by Bergen, KC
Brian grabbed a gun from the glove compartment. “Let me handle this, playa.”
When Michael saw the gun, he got both excited and anxious. “But I can help.”
Brian checked the mag, ensuring the gun was locked and loaded. “I know you can, but I figured you’d keep an eye on the car.”
Michael had seen a heist movie where this one guy stayed in the car. But the man had been the getaway driver, and Michael didn’t even have a license. “I think I’ll be more helpful if I go with you.”
“You know, I think you’re right. I’ve raised you well, playa. Okay, let’s do this thing.”
***
Novak was enveloped in darkness as he closed the closet doors, leaving the tiniest glitch so he could keep an eye on the bedroom. The panda head stared blankly at him. For a moment Novak saw his own face there instead of the panda’s, mouth gaping and eyes gazing into the ever after. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple.
Think!
How could he defend himself? Well, he had a knife, although it was pretty useless compared to, say, a gun. What else did he have at his disposal? As he picked up on slow, softly approaching footsteps in the hallway, his heart started beating through his chest.
***
With his gun drawn, Tristan moved toward the bathroom. The place was silent now, but he’d definitely heard something. Maybe Novak had woken and was attempting to free himself? Or maybe he was calling for a neighbor’s attention? But the neighbors were used to strange and inappropriate noises emanating from Peter’s apartment. Still, Peter-as-Tristan would teach the Slovenian some tub manners, he figured, as he pushed the bathroom door open.
The tub was empty! How had the bastard escaped? All that was left were strings of tape and a few drops of blood on the floor of the tub. Peter had watched enough forensic detective series to know that blood could reveal lots of information. He grabbed a tissue and rubbed at the droplets. They came off immediately.
“Hmm.” Peter inspected the paper. Droplets like these would coagulate within minutes. The blood was fresh, which meant that Novak couldn’t have gotten far.
Peter was about to put away the gun when a thought occurred to him: What if Novak was still in the apartment? The only place left to look was his bedroom. Peter was living in a one-bedroom apartment. The thought saddened him. As a boy he’d dreamed of having a Hugh Hefner kind of lifestyle. That dream certainly hadn’t materialized yet. But when Tristan had won Mary over, things would change for the better. First he’d have to get rid of the kid, though. No, first he’d have to find Novak. And fast. Fortunately, Tristan could accomplish virtually anything. Peter wanted to change his legal name to Tristan. Tristan Drimov. He liked the sound of it, the confidence it brought him.
Grinning dreamily, gun trained on the door, the KGB officer crept across the hallway toward the bedroom.
50
Brian spotted the door to Peter’s apartment and turned to Michael. “Here’s what we’re going to do, playa. You’ll walk in front of me.”
“Why?”
“Haven’t you heard the old expression, ‘women and children first’?”
“Isn’t that for emergencies?”
“This is an emergency.”
“But like when there’s a fire, you’re supposed to let women and children leave first. Not let them lead the way into the fire.”
“There’s no fire here. But if I need to use the gun, I’ll have your shoulder for support. You know, to aim accurately.”
Michael felt a knot in his stomach. “I don’t like this plan.”
“Listen, playa, do you want to become a real man?
“Of course.”
“Then you need to listen to me. All right?”
“Okay.”
Michael took a deep breath and crept toward the door. Crouching down, Brian followed on his son’s heels.
51
Novak spotted Tristan through the tiny glitch he’d left between the closet doors. Upon seeing the gun, Novak held his breath. He recalled something he’d heard in a movie once: Never bring a knife to a gunfight. He felt like throwing up, and his right eye burned as a bead of sweat trickled into it. He blinked, focusing on breathing slowly and quietly.
After surveying the empty room, Tristan lowered the gun. Then he squatted down and scanned the space under the bed. He stood back up, puckering his lips in contemplation.
Please leave, Novak thought, trying to supernaturally project his wish into Tristan’s mind. Leave. Tristan turned and stared at the closet. Novak felt that the man was looking straight at him.
