B0056C0C00 EBOK (2 page)

“Fuck this, Manny.”

“Sit down.” I did.

“I was doing my job.”

“I pay you to hurt my patrons?”

“Marina was giving him a blow job.”

“These things happen. Moses, think... we sell the pretense of sex, sometimes it crosses the line. Do we like that? No, but it is the cost of doing business.”

We always had a zero tolerance rule about freelancing. Get caught with that crap not only will Vice take your license, they’d put someone in the can.

“We can’t let that shit pass.”

“Calm down. You look ready to explode. You are a hand grenade and the pin is lost.”

“I’m cool.”

“You don’t look cool. When was the last time you got laid?”

“What?”

“When, was the last time, you got laid?”

“That’s none of your business, Manny.”

“Bullshit answer. Weeks? No? Months?”

“It has been a while, ok?”

“That’s no good. Keep that up and you will kill one of my customers.”

“He came at me, I was defending...” Even I didn’t believe it.

“You, me, we can stop these boys with one word, a hard look. It’s bad business, what you did.”

“I’m sorry, Manny... He just, I don’t know...”

“No, you don’t know. I’d rather have blow jobs than killing in my parking lot.” From out of his safe he took a small wad of bills and passed them across the table.

“What’s this?”

“Two weeks’ pay.”

“Firing me?”

“For now.”

“Later?”

“We’ll see. Kid presses it, I need to show I took action. Now go, I have a club to run.”

I was at the door when he spoke, I kept my back to him.

“You want some advice from an old man, that you didn’t ask for?”

“Not really.”

“Find a good woman, one not in this life, and settle down. Someone to come home to at night. Someone to grow old with. Now get out of here.”

Marina stood in front of the club as I rolled up out of the parking lot. She looked small, her shoulders rounded in, draped in a too-large trench coat. Her eyes darted around. Something had her spooked.

“You ok, baby girl?” I said as I walked up to her. She shrank back into the shadows of the building. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

“No?” she said softly.

“No. I’d die before I’d smack one of you girls.” She relaxed slightly; uncrossing her arms she let them drop to her side. “Uncle Manny fire you over that crap in the car?”

“Just for this night, yes, but tomorrow, no.”

“He’s a fair man. Listen, the BJ, is that a regular thing?”

“No. First time. I swear.”

“Alright. You say it was a one shot deal, then it was a one shot deal. Why’d you do it? You know the rules, right?”

“Yes. It was slow this night. I have rent to pay.” Before she could say more, a black Mercedes slid up and double parked in front of us. An S500, a couple years old, but still its driver had to be packing some major ching. Marina was already moving towards the car when she spoke. “I have to go.” She climbed quickly into the back seat.

“Marina?” I stepped into the street. “If you get jammed up for cash again, come to me before you do something stupid.”

“Thank-” Whatever else she had to say was lost in the noise of the Mercedes whipping away.

Everything about the black sedan rang wrong. It wasn’t the car a broke girl got picked up in, and if it was a “date” she would have gotten in the front. Fucking Russians, soon as I thought I had their scams figured out, they invented new ones. They were mean, evil bastards who would slit your throat soon as look at you, but they weren’t subtle.

“Do you know how to tell when a whore is lying?” an old man asked me when I was in lockdown. “Their lips are moving.” He burst into a fit of laughter that almost cost him a lung.

CHAPTER 2

YAROSLAVL, RUSSIA - TWO WEEKS EARLIER 5:43 AM

The red dress was the only legacy Nika’s sister had left her. It was just before dawn when she pulled it over her head. The silky fabric clung tightly across her breasts. It looked good, right. These tits that appeared as an unwanted gift on her twelfth birthday had caused only trouble, they made sports awkward and brought teasing from her classmates. For the last year she had hidden her chest in baggy shirts, but seeing how she filled out her sister’s dress, she was glad to have developed early. Her hips on the other hand were still like a boy’s. The fabric fell from her waistline, hung loosely, losing all form. Pulling up the hem, she wrapped a winter scarf from butt to pelvis, encasing herself in the thick wool. Dropping the skirt down she checked again, smiled; she was becoming a woman. Her one pair of dress shoes were scuffed and half a size too small. The first thing she was going to buy when she got to America was a new pair of heels. Spiked, like the girls wore on MTV.

