by Reece Hirsch
“I knew it,” she said, pleased with herself.
“It was the suit, right?”
“No, it was the way you talk,” she said. “Like someone who is used to having people pay attention. If I were on jury, you’d get my vote.”
“Thanks, but I’m not that kind of attorney. I don’t go to court. I’m a corporate lawyer. I negotiate deals.”
“So how long have you been a lawyer?”
“Almost seven years. As a matter of fact, I just made partner today.”
“Today? That is amazing, Will! Congratulations!” Will had been congratulated many times that day, but this was the one that made him feel the best because there was no qualifier, no personal history to take into account.
“Thanks. So, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but what are you doing hitting the clubs alone?” Will surprised himself with his liquored directness. “Don’t you have a boyfriend?”
She noted his forwardness with an arched eyebrow. “No, not really. There was a guy back in Moscow, but that ended when I came here. So what about you?”
“I have a few friends I can call up for dinner or a movie, but nothing to get excited about.”
“Well, if you can’t get excited, there is no point, right?” Katya tried to be deadpan, but she couldn’t suppress a crooked little smile. At that moment, Will knew how the evening had to end.
Will looked around the room at the couples wrestling on the adjoining couches. “Would you like to get out of here?”
Katya lifted herself out of the couch. “I must get home. Securities dealers start early. Markets open at six thirty and I have to be in by eight thirty.”
“Where do you live?”
“Not far from here. I’ve got an apartment off Polk Street on Russian Hill. And no Russian Hill jokes, please.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“It’s not too far. I can catch a cab outside.”
“I’m headed that way. How about if we share a cab? I can see you to your door.”
“That is very sweet of you. Sure.” Will felt that he and Katya were like chess players, both looking several moves ahead, barely concentrating on the current maneuvers.
It was eleven thirty and the club was shifting into high gear as Will and Katya made their way through the bar, heading for the door. The suit-and-tie crowd from the financial district was now gone, replaced by resplendently funky club kids.
The city seemed unnaturally quiet when they emerged onto Fillmore Street from the noisy club. Accustomed to shouting to be heard, Will felt tentative now, not wanting to say the wrong thing.
They walked quickly down Fillmore to California Street and caught a cab. During the short taxi ride, they filled the pauses with the smallest of talk, comparing the weather in the Bay Area and Ukraine. As they drew closer to Russian Hill, the silences grew longer.
Finally, the cab stopped in front of a three-story Victorian on Pacific Street. It was simultaneously charming and a bit run-down, like so many San Francisco apartment buildings where the landlord knows that he has an inexhaustible supply of young tenants.
Katya twirled and pointed to the building like a game show hostess revealing a prize. “What do you think?”
“Very nice.”
Katya gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Can I come up?” he asked.
She paused. “Not tonight. Too soon. But I hope you’ll give me a call. Equilon Securities. It’s in the book. You were very sweet to see me home.”
They said good night, and he watched her enter the building. He kept the cabbie waiting for a moment as she made her way to her apartment, and he watched the light come on in a second-floor window.
Then the curtains opened to reveal Katya, who saw him standing on the lawn looking up at her. It was hard to tell because she was in silhouette, but he sensed that she was smiling.
After a moment, she pushed the window open and leaned out, tossing her key chain at his feet. Marveling at his good fortune, he dispatched the cabdriver and picked up the keys.
He climbed the stairs and the door opened before he could knock.
“I just want you to know that I am breaking rules for you,” she said.
The shortcomings of Katya’s small studio apartment were gamely overcome by a coat of yellow paint and her decorating efforts. Glancing around at the white, pressed-wood chairs and other Ikea-style furnishings, Will noted that he’d probably spent thousands of dollars more in furnishing his condo in the marina, with results that resembled a high-tech dorm room. Katya’s apartment, and the way she had made something warm and homey out of what was essentially a dump, told him more about her than any single thing that she had said to him that night.
Will studied the Matisse and Moscow Ballet posters on the walls as Katya hurried about picking up a bra and a few other stray items of clothing and tossing them in a closet.
“Please, sit . . . sit,” she said as she returned to him. “Can I get you a drink?”
Katya stepped past Will to turn the dead bolt. Will moved aside to make room, and they were only a few inches apart, both radiating heat in the cold apartment.
Katya looked up at Will and brushed a lock of black hair out of her eyes. Will bent down and kissed her, inhaling the metallic aftertaste of vodka. Katya pushed Will back against the door of the apartment. They took each other’s clothes off like two kids unwrapping Christmas presents. Her fingers felt cold as she unbuckled his belt.
After they struggled out of their clothes, Will was naked in the bed. Katya returned from the bathroom wearing a black bra and panties. She had two tattoos: a tribal design around her ankle and a star on her right shoulder blade. Her navel was pierced by a small silver ring. Will had never slept with a woman with tattoos or piercings before and decided that, for reasons he could not begin to fathom, he liked the idea. Dana, his ex, certainly had not borne tribal markings of any kind. In fact, Will did not know of an attorney with tattoos or piercings. Of course, he had not seen that many attorneys with their clothes off.