Gun in hand, Tristan started toward Novak’s hiding place.
Novak moved his arm to the side and searched a drawer. He felt leather against his fingers and recalled one of his favorite movie hero’s favored moves. Novak grabbed the thick end, cocked his right arm, counted to three in his mind, and then pushed the cabinet doors open.
Eyes bulging, Tristan froze for a moment. Then he trained the gun on the man in the closet. Novak let his arm fly, and the whip lashed Tristan’s gun-wielding hand. Squealing, he dropped the gun and the whip wrapped around his forearm. Feeling like Indiana Jones, Novak yanked the whip. Tristan lost his footing and stumbled forward. Novak stepped aside as Tristan tumbled and fell against the open drawer, banging into it head first.
Novak kicked the gun away, dropped the whip, and hunkered down to check on Tristan. The guy was out cold, but he was breathing and had a pulse. Novak wondered what Indiana Jones would do in a situation like this? Well, Tristan had tied up Novak in the tub. How about returning the favor? Novak tried to hogtie Tristan right there on the floor of his bedroom with his own whips, but they were too thick. He searched the drawers, found a roll of tape, and used it to tie Tristan’s hands and feet and also to cover his mouth.
In the living room Novak discovered the movie poster of Peter South in King Dong! Novak noticed that Tristan and the movie star looked exactly alike. “Tristan’s real name is Peter South,” he said. Figuring the poster would come in handy, he opened the frame and rolled up the poster.
Novak noticed that he was cold and hungry. He didn’t have time to eat, but he spotted Tristan’s sports jacket on the kitchen table. The impostor had ruined Novak’s new clothes at the restaurant, so he had no moral qualms about taking the jacket. It was a snug fit, but something was poking out of the inner pocket. Novak pulled out a set of car keys. And a brochure—no, a ticket. To a fundraiser. Maybe he’d find Mary there, he thought as he headed for the front door.
52
Michael carefully placed his ear against the door.
“Can you hear anything?” his dad whispered into Michael’s other ear.
“No.” Michael felt the handle. The door was unlocked. He crept into the living room. No one there. Michael observed a gutted picture frame on the coffee table. He also felt the barrel of his dad’s gun poking at his shoulder. Moving forward into the darkened hallway, Michael grew more anxious with each step. He felt like going to the bathroom. Incidentally, that was the first room he checked. He found pieces of black plastic on the floor. He picked at a piece. It was sticky on one side.
“Tape,” he informed his dad.
Michael heard a thump. Muffled banging. The sounds were coming from across the hallway.
Brian placed both hands and the gun on his son’s right shoulder. In lockstep they moved toward the closed door. Michael’s spine tingled as he carefully inched the door open.
His anxiety instantly gave way to relief and laughter as he laid eyes on the pathetic creature on the floor. And his father almost knocked him over as he, too, cracked up at the sight of Tristan—Peter—hogtied on the floor.
Michael ripped the tape off Peter’s mouth. His pained wail mixed with his dad’s booming laughter.
Michael glanced at the whips. “What are those?”
“That’s what horse trainers and sickos tend to use,” Brian said. “But I don’t see any horses around!”
“Very funny,” Pete
r said. He looked imploringly to Michael. “Untie me, please.”
Brian clamped a hand on his son’s shoulder. “No way. You’re not going anywhere, Pete.”
“My name’s Peter.”
“Yep, you’re definitely no Tristan, Peewee.”
“We can’t leave him like this,” Michael said.
“Why not?”
“Dehydration, starvation … I don’t know. It’s just plain wrong.”
“All right, whatever.”
Michael squatted down to unwrap the tape around Peter’s wrists.
“Appreciate it,” Peter said. “You should listen more to your son, Bri.”
Brian picked up Peter’s gun and emptied the chamber and magazine on the bed. “What happened here?”
“Well, what can I say?” Peter said, untying his ankles. “Considering the … fickleness of the adult movie industry, I realized that I needed to diversify. So I’m putting together a Houdini act. Let me tell you, it’s a lot harder to extricate yourself than it looks like on TV.”