Cracking the bedroom door, Nika checked on her father. He was still passed out on the sofa that served as his bed. An empty bottle of homemade wine lay on the carpet. In the last year, he had given up the pretense of a wine glass and drank from the bottle. He had been a professor before the Ruble crashed and the Yaroslavl academy closed. Now, there was no work for a sixty year old philosophy teacher. Economics teachers, sure, but in the new Russia no one wanted philosophy.

It was time, all Nika needed was a final push. Sitting on her bed she unfolded the telegram and reread it for the hundredth time.

DEAREST VERONIKA. LIFE IN AMERICA IS WONDERFUL. I LIVE IN A LOVELY HOUSE IN LOS ANGELES. WE HAVE A POOL. YOU WILL LOVE IT HERE. I HAVE ARRANGED WITH AN EMPLOYMENT AGENT FOR YOU TO COME AND LIVE WITH ME. HE HAS FOUND YOU A JOB AT A HOTEL. DO NOT TELL FATHER OR HE WILL STOP YOU FROM COMING. WE CAN WRITE HIM ONCE YOU ARE HERE IN THE SUNSHINE. LOVE ANYA

There was a postscript with the phone number and address for the Moscow employment agency. “Veronika”, her sister had called her “Veronika” instead of the childish “Nika” she had used when they were children. Anya must know she was grown now.

Nika’s heart pounded. She was heading for a new life in a new land. It meant leaving school and her friends, but so what? What good was an education when doctors starved and only the Mafia got rich? Nika was chasing a dream that most in her small town never even had the courage to imagine. She was going to the land of Beverly Hills, 90210. Who knew, she might even be discovered and become a star. She could sing and dance as well as Miley Cyrus. Hadn’t she won the May Day talent contest? Yes, it was clear she was too big for the small life Yaroslavl could offer. Her father would be angry, but he would forgive her when she arrived home in her chauffeur-driven limousine.

She closed the flat’s door as softly as possible. Early summer had broken, melting the snow and turning the dirt to mud. Nika walked the path along the Volga River. Brave holidayers were swimming in the freezing water. The ice had only broken up a month ago, but if cold held you back, you would never swim in Yaroslavl. Two teenage boys sat up on their towels, watching her pass. Apparently they liked what they saw, they let out loud whistles and waved for her to join them. Nika was not accustomed to attention from boys of any age, but especially not from cute older boys wearing only swim suits. She felt the heat of a blush flowing up her cheeks. Turning away, she quickened her step.

Nika had a small bag slung over her shoulder, it held all she was taking with her - several pairs of threadbare cotton panties and bras, a photo of her mother taken before the cancer ruined her looks, a small stack of Rubles and the telegram. Whatever else she needed, she would buy in America.

Crossing the river on a stone bridge she looked to the old church that towered above the small shops, its gold onion domes lit fire in the morning sun. There were some things she would miss, just not many.

The train was near full when Nika climbed on. Moving past the private berths she saw well-dressed men and women lounging in style. In the coach section she searched for a seat alone, but it was Sunday and the car was packed with weekenders heading back to the city. A fat, sweaty man stuffed himself in beside her. He was reading Provda. When he thought she wasn’t looking, he let his eyes flit across her body. He licked the sweat off his upper lip and smiled a private smile. For a moment, Nika wished she had not chosen to wear her sister’s dress.

No, she was starting a new life, she didn’t want to go to America in her old clothes. She closed her eyes and blocked out the train car by imagining how cool life was going to be in Los Angeles. Palm trees, gated houses, swimming pools. She and Anya would get a house on a nice street and they would each have their own room. No one would have to sleep on the sofa.

The squealing of the brakes woke Nika. The Moscow station loomed monstrously around the train. At two in the morning the sun had recently set, leaving the city cloaked in streetlights and shadows.

