My Mobster

by J. L. Drake

  I chugged the pop and noticed Boris had set his black notebook and cell out on the table. How could he work at a time like this? As I drank, he tapped his finger on the phone, waiting for his orders. My body began to shake. I scooped up a bite of rice and lifted it to my mouth. Half of it made it; the rest tumbled down my shirt.

  “Want me to help you eat?”

  I shook my head and fed myself again with similar results. I gave up and nibbled on a cracker. “Which one of you killed my sister?”

  Boris’s expression turned murderous.

  “Don’t deny it. I saw the tattoo of her inked on Vladimir’s back. That’s how you assholes brag about your crimes, right? I know that knife on your neck means you’re a hit man. Does one of those links on your arm represent my sister?” I pointed to his blue snake tat.

  “Your sister’s death was a tragic accident.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Not bullshit. Vladimir was in Siberia at the time of your sister’s death. I never told him about the accident until after he was released. The news would’ve killed him.”

  That was what Vladimir had told me, too. Maybe it was true. “So you did it?”

  “Think, lapsha. Why would I, why would anyone in the Bratva hurt her? Vladimir is like a son to me. The accident was just an accident. She lost control of her car and crashed. Not my fault, not Vladimir’s fault—not your fault either.”

  Tears dripped down my cheeks. “I don’t believe you. I saw the tattoo. Her face, the flames, a blue devil—”

  “Guilt, my dear. Vladimir feels responsible because if he hadn’t gone to prison, they would’ve stayed together in New York. No car wreck in Cincinnati.”

  I would never know if he was telling me the truth, but his facts did validate Vladimir’s alibi, hence she didn’t die by his hand. “When is he going to call?”

  Tap, tap, tap, tap…

  “What time is it?” I asked. When he ignored me, my gaze darted to the alarm clock next to the bed. It was almost midnight. I looked down at my wrist and at the shiny oil mark Boris had rubbed on me. It looked like an X—no, it was a cross.

  Oh, God. Holy oil—Last Rites.

  I knew then he had already made up his mind. It was two hours past my curfew. I wasn’t going home. “How are you going to do it?”

  Tap, tap, tap, tap…

  “Are you going to make it hurt to get back at me for all the times—”

  A loud boom came from the door. “Freeze!” Two officers wielding guns stormed the room and aimed their weapons at Boris. “Put your hands up.”

  I leapt out of my seat, my hands high, totally confused by the huge uniformed man with his gun pointed at Boris and the bushy-haired officer next to him—

  “Officer Montgomery?”

  “Are you all right, Carter?” Officer Montgomery asked, her entire focus on Boris, her gun pointed at his chest.

  Oh, God. I’m safe.

  But Boris wasn’t. If I squealed, the pakhan would have my whole family whacked. This was my chance to do the right thing for once.

  “Don’t shoot! He’s the one who saved me.”

  Chapter 56

  Dead Silence

  With my hands up in surrender, I skittered around the table, sat on Boris’s knee, and curled my arms around his neck like a human shield. Officer Montgomery’s partner kept his gun aimed at Boris, and she peeled me off his lap and sat me on the bed. “Are you hurt?”

  I shook my head. “How did you find me?”

  “Your dad called the station when you didn’t come home. He was adamant something was wrong. You never miss your curfew,” she said. “After we had a talk about your grandpa, I put an APB out on the Cadillac.” She stood up and put her hand on her gun, still tucked in the holster. “Trouble seems to follow you, Carter, and by ‘trouble’ I mean him.” She nodded at Boris.

  “Please put down your gun,” I said to the male officer. “I called him for help after I fought him off.”

  “Fought who off?” Officer Montgomery asked. She stood Boris up, frisked him, and removed his gun from its hiding place. “Why am I not surprised to find this?” She slapped handcuffs on him and told him his Miranda rights while the other officer steadied his gun on Boris. I waited for the big guy to make a move. I had little confidence he would let the police take him down.

  “You’re safe. You don’t have to lie anymore,” Officer Montgomery said.

