“Game’s over, motherfucker.” My ears were ringing from the shot.
“On the contrary, the game is just now beginning. Get your little slut and get off my property, your histrionics are starting to bore me.”
I wanted so badly to splatter his smirking face across his lovely chair. But that would be wrong, and more importantly, stupid. Never make a bold play until you know the rules of the game. I had made that mistake by stumbling in here, no need to compound it.
After sweeping the mansion and binding all the occupants, we left through the front door. Anya had emerged from the basement, wearing a deep green velvet dress that made her eyes sparkle. She had matching green heels, expertly applied make-up and her lips shone like fresh washed cherries. Even on the run she wanted to look her best.
At the car, Gregor had me pop the trunk. From under his greatcoat he pulled an AK47.
“A souvenir,” he said, and slammed the trunk closed.
“Did they tell you where my sister is?” Anya asked as we drove slowly down the quiet street.
“We’ll find her.”
“How? What have you done? If she dies, it will be your fault.” She was right, of course. Now a thirteen year old girl’s life depended on my next move. I needed to buy time, time to think, time to plan. I needed a drink.
Borrowing Gregor’s cloned and untraceable cell phone, I called Lowrie at home. He was an LAPD homicide detective, and the only cop I trusted. I roused him from deep slumber, but years on the job trained him to snap to alertness regardless of the hour. After busting my balls for waking him, we got to it. I gave him the mansion’s address and told him he would find a basement full of trafficked Russian girls, illegal weapons and hog tied Russian mobsters.
“And this involves homicide how?” he asked.
“Preventive, you don’t do something about it, there will be a murder, I’m sure of it.”
“But not by you, right?”
“Never, you know me, John Q Law-Abider.”
“I have a friend on the Russian mob task force, any chance you’ll talk to them?” He already knew the answer but he had to ask.
“I wasn’t even there.”
“And if the Russians say different?”
“Then they’re liars.” If they could ID me, I wouldn’t have dropped the dime. I told Lowrie I’d call him the next day and clicked off.
We traversed Los Angeles without seeing any black Mercedes, no gun toting mobsters, not even any patrol cars. To be safe, we decided Gregor would camp out at my place. Angel bounced up for a pet from me and then Gregor, who knelt down so she could slime his face. Anya looked anxiously at my big dog. With a snap of my finger I pointed to Angel’s dog bed, after fluffing her pillows with her paws, she lay down.
While Gregor made coffee, I poured Anya a tall scotch. The scent made me more than want to pour myself a tall one. She took a long gulp of whisky, then closed her eyes tight. Maybe she was hoping this was a bad dream. If it was, it started long before she met me.
At her feet, a single suitcase held all she owned. Whatever she made dancing hadn’t gone in her pocket, she had forty two dollars folding cash and some coins rattling around in her purse. No passport, no driver’s license, not a piece of paper to prove she existed. She was off the grid in a foreign land, and now her only hope rested in the hands of a suicidal titty bar bouncer and an Armenian street thug.
“The cops will buy us a couple of days before we show back up on the Russians’ radar, we need to find your sister before they lawyer up and spread the word.”
“Nika, that is her name, Nika...” Her eyes were still shut. Her voice came from far off. “Will they kill her?”
“No.” That’s what I told her, as if I had one fucking clue what was coming next.
While Gregor and I drank coffee and she drank more scotch, I had her tell us how she came to the States. If I could trace her course, I might be able to find her sister. Anya had flown from Moscow to Israel and then Mexico. They had customs officers on the mob’s paysheet.
“I was not foolish enough to believe I was coming here to be a maid. My eyes were, as you say, wide open. But back home, there was no hope. Here, I could make real money, buy a better life. Such a mistake.” Her eyes clenched tight to keep the tears from falling.
“After the airport, where did you go?”
“They took me to a house, away from the city. Other girls were with me, we hadn’t eaten in days...” Tears rolled and she went silent.
“It’s alright, you can tell me,” I said.
She looked to Gregor, imploring him in Russian.