Nika was sucked along with the other passengers as they swept through the station. At the head of the stairs leading down to the underground, she stopped, unsure of where to go. She read the subway map on the wall, but it only confused her more. She had no idea what direction would lead to Octoberskya and the employment agent’s office. The courage that had taken her so far from home evaporated. She was not her sister, brave and smart. No, she was a foolish schoolgirl. If she could not get across Moscow, how had she ever imagined she would make it to America? Although she had promised herself she wouldn’t cry, one small tear escaped her eye and ran down her cheek.

“What could be so bad, to make a pretty girl like you cry?” The boy was maybe sixteen, tall and skinny. His hair was spiked up in punky points. He had on Levi’s and a Megadeth tee shirt.

“Soot in my eye, from the train, it’s nothing.” He was cute, but Nika had been warned about boys and what they want, especially Moscow boys. Hard currency boys. They made their money trading anything from cigarettes to computers to drugs.

“Let me look.” He took a bandanna from his back pocket and stepped close to her.

“It’s fine now, really, I’m fine.” Nika gave him her surest smile, but a small quiver at the corner of her mouth gave her away.

“I wouldn’t dream of hurting you,” the boy said, “you look lost, that’s all. First time I came to Moscow I nearly pissed my pants.”

“Really?” This time Nika’s smile was genuine.

“On my mother’s grave,” he swore, raising his right hand as if taking an oath. “Have you eaten?”

“Lunch,” she admitted.

“You like pizza?”

“I’ve never had it.”

“Then you are in for a treat.” He started to walk down the stairs, “Come on, you’re not going to turn down pizza, are you?” Fighting years of warnings she followed the boy down into the underground.

Shakey’s was a US/Russian joint venture. It only accepted hard currency, so it mostly catered to homesick foreigners and black market boys. A large deluxe pie cost slightly less than most Muscovites made in a week.

“Edgar Ivanovich, but everyone calls me Easy E, like the rapper,” the boy said. Nika pulled a slice from her mouth; a long string of cheese stretched to her lips.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t use a knife and fork?”

“No, you don’t want to look like a country girl, do you?” Through the window, Nika saw a small dark man in an expensive suit staring at her. He had a fine beaver fedora and a walking stick with a gold handle. “Stay away from him. He’s a pimp, out trolling for new flesh to peddle.”

“No,” Nika snapped her eyes from the window, “he can’t be, really?”

“He is, trust me.”

“You know him?”

“No, but they all look the same, you learn to spot one if you want to survive Moscow.”

“I won’t be staying here long, I’m going to America,” Nika said with finality.

With her stomach full, the exhaustion of the day took hold. It was still hours before the business would be open. Edgar offered to let her sleep at his place.

“I don’t know...”

“This town, the mongrels all come out at night, it’s not safe for a beautiful girl like you.”

“You think I’m beautiful?” She blushed slightly.

“Of course, now come on before I change my mind and leave you here.”

His place, as he called it, was in an abandoned warehouse. From scrounged building supplies, he and a group of squatters built a rabbit warren of small rooms. Some had wood doors and walls, others were made of cardboard and tape. Kids and teenagers were piled on every available space. A twelve year old kid in army fatigues sat on the roof of the warehouse, scanning the desolate neighborhood for cops. Not that they had ever been raided. In Moscow, street kids were a disposable nuisance. If no one saw where they went at night, the better for all concerned.

Boys whistled at Edgar and Nika as they moved through the maze of flops. They called her a nice catch and a fine piece of tail. Edgar laughed them off. When he closed the door, sealing them into his small room, Nika felt a building panic. If he tried to hurt her, who would come to her rescue? Certainly none of the street kids she had passed coming in. No, they would probably join in his fun. The room was claustrophobically small. Room enough for a sleeping bag and two rusted folding chairs. A ratty bathroom cabinet was nailed to the wall.

Edgar slid a folding chair over to the door and sat down, blocking her exit. “Lay down, before you fall over.”

“Where will you sleep?”

“I won’t, I’m the only lock we’ve got.” Leaning back he pressed his weight against the door. The last thing she saw was Edgar smiling before she slipped into sleep.