  “I’m not lying. I was with my sicko ex-boyfriend. I agreed to meet him so we could talk about getting back together.” I sucked in a deep breath to buy some time while I constructed a bullshit story. “We had a few drinks, and he started talking smack about how he missed me.” I dropped my gaze to the floor. “We made out, and then he put his hands all over me. I wanted to leave, but he wouldn’t let me go. We got into an argument, and then—” I glanced over at Boris.

  “Look at me,” Officer Montgomery said. “Then what happened?”

  My lips quivered. I lifted my hand and touched the throbbing fingermarks on my cheek.

  “Did he assault you?” she asked.

  “He tried, but I fought him off. When he left, he took my clothes with him and told me not to leave. I didn’t know what to do. I was naked, drunk, and stranded in this shitty place. I was afraid my dad would be angry—he told me never to see him again—so I called him.”

  The cops eyed each other.

  I picked up the shopping bag and snatched the receipt. “He bought me clothes and food and medical supplies—”

  “Where else are you hurt?” the male officer asked.

  I rolled up my sleeve and showed him my bandaged elbow. The officer pulled back the Band-Aids and winced at my skinned up elbow.

  “Rug burn. I skidded across the carpet after he hit me.”

  Boris’s cell vibrated on the table.

  “Why didn’t you call the police, sir?” the guy asked.

  Boris threatened the officer with his villainous stare.

  “I begged him not to until I could pull myself together before I called my dad. Please, can I answer my phone? It’s Dad. He must be worried sick.” I snatched up Boris’s phone and tapped the screen, but before I had a chance to say a word, a voice spoke in Russian—the pakhan. I closed myself in the bathroom and waited for him to finish his order.

  “Ouch. That sounds painful, babe.”

  I waited for him to speak. He didn’t.

  “Miss, come out of the bathroom,” the officer ordered.

  “I’ll be right out.” I turned on the faucet to try to drown out my voice. “I’ve got some bad news, boss. Your patsani are a bunch of fuck-ups.”

  The cop banged on the bathroom door. “Come out now.”

  “Boris is in handcuffs as we speak. Only I can get him out of this. My family and friends stay safe. In return, I leave you and Boris out of this mess. Agreed?”

  Nothing.

  “I need an answer. You let me go, and I let you off the hook, deal?”

  Dead silence.

  ***

  I refused to get into the ambulance, so I rode up front in the patrol car with Officer Montgomery. Boris was in the back of the cruiser in cuffs. I had the sense to claim his black notebook—filled with his illegal gambling notes—as my personal diary, so the cops couldn’t confiscate it. I needed every weapon I could get to use against the Russians.

  By the time we got to the police station, my dad was already there—with Vladimir. Not only did I have the pakhan to deal with, but I was going to have to face the Wrath of Dad, too. I couldn’t imagine how much trouble I would be in this time.

  I stepped out of the car and prepared for Dad to deliver the first round of punishment. I decided to swing first. “Dad, I’m sorry I—”

  “Oh, sweetie.” Dad’s eyes welled up when he saw the slap mark across my face. He wrapped his arms around me. “That bastard you were dating behind my back did this? You’re going to the hospital. End of discussion.”

  I stepped back from Dad before I screeched from hav
ing a set of cracked ribs. “I’m fine, really. It’s not that bad.”

  I had no way of knowing what the boss intended to do. “Thanks for coming, Mr. Ivanov. I’m glad I got to see you before you left.” On shaky legs I walked up to him and gave him a hug to find out if he was packing heat: Da. “We have a deal, right?” I whispered.

  He kissed my forehead. “I wish we were meeting under more favorable circumstances, Miss Cook.” His eyes were bloodshot, lips cold.

  Dad shook his head in confusion and set his sights on Boris, still in the back of the cruiser. “Why did you call him instead of me?”

  As I was about to spin my tale, the Chief of Police came out to the parking lot and let Boris out of the car. With trembling hands, the chief personally unlocked his cuffs. “This man is a hero. Treat him with respect,” the chief warned his officer.