“She’s afraid you won’t want her if you know what they did to her. You’ll think she is damaged goods. Her words, not mine, boss. I told her we were all damaged goods in this room.”
“He’s right,” I told her. “How long did they keep you in the house?”
“A long time, weeks, I don’t know.” She was crying now with abandon, snot ran down her lip. Black lines of mascara streaked down from her eyes. The humanness of it made me want to protect her from this screwed up world. Gregor handed her a linen handkerchief. In the face of pain, he neither shied away nor reveled in it. He’d simply respond.
Anya wiped her face, blew her nose and smiled at Gregor. “I stained it, I’m sorry.”
“It’s not important,” he said, followed by Russian. She answered him, but I was clueless to what they were saying. He continued to soothe her, her tears slowed, she even smiled at something he said.
I dropped an army surplus sleeping bag, a comforter and a couple of pillows onto the sofa. “Shall I sleep with you?” Anya asked, looking nervously from Gregor to me.
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“But if I choose to?”
“Sweet, but no.” I snapped my finger and Angel followed me to bed. Laying there, I felt like a fucking idiot. Ten feet away was a woman offering to give herself to me. A woman I could love. Not like this. I wanted to prove myself to her, prove I was worthy to be her man. She would come to me when she was strong and unafraid, and I would be more than just a thug she needed for protection. I fell asleep to the foreign murmur coming from the living room.
It was just past seven the next morning when I slipped out of the house with Angel at my side. Anya was sleeping on the sofa, snoring softly, in a sweet girlish way. Gregor looked up at me from the chair by the door where he had spent the night, he didn’t ask where I was going. He scratched Angel between the ears and watched us leave.
Picking up some pan dulce from the Mexican bakery down the street we hit the dog park. Angel’s best friend was Bruiser, a Rottweiler that had thoroughly kicked her ass as a puppy. Now at a little over a year old, they were evenly matched as they did their impression of WWF.
“When she fills out, he’s going to be sorry he wasn’t nicer when she was young.” Helen laughed, wiping away the crumbs of sugary Mexican pastry from her mouth.
“Fills out? Why didn’t you tell me I was taking in a damn horse?” Angel tackled Bruiser, flipping him onto his back. She was more into pinning and wrestling than biting.
Helen was forty-five, sloppy and overweight. If she wasn’t a friend, I’d have said she was built like a mushroom, as it was, I’d kick anyone’s ass who put her down. She spent too many hours at her computer writing T.V. scripts and too few in the real world. She was smart and witty and the first citizen to treat me like a human. We were brought together by the death of a girl we had both loved in our own ways. After it was done and I’d made the killers pay their freight, Helen and I stayed friends. I guess because we liked each other. Strange, a friendship where nothing was exchanged or bartered.
“You are so not a dog guy. Angel won’t hit her full size until she’s two years old. Did you read the book I gave you on Mastiffs or is it keeping your kitchen table from wobbling?”
“It was pretty wobbly.” I grinned at her.
“You suck, you know that Moses? You totally and fully suck.”
“Bu
t I bring you pan dulce and my silly bitch keeps Bruiser young.”
“Both good points.” She watched our dogs suddenly break from a huddle and burst across the park like two fur bullet trains. “And we have shared history, and that is worth more and more as the clock ticks by.”
“Sadie?” I asked.
“Left last night. And don’t insult me with sham surprise. I know she was too young for me, but damn she was...”
“Yes she was, Helen, yes she was.” Sadie had been her latest girlfriend. She was fine, twenty-five with a runner’s body. Not the kind that was too skinny and dehydrated looking. Muscular down deep, with just enough flesh covering it to make you think she would be soft to curl into.
“You think some people are meant to be alone?” Helen asked.
“I don’t know if I’m the guy to ask. My longest relationship is with that dog over there. But no, babe, I don’t think you’re meant to be alone. Don’t think anything is meant to be. It just is what it is.”
“Not into predestination?”