“Do you really expect me to believe that?”
Michael pulled on his dad’s sleeve. “Come on. We have to get going. The fundraiser is in an hour.”
Brian put away his gun as they left Peter’s apartment. “Why are we leaving?” he said. “We could have nailed him. That bastard must have kidnapped Novak.”
“I know, but we technically broke into his apartment. I think it’s called unlawful entry. And he probably would have implicated us in the kidnapping.”
“Damn. How’d you get so smart?”
“I read books and watch documentaries.”
“You’ve got my genes too. You got it going on, playa!”
“Dad, can you please stop calling me playa?”
“Why? What’s wrong with it?”
“I don’t know.” Michael didn’t want to grow up to be a pimp or a playboy, but he also didn’t want to hurt his father. “It just sounds corny.”
Brian fell quiet as Michael beelined to the car, thinking of Novak. He was happy that the shepherd had escaped from the bathtub, but where was he now? Then his mind went to Melissa and the fundraiser. He wanted to ask her for a dance. The thought made him nervous, so he decided to heed his dad’s advice and not commit to it. Well, none of that stuff mattered right now anyway. He had to get home before his mom noticed that he’d sneaked out of the house.
53
Wearing an elegant dress, Mary was in the master bathroom putting on makeup. She had a hard time focusing, though, because she was thinking of Novak and Tristan and the crazy situation she was entangled in. She didn’t want Novak to get hurt either, but she also had to protect her family. And where was Michael? It was time to get ready for the fundraiser.
Mary clacked in her high heels toward Michael’s room when her phone rang. Tristan’s number. “Where are you?”
“I’m right here. Listen, about this ball thingy—”
“It’s an educational fundraiser for children.”
“Yeah, I know.” Peter as Tristan cleared his throat. “During my KGB work there was a scuffle and I seem to have lost the ticket.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get you another one.” Mary checked her watch. “Meet you there?”
“Sure.”
Mary hung up and knocked on the door to Michael’s room. No answer. “Michael?”
***
Michael said bye to his dad, climbed over the neighbor’s fence, sprinted across the backyard toward his house, jumped their fence, then climbed the gutters, latched onto the roof, and pulled himself up. He crept across the rooftop to his bedroom’s garret window and slipped in just as he heard his name being called.
His mom was knocking on the door.
Michael snatched his headphones from the nightstand as the door swung open.
His mom peeked in. “Michael? Why don’t you answer me? And why aren’t you dressed?”
“Sorry, Mom. I didn’t hear you.” He showed her the headphones.
“They’re not even plugged in.”
“Yeah, I … Whitey was just testing them.”
“Get ready,” Mary said, shaking her head. “We’re leaving in twenty minutes.”
54
Dressed in a tuxedo, Michael went with his mom to the fundraiser. It was held at River Course at the Balisal, a huge five-star golf resort, and the place was packed. Michael surveyed the throngs of people. Dressed to the nines, they were standing around chatting, snacking on fancy finger food, and sipping champagne. A quartet played soft background music, and above them, between two tall columns, hung an ornate banner. The header read, “Our Kids Are Worth Millions!”
Pretty cheesy, Michael thought—the banner, not the finger food. He didn’t see Melissa anywhere. Maybe she hadn’t arrived yet. And where was Novak? Instead Michael saw Tristan, who appeared overjoyed to see his mom. The KGB charlatan strode toward them, snapping up two glasses of champagne from a waiter’s tray.
“Mary!” he said, leaning forward to give her a peck on the cheek.
Mary accepted the bubbly offer. Michael, however, glowered at Tristan. The snake smiled as he slung an arm around his mom’s waist. Michael wanted to expose the impostor’s real identity, but he couldn’t do it without revealing his own involvement in the whole charade. He felt helpless. He’d plotted against his mother, and he felt guilty about it too.