  Vladimir had already sunk his hooks into the chief, but Officer Montgomery was wise to this messed-up truckload of bullshit. She shook her head, taken off guard by the whitewashed attitude of her superior. “Hold on, Chief.” She turned to Dad. “Mr. Cook, do you have any knowledge of this alleged ex-boyfriend?”

  All eyes zeroed in on Dad.

  He stole me away from the pakhan and put his arm around me. “She broke up with him before Christmas. That asshole tried to pressure her to sleep with him, but—” Dad choked up.

  “See? There you go,” the chief said, eager to end the interrogation.

  Officer Montgomery held her hand up. “One more question.” She turned to Dad. “Mr. Cook, you believe your daughter would call him in a crisis instead of you?” She pointed to Boris, scowling like she’d gotten a whiff of dumpster trash.

  Dad wrapped his arms around me in full bear-hug mode. He nodded on my shoulder. “I’ve been a terrible father lately. I’m sorry I’ve been so hard on you, pumpkin.”

  “No, Dad. Don’t blame yourself. This is all my fault.”

  Dad pulled back, his eyes wide with astonishment. “Don’t say that, Carter. How could you possibly believe—” He swallowed hard. “That asshole made you feel like getting smacked across the face was somehow your fault? No matter what his excuse was, no matter what he said you did, no one has the right to hurt you. You didn’t ask for it, you didn’t deserve it, and love doesn’t make a man hit a woman.”

  I glanced up at the pakhan and met his bloodshot eyes.

  “Your daughter has been through enough tonight, Mr. Cook.” The chief shifted his gaze between the Russians. “Take her home now.”

  Officer Montgomery opened her mouth to argue, but changed her mind after a scowl from her superior. “First, I’ll need statements.” She aimed her pen at Boris and me.

  “Wait. Doesn’t she need to go to the hospital for an examination?” Dad asked. “She’s terrified. How do we know he didn’t…assault her?”

  Boris fired a nonverbal warning over my dad’s shoulder. A trip to the hospital for an examination meant my history of abuse would be abundantly clear. I understood my traumatic event had to be a one-time occurrence. I couldn’t afford to punch holes in my story.

  “I’m not going to the hospital.” I picked up Boris’s hand and led him toward the door. “Let’s give our statements and go home.”

  Dad stood his ground. “Carter, you need to be seen by a doctor. End of discussion.”

  I turned, dropped Boris’s hand, and laid into my father—no more silence. “Even if you drag me to the hospital, I will not consent to an exam.”

  Dad stared at me like I was a lunatic. “You’re hurt, sweetie.” He caressed my cheek. “They said he took your clothes and—” Dad couldn’t finish his sentence.

  I put my hand on my hip and delivered a fatal blow. “I already told the cops he didn’t rape me. Now do you see why I called Boris when I needed help instead of you? After all I’ve been through this evening, you still treat me like I’m the criminal.”

  I had officially shattered my father’s heart. Eager to close the books, I tugged on Boris’s arm and led him inside the station. Once I gave a statement, and details of my pretend boyfriend, I hustled back to Dad to get the hell away from the Russians.

  I turned to Boris before we left and went in for a stomach-churning farewell hug. I slipped his cellphone and his evidence-ridden black notebook into his hand and whispered, “We’re even.” Then for everyone’s ears I said, “Have a safe trip.”

  Boris distracted my dad, filling him in on the bogus statement I’d given to the cops, and I stepped up to the pakhan for our final goodbye.

  He reached out to caress my battered face.

  I blocked him. “Don’t ever touch me again.”

  He held up his hands, mocking my defiance. Then he lifted a length of my stolen hair out of his pocket and wrapped it around his fist.

  My heart raced, chest heaved.

  He kissed my locks. “Until we meet again, angel.”

  Chapter 57

  The V Card

  Ten weeks later…

  The last of the dirty gray snow had melted in front of our apartment, making room for the pink tulips in the flowerbeds to break free from their wintery hiding place. Spring had arrived and in one week I would be headed to Punta Cana with Kiki and a group of friends to bask in the sun, splash in the waves, and breathe in the salty, tropical air.