“Whatever the fuck that is,” I said a bit harder than I should have.
“Fate, destiny, the belief that our lives are planned by some higher force and we mere mortals live them out the best we can with the limited knowledge we have.”
“Oh, that predestination. No, I don’t believe some higher force is planning this life for me. If I did, I’d give up, lay down and die right now. Because it would be clear, that fuck in the sky hates my ass.”
“You are in a darker mood than usual, Moses. And what is up with the bags under your eyes?” She looked at me with true concern.
“You know me, if there’s any shit in a ten mile radius, I will step in it.”
“And what shit is it this time?”
“Do you know anything about the Russian mob trafficking women?” I knew she would, or would know where to find it. Most of her writing was on crime shows, and she was one hell of a researcher.
“This is why you came to me, right? Bribe me with some pan dulce to do your leg work?”
“There’s a girl, thirteen, I think she’s somewhere in Mexico. I have to find her.”
“No, you have to go to the feds. These Russians, they kill cops, judges, they make you look like a pansy,” she said.
“Clock is ticking on this little girl. I don’t have time for the feds. The war on terror is still the only thing they have on the brain, one Russian girl won’t even be a shadow of a blip on their screen.” I looked at her solemnly. “Can you help?”
“Damn it, Moses, these people don’t play around.”
“Neither do I.”
“Ok, alright, give me a day. I’ll see what’s on the web, call a few contacts.”
“Thank you.” Pulling Angel off Bruiser, I headed back to Highland Park.
CHAPTER 7
NIKA LET THE RUMBLE OF THE tires on the road lull her, she lay back using her bag as a lumpy pillow. Her first day in this new world was spent locked in back of a sweltering, windowless van. Three other girls traveled with her. Two were from Ukraine, the third came all the way from Norilsk, up in the permanently frozen north. They had spoken in the dark - trying to keep their courage up - all agreed this wasn’t as bad as it could be. Soon they would walk onto the wonderful streets of America. They passed a jug of water, but there was no food. Their sweat and cheap perfume mixed in the stale air.
“Hey Moscow, what the fuck are you doing?” Yumma asked. At nineteen, she was the oldest of the girls, she had the thick gravel in her voice that only years of tobacco can give.
“It’s Yaroslavl.” Nika twisted, unzipping her dress.
“I don’t care fuck where you’re from, keep your dress on. You want them to think we’re whores?”
“I’m hot, and you’re not my mother.”
“Thank god for that. Do any of you useless cows have a cigarette?”
Nika pulled the dress over her head. In her slip, she felt much better. After a long, hot moment, she heard the zippers of other girls following her lead.
“Oh, that’s real classy. What will they think when they open the door and find you idiots naked?”
Twenty minutes later, Nika smiled when she heard Yumma’s zipper slowly go down.
Lunch hour came and went without a break. In the afternoon the van stopped and they could hear a loud tinny radio playing brassy music. None of the girls spoke Spanish, the rapid speech of the DJ was a blur of noise to them. They heard the gas tank filling. Nika knocked on the door, pleading that she needed to pee.
Blinding light filled their compartment. Glowing in the sun, the man with the acne-ruined face tossed a plastic bucket in to them. Before Nika’s eyes could adjust enough to make out the surroundings, the door banged closed again. It embarrassed her to squat over the bucket, but it was either that or have her bladder burst. The sound of her urine splashing down caused one of the girls to giggle.
“What?” Nika snapped. She had no idea which girl it was, but she would be damned if they would laugh at her.
“Sorry.” It was Guzel Saifutdinova, the girl from Norilsk. Nika could tell by her small mouse like voice. It was as if she thought even in their dark cage, someone would overhear her.
Nika felt a little better having lost the pain of a swollen bladder. It was the most satisfying piss she had ever had. Strange, she thought, how denying a thing can make it so much better once you got it.
“I’m hungry.” This came from the deep voiced Zhanna. She had told them she was seventeen and came from Odessa. She had been studying for her college entrance exams when her mother lost her job at the Volga automobile factory. With no money or hope, she decided to leave for America.