Without saying a word, Katya jumped into bed and straddled him. Her dark hair hung straight down around her face like a curtain. Looking up at her, he found himself unable to resist the urge to touch her navel ring, examining the surface tension of skin where the silver band disappeared to complete its circle inside her. As he drew a circle around her navel with his index finger, her stomach muscles trembled.
Okay, Will thought. I guess the superpowers have kicked in now.
FIVE
Will awoke in the morning, hung over, in Katya’s bed with her arm draped across his chest. His head felt like a railroad car in which heavy crates had not been properly secured. He reconstructed the events that had led him to the apartment on Pacific Street, trying to decide whether this was something he was going to regret. The sunlight shone with depressing clarity on the tiny apartment, with its thread-bare sofa and flaking paint. But, then again, it also revealed Katya.
She was breathing softly into her pillow next to him. He admired the white-on-white of her skin against the sheets. The downy black hair on her forearm. The curve of her back as it dipped beneath the sheet. There was really no telling who she was or what her reaction to him might be when she awoke. Better to lie very still and let this pleasingly strange moment linger.
He noticed a small stack of CDs next to the bed. Atop the stack was a CD from some Russian rock band with an unpronounceable name. The Slavic fellows on the cover all had shoulder-length hair and some wore headbands, suggesting that somewhere in the Commonwealth of Independent States was a land where eighties hair-metal bands still roamed the earth. Will decided to chalk that one up to cultural differences. Next was a Dave Matthews Band CD (a little pedestrian, but not a deal breaker). At the bottom of the stack was I’m Your Man by Leonard Cohen.
“Good morning,” Katya said, rolling over in bed. Her eyes followed his over to the stack of CDs. She ran her hands through her hair. “So . . . what am I supposed to do with you now?”
she asked.
“Anything you like.”
“Okay, then, I’d like you to feed my cat.”
“Is that some kind of Russian euphemism?”
Katya’s face went blank for a moment as she checked her mental English-Russian dictionary. If her face were a computer screen, it would have displayed a tiny hourglass icon. Then she laughed, apparently deciding that she got the joke, and made an expression of mock disapproval.
Will scanned the small apartment. “You have a cat?”
“He’s under the bed. That’s where he goes when I have company.”
“What’s his name?”
“Ron.”
“Ron? I would have thought Vlad or Ivan or something.”
“He is American cat, so he should have proper American name,” she declared. “Where do you come up with these names? . . . Bill, Frank, Dave, Mike . . . ” she said, mimicking a flat Midwestern accent.
“How about Will?”
“Will is a sweet name. And William . . . I think I like that even better.”
Katya simultaneously rolled onto her back, stretched, and pulled up the covers. She scratched her finger across the comforter several times. Ron the cat, a stocky white shorthair, responded to the summons, bounding heavily onto the bed. Ron studied Will with a mixture of fear and contempt as Katya massaged the furry slope of his forehead with her index finger.
“I saw you looking at my CDs. I hope you are not music snob.”
“Uh, no. Well, I mean . . . okay, yes, some of my friends have said that.”
“So, do you have problem with my musical taste, Will?”
“No, not at all. I noticed you listen to Leonard Cohen.”
“Yes. Very popular in Russia. I think we relate to his . . . pessimism.”
“What time is it?” Will asked.
Katya glanced at the bedside alarm clock. “Seven fifteen. What time do you have to be at work?”
“No later than nine. I have a meeting at the office.”
“If you need to go now, I understand,” Katya said. “I have to get ready for work, too.”
“No, I have some time. I’ll need to stop by my place to change into some fresh clothes before I head over to the office.”
To Will’s disappointment, Katya put on some clothes, slipping on an oversized Giants T-shirt. She made coffee in the corner of the apartment that served as a kitchen. Will rummaged in the sheets at the foot of the bed, looking for his boxer shorts.
Along the wall next to the bed was a low shelf filled with cookbooks, including several by Alice Waters of Chez Panisse.
“You sure have a lot of cookbooks,” Will observed.
“Like I told you, I plan to open restaurant someday. Maybe I’ll call it Katya’s. It would be a California twist on Russian cooking. I’ve already got the menu all worked out; all I need is the money. Every other cuisine has gotten an Alice Waters makeover, why not Russian?”
“Why not?” Will said. “Sounds like a great idea.”
Katya poured orange juice into two glasses. “So, what is your day going to be like? Some big deal, right?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. A merger.”
“Oh, really? What kind of business?”
Will considered his next words carefully. He knew that he really shouldn’t say anything, but he wanted to impress Katya and figured there could be no harm if he kept the details sketchy. “Encryption software.”
“I just read something about a company like that. What was the name? Jupiter something. Right?”
There was no mistaking the surprised look that crossed Will’s face.
“It is Jupiter, isn’t it?”
He could have lied to Katya (there were certainly plenty of other encryption software companies), but he knew that his expression had given him away. Blatantly lying would only create awkwardness between them, so he tried evasion.
“I’m afraid I really can’t talk about deals that I’m working on.”
“So I was right!” Katya exclaimed. “But we’ve just met and you don’t trust me enough yet to talk about it.”