***
After searching his entire apartment, Peter hadn’t found his sports jacket or the keys to the Jag anywhere. He’d almost asked Mary to pick him up, but he didn’t want her to know where he lived. Tristan stayed at the Ritz. Peter’s place probably didn’t even measure up to the janitor’s shitter at that fancy hotel. So he’d called for an Uber instead and charged it to Brian’s credit card. Not just any old Uber either. Uber Premium. The worldly KGB officer had to arrive at the glamorous fundraiser in style. And now he was simply happy to see Mary there.
Stepping out of the sleek black SUV, Tristan pointed at the “Our Kids Are Worth Millions!” banner.
“I couldn’t agree more,” he said. “If I had a dollar for every time I praised and oftentimes saved a child’s life, I would have millions. And I’d donate it all to the children’s educational fund.”
“Speaking of children, I hope you’re ready for the discussion.”
“I was born ready,” Tristan said. What is she referring to?
“Great.”
Carol and Ted arrived. “You look gorgeous!” Carol told Mary.
“Thank you,” Tristan said.
Mary nudged Tristan. “So do you,” she said to Carol. “Is that a Donna Karan?”
“Cheap knockoff.”
Carol and Mary laughed and started chattering among themselves.
Ted moved close to Tristan, staring at his bruised lip. “Did you have a champagne accident?”
“Go to hell,” Tristan hissed.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Tristan made sure that Mary and Carol hadn’t heard his outburst before he continued to Ted: “You’ve been on my ass since I met you.”
“I think I know where I’ve seen you. You were the Russian auto mechanic in Balls of Yuri?”
Tristan took Mary by the arm. “Dance with me.”
***
With his arms around Candy and Amber’s tiny waists, Brian strutted past Michael. He didn’t even notice his son. But people’s heads were turning as they laid eyes on the man and his smoking-hot girls.
“Let’s dance!” Candy said.
“Yeah,” said Amber.
“You got it.” Brian escorted the girls to the formal dance floor. The quartet played a waltz, but doing what they knew, Candy and Amber backed their booties up. Brian grabbed their assets and virtually dry-humped them from behind.
Mary and Tristan, waltzing near the inappropriate trio, looked on in disbelief. Brian grinned as he made eye contact with Mary. “You’re missing out,” he told Mary, thrusting his hips at Candy and Amber. “Big time!”
“Aren’t you going to say something?” Mary asked Tristan.
Tristan simply waltzed Mary away from Brian and the girls, to the opposite side of the dance floor.
***
Observing his dad’s antics, Michael felt ashamed. He turned away and spotted a familiar face. “Novak!”
Novak placed a finger to his lip.
“Where have you been?” Michael asked.
“In a tub,” Novak replied.
“How’d you get here?”
Novak ran his fingers along the lapels of Tristan’s sports jacket. “I found a ticket in my new jacket. You like it?”
“Isn’t that Pete … Tristan’s jacket?”
“Yes. Don’t tell anyone I am here.”
Michael had almost slipped up and said Peter’s name. The lies were killing him, and he definitely didn’t want to rat out Novak. “I won’t.” Michael caught a glimpse of Melissa in the crowd. “Oh crap.”
“What is it?” Novak asked.
Michael looked down. “Nothing.”
Novak looked in the direction Michael had glanced. “Is that Melissa?”
“Hush! She might hear you.”
“She’s by herself, watching the band play. Go over there and ask her for a dance.”
“No … I can’t.”
“Of course you can!” Novak took Michael by the shoulders and leaned in close. “Just say, ‘May I have the next dance?’ And bow like a gentleman.”
Michael peered at Melissa. She was wearing a white dress and even had flowers in her hair. She looked gorgeous. Unapproachable. He wanted to excuse himself and go to the bathroom when Novak hunkered down in front of him.
“If you don’t go over there, you will always ask yourself: What if? What if I had manned up and gone through with it? What if I wait and another guy steals her away? You will regret it for the rest of your life if you chicken out.”
“I’m not a chicken,” Michael said.
“I know. The worst thing she can do is say no.”