“Here,” Nika said. On the plane, she had slipped saltines and peanuts into her bag. “No cigs, huh?” Yumma said.
“No. Have a cracker, pretend it’s a smoke.” Nika shared her snacks with the others. Why not, soon they would have to stop for dinner. The man driving the van wouldn’t starve them.
They didn’t stop for dinner. Nika’s stomach was growling when she finally let sleep take her away. How long she slept was impossible to tell. The combination of jet lag and the monotony of the dark van left her disoriented. A knot had tightened in her belly, from both fear and hunger. The van had turned from oppressive heat to bone chilling cold. The girls huddled together, wrapping the rough Mexican blankets around themselves.
“We never should’ve come here,” Guzel whined, near tears. “If I wanted to freeze to death, I could have stayed home. Where are they taking us? We don’t even know who they are. This was a terrible mistake.”
“Shhh, we’ll be alright,” Nika said.
“How do you know? They can do what they want with us, who will protect us?”
“Why would they fly us across the world to hurt us?” Nika was sounding much braver than she felt. “I don’t know how it was in Norilsk, but in Yaroslavl it sucked.”
Guzel sobbed quietly.
“Stop crying.” Nika grabbed the girl’s shoulder and shook her roughly. Guzel fell silent. Nika lay back down, pulling up her blanket. Since her big sister left home, she had been forced to grow up. She took over the household. It was her job to keep her father in line, or he would spend what little money they had on wine.
At thirteen, Nika was the youngest in the van, but now she was the one they turned to for leadership. If she had to be harsh to keep them from falling apart, she would. With every step, from Yaroslavl to Moscow to Mexico, she had faced new fears, and with each conquered she felt braver. Whatever came next, she would deal with it. And in the end, she was sure the prize in America would prove to be worth it.
“The phone’s been ringing off the hook,” Gregor said when I returned.
“Who called?”
“Who knows? Boss, everyone has an answering machine. I could hook you up.”
I should have guessed he wouldn’t answer it. I hadn’t asked him to, and why would I, the damn thing never rang. Before I could ask him where Anya was, the
phone started ringing.
“Where the hell have you been?” It was a seriously not happy Detective Lowrie.
“Out. What bug crawled up your ass?”
“I’m running on two hours of sleep and paranoia, so don’t screw with me.”
“Ok, but I can’t answer questions you’re not asking.”
“Who the fuck did you piss off?”
“Excuse me?” I felt like I was caught in some bizarre hidden camera show.
“I call my man in the Russian mob squad, twenty minutes later I have some cowboy with a Homeland Security badge at my door.”
“A fed?”
“Yeah, a big fat G-man. He wanted your name and kept throwing terms like ‘enemy combatant’ like it was confetti and the Lakers had won the title.”
“You give me up?”
“Screw him.”
“Thanks.”
“Didn’t do it for you, I can’t stand anyone coming into my playground and telling me the bat and ball are theirs.”
“What’s their interest here?”
“Hell if I know, I was kind of hoping you might shed some light on this bullshit.”
“No idea. Did the Russians say anything to the Mob Squad?” I asked.
“Hell, they never even rolled on it. My guy said the house was on a federal ‘don’t touch’ list. Is that pure crap or what?”
My mind spun. If the Russian mobsters weren’t in lockdown, then they would be out hunting us. They didn’t know my name, and even if they did, I paid cash for my rent and the utilities were in the owner’s name. If you didn’t know me, finding me was next to impossible.
“Odds are real good the captain’s going to be on my ass to give up my snitch, and that’s you,” Lowrie said.
“Give me twenty-four hours and I’ll be smoke.”
“Tell me it’s for a good cause.”
“A thirteen year old girl has been trafficked. I have to find her before the Russians do.”
I could hear his breath as he exhaled into the phone. After a thought-filled moment he finally said in a flat measured tone, “I’ll give you what I can.”
Out There Bad (Moses McGuire) Page 6