  The trip was an early birthday present from Dad and Karen, and a perfect motivator to ditch my demons and stop living like a prisoner. Since The Incident, I had moved out with Kiki on schedule and started my spring semester as planned. Dad was against the idea, but when I flashed the “I will not let one bad experience define me” card, I moved on with his blessing.

  On the outside, I was calm and confident. On the inside, I was a paranoid disaster. But every day I left my apartment and came back alive, I was stronger, braver, and more confident I would be okay.

  The Russians were gone.

  Vladimir was out of my life.

  I had won.

  On a perfectly sunny and unseasonably warm Saturday in mid-March, I felt brave enough to go for a run in the park off campus. It was stocked with moms and dads pushing strollers, skateboard kids, and dogs playing fetch with their families. I jogged past a group of guys playing a pickup game of soccer on the rec fields. One of the dudes attempted a goal, but the defender blocked it. The ball bounced high in the air and was headed straight for me.

  “Watch out!” one of the players yelled.

  I zeroed in on the ball, shuffled sideways to get underneath it, and popped back a header. The ball bounced back to the field, and the guys cheered.

  “She’s on my team,” a cutie with sandy brown hair pulled back in a messy man bun said.

  I blushed and waved dismissively, embarrassed by my sporty nature.

  The cutie jogged over to me. “Seriously, we need a fourth. You in?”

  My experience with the Russians had taught me a valuable lesson: Life is precious. Get over your bullshit.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Great. I’m Benji.” He held out his hand. His wrist was loaded with braided nature-boy bracelets.

  “Carter.” We shook.

  We played against his friends for an hour or so—Benji and I won—then he invited me to stay for a picnic lunch. In the weeks following my ordeal with the Russians, I’d been going through the motions: tennis, classes, work, study, repeat. I’d played it safe, not quite ready to jump back in to my new Russian-free normal. Hanging out with a new person, reaching out, felt like life to me. Maybe I was finally coming back.

  We joined the other two guys at a picnic table, and Benji unpacked a stack of sandwiches, cold salads, chips, and natural cola.

  “Turkey club or egg salad? Both organic,” Benji said.

  “Oh. I’m a vegetarian. I’ll just have some chips.”

  “What kind of vegetarian? Vegan, ovo, lacto…”

  “Lacto.”

  “I knew there was a reason I made my asiago and sun-dried tomato pasta salad today.” He opened up a glass container, l
oaded up a plate, and handed it to me.

  I took a bite of the pasta, chewed, and swallowed. “This is delicious. You made it?”

  “One of my many talents.” Benji smiled. “If you like that, you’ll have to try my famous mushroom risotto.” He peeked over at me and wiped his bangs out of his eyes. “If you want to hang out sometime, I’ll make it for you.”

  I felt my cheeks flush.

  Yes, yes, yes, Sophia said.

  “Like, tonight?” Benji said. “My place is over there.” He pointed to the apartments across the street. “We can swing by Whole Foods on the way back.”

  “Uh, tonight?” Paranoia set in. Maybe he’s trying to lure me to his house because the pakhan has come back, and he’s there waiting for me. It’d be just like the Russians to use a hottie to trick me—wait. Is this the devil talking?

  “Or another time.” Benji looked down, dejected.

  His buddies chided him.

  Sophia folded her wings across her body and hung her head in defeat.

  Enough. This is my life. I’ll make my own decisions. I vanquished the devil first. Mentally, I torched the forked-tongue bastard and watched him burn. Next, I let go of Sophia’s angel voice of wisdom. She spread her silvery wings and ascended into the heavens, making room for my own thoughts and my own voice of reason that said: Stop living in fear.

  Game plan change up: “Tonight’s good.”

  “Really?”

  “But…”

  “But?”

  “Is it okay if we go out for coffee instead? Mushroom risotto is a big step for me.”

  ***

  Later that afternoon, I met Benji at a crowded indie coffee house around the corner from our apartment. We ordered our drinks and a big slice of vegan carrot cake with thick, creamy frosting to share. Two forks. Benji was a junior majoring in urban planning. He taught me about sky farming, and he sketched out a design on a napkin of a self-sustaining community he wanted to develop that could, ultimately, end world hunger.