiled sweetly at Aaron.