“It’s not about whether I trust you.”
Katya simply stared at him, unconvinced.
Finally, Will gave in. “How did you know about that, anyway?”
“I work at a securities firm, remember?” Katya replied, mildly annoyed. “And there was an article about Jupiter last week in the Chronicle. It said they were the biggest encryption company. You know, Will, sometimes I even read the Wall Street Journal. What I want to know is, were you surprised that I guessed, or surprised that I knew it?”
In his pre-coffee stupor, it took a few seconds for him to fully grasp the potential consequences of what had just happened. He had, however inadvertently, disclosed the pending merger of a publicly traded company, violating about a dozen securities laws in the process. If Katya went to work at her securities firm and told one of the dealers about this, or if she bought Jupiter stock herself, then he would be guilty of insider trading. Attorneys had lost their jobs and their licenses and sometimes even gone to jail for similar offenses. Since he was already the suspect in a murder investigation, this was the last thing that he needed.
For a moment, he considered whether Katya might have sought him out at the club for just this purpose—to extract insider information. He promptly dismissed the notion as paranoid, concluding that he had enough worries and didn’t need to invent new ones.
Will pulled on his boxer shorts and slid out of bed, wide-awake now. He had to make sure that Katya did not do or say anything about the Jupiter deal. But he didn’t want to mention it at that moment, while she was still furrowing her brow at him. From the annoyed look on her face, he could see that he was not going to get very far with her if she thought that he was being condescending.
“Forgive me,” he said, beaming his most ingratiating smile.
Katya made a show of judging him, her arms crossed. “Okay.”
Covering the three paces that separated the bedroom from the kitchen, he studied Katya’s face, as he had been doing ever since they had met the night before. He kept thinking that he detected the flicker of a smile in her dark eyes or at the corners of her mouth.
Katya and Will sipped coffee and watched Ron bask in the sunlight that streamed through the blinds. Will was surprised that he didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with small talk.
A pounding at the door shattered the quiet.
“Hey, Katya! Otkroi! It’s Yuri!”
“Oh shit,” Katya said, putting down her coffee. “I’m not going to answer it.”
“Yuri? Who’s Yuri?”
“I told you about him. The guy who got me the job at the securities firm. A friend of a friend of my second cousin Irina.”
“What does he want?”
Katya fluttered her hand at him, indicating that there was no time for that story.
The pounding continued and grew louder. Yuri was hammering his fists on the door, rattling it on its hinges. “Ya znaiu, chto ty tam! Don’t make me break this fucking door down!”
Katya and Will both retreated to the far wall of the apartment and stared at the door as if it were about to explode into splinters. Will felt Katya’s long nails dig into his arm. It made him feel protective of her, but he wasn’t yet sure what it was she might need protecting from.
The pounding stopped. “Listen, Katya,” Yuri said, calmer this time, a skewed voice of reason. “I could kick this door in. You know that. But if I do, who is going to pay for it? You are. And your landlord, oh he will have many questions.” Yuri slammed his fist into the door to punctuate his point.
Katya whispered, “Get your clothes and hide in the bathroom. I’m going to have to let him in.”
Will shook his head. “Just wait for him to leave.”
“You don’t know him. He’ll either kick in the door or stay out there all day till we come out. If he thinks I am avoiding him, it will only make things worse.”
“I’m not hiding
in the bathroom from this guy. What is he, your boyfriend?”
“No, but there’s no time to explain. You just don’t want Yuri to find you here. Trust me on this.”
Gathering up his clothes, Will went into the bathroom and shut the door. He tried to lock the bathroom door, but it was broken. He stood with his back against the sink in his boxer shorts, his suit wadded into a ball in his arms. Will examined the image of himself in the oval mirror hanging on the bathroom door. His eyes were bloodshot from the hangover. He looked pale, and his jaw was clenched with fear. His fingers gripped his pinstripe suit as if someone was about to tear it from him.
He heard the front door open, then the footsteps of more than one person on the hardwood floor. Something was said that he couldn’t understand, or perhaps it was in Russian. More rapid footsteps. It sounded like the apartment was being searched.
Then the bathroom door swung open to reveal a tall man in a leather jacket. His sharp, narrow face seemed to consist of two planes that met in a long, aquiline nose. Yuri.
A feral smile spread across Yuri’s face at the sight of Will in his boxer shorts. “Hello, asshole,” he said.
SIX
Still grinning malevolently, Yuri motioned for Will to step out of the bathroom.
“Look, she doesn’t want you here,” Will said. “If you don’t get out right now, we’re going to call the cops!”
Despite his bluster, Will didn’t feel very bold as he stepped into the room. The apartment, which had seemed so warm and comforting a moment ago, was now freezing. The front door was wide open and he was standing in the center of the room in his bare feet and boxer shorts.
By the doorway stood a heavyset man in a gray wool overcoat. He was nearly bald except for a few wisps of dark hair that clung to his scalp in damp strands. With his aerodynamic head and massive build encased in the overcoat, the man resembled some kind of lethal, heavy-gauge armament. His face was broad and flat, with dark, deep-set eyes that darted furtively in the shadows of a protruding brow.
