B0056C0C00 EBOK (6 page)

“Hey gulla boi, you ready to die?” Victor slipped out from behind a tree, pointed a large automatic at my head.

“Only if you’re ready to kill me,” I said.

“I think I am... Da, why not.” His thumb snapped off the pistol’s safety. There was a whistle of wind and a heavy object connected with the back of his bald head. His eyes shot up and his body went limp. As he fell to the ground, I saw Gregor standing behind him with bolt cutters in his hand.

“Can’t I leave you alone for one minute, boss?”

“Apparently not.” We pulled Victor to his feet. He was groggy and didn’t seem to be able to focus his eyes. Slipping his piece into my belt, we dragged him towards the back of the house.

A large shale turnaround separated the house from a free-standing six-car garage.

“Where is Anya?” I asked Victor, slapping his face hard to make sure he was paying attention. His head lolled, indicating a short stone stairwell leading down under the house.

At the bottom landing we found a short hall lit by a single bulb. A sturdy padlock secured a door at the end of the corridor. Gregor tried the bolt cutters, but the lock must have been made of hardened steel. With a shrug, he applied his boot to the door. The wood splintered in, snapping off a ragged panel that remained attached to the lock. As the door fell open, I tossed Victor through the opening. Guns in hand, we rolled in after him, Gregor went left and I right. On one knee, I swept the room. Cots were lined in three rows, it was a cramped dormitory. The walls were unpainted concrete, beams and floorboards made up the low ceiling. It was the sort of basement you’d expect to find tools and spiders in, instead we found eight beautiful young women. They were sitting or laying on the cots. Our kicking the door in got their attention, but none screamed or showed any real panic at having two armed men burst in on them. On a paint-worn dresser, a black and white TV showed a dubbed version of
Pretty Woman.
Out of
Julia Roberts’ mouth came the voice of a bored Russian actor.

“Moses?” I hardly recognized Marina, she looked like a child in her flannel pajamas, her makeup scrubbed off. “Why have you come here?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked her.

“You have to leave, now.”

Looking past her, I scanned for Anya. Tatyana, the tiny redhead, sat close, burning into me with her cold eyes. “They will kill you for this,” she was a broken record.

“Anya?” I called out. Victor started to try and stand up. Gregor knocked him down and whipped a lock tie around his wrists.

Moving down the rows of girls, I found Anya at the back of the basement. Crumpled up into a ball, she seemed to be hiding from me.

“Anya?” I touched her leg and she looked up at me, her eyes full of fear.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, her eyes darting to the other girls.

“You want me to leave?” I said.

“Yes.” Her face wasn’t as sure as her voice.

“I thought you were in trouble.”

“Why? Did I say I was in trouble? No, I did not. Now go.” She had gotten up and was pushing me towards the door.

“I guess I’m an idiot.”

“Yes. Now go.”

“Foolish old man, I thought you were a prisoner. No?”

“No. We are free to come and go as we wish.”

“Right, only the lock on the door says different.”

“For our protection. The lock keeps us safe.”

“From guys like me. Ok, my mistake.” I looked from her to the other girls; their fearful sullen faces told me they weren’t intending to give us a parade, or jump into our arms with gratitude.

“Alright. Gregor, let’s go,” I said and walked between the bunks to the doorway.

“How about him?” Gregor stood over Victor.

“Leave him.” We were out in the hall when Anya caught up. Grabbing my arm, she looked into my eyes. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

“You don’t understand, I can’t go with you.” She spoke in a whisper.

“Yeah, you made that clear.”

“They have my little sister. If I don’t do what they say, they will kill her.”

“Get your sister and I’ll take you both out of here.”

“No, she’s...” She let out a sad string of Russian words.

“She says,” Gregor translated, “her sister left Russia, but they will not tell her where she is now. The sister’s thirteen. She must do whatever they want.”

“You think she’s being straight?” I whispered to Gregor.

“Yeah, boss, I do. Not the first time I heard shit like this. They took my cousin to Israel, told her she’d be a hotel maid, then threatened to kill her father if she didn’t work in their brothel.”

“What happened to her?”

“She killed herself,” he said.

“Get your things,” I told Anya, “We’re leaving.”

“I can’t.” Anya’s eyes darted back to the dormitory where all the girls were watching us.

“We’ll get your sister back, I promise.”

“Oh, you promise, that makes all ok? They will kill you and me, and then who will look after Nika?”

“How are you going to take care of her? Call it what you want, but you’re a slave.”

“Everyone is owned, at least I know who owns me.” She wasn’t budging. I looked to Gregor for help.

He spoke to her in soft Russian. After a moment, she slowly nodded her head.

“Let’s go,” Gregor said.

“She coming with us?”

“Of course.”

“What’d you say?” I asked him.

“Told her the truth.”

“What truth?”

“Told her she was screwed with the men here, they wouldn’t believe she didn’t bring us. And that we were bad motherfuckers, no Russian pussies are going to take us down.”

While she went to collect her things, Gregor and I climbed the steep stairs.

Stepping onto the shale turnaround I saw movement behind us. Spinning around, guns up and ready, we found ourselves facing three AK47s. The giant and two other Russian thugs stood against the house on either side of the stairwell. Gregor flicked his eyes to me, asking if we should go for it, let rip and see how many we could take down before they shredded us. Three full auto assault rifles vs. our pea shooters, odds were a little too lopsided even for a degenerate gambler like me. Dropping the hammer on my .38, I tossed it toward the giant. Gregor let out a grunt of displeasure, then gave up his piece.

The giant told us in Russian to put our hands on our heads. I may not have understood his words, but I knew the drill. After a rough pat search, they moved us through the back door of the mansion, through a kitchen that would make Emeril Lagasse drool, through a dining room with a long oak table and into the whitest room I’ve ever been in. I guess it was a den or some such. Thick white shag ran up to glossy white baseboards. A horseshoe of white leather couches faced a huge flat panel TV monitor. The screen was showing ten smaller pictures, images from security cameras. In the lower left picture I could see the girls in the basement dormitory. Anya was freeing Victor.

In a large white club chair, facing the screen, sat a man who looked well into his seventies. A fringe of white hair circled his wrinkled bald head. He looked from the monitor to me, his eyes dull and empty. A small smile crept into his lips, but died before it could make it to his eyes.

“What?” I asked.

“You Americans, your stupidity is only matched by your arrogance,” the old man said. “Somehow in your tiny reptilian brain, you thought you could stroll onto my land and pilfer my possessions. Can you truly be that dense?”

The question seemed rhetorical, a strike to the back of my head with a rifle barrel told me I was wrong. I stumbled forward, struggling to keep my face neutral.

“Too dull to answer a simple question?” the old man asked. “Let us try one that is a bit more specific: who sent you?”

My lack of an answer was met by another rifle hit. It must have been the giant behind me, because the blow drove me to my knees. Gregor tried to get to me, but two men threw him against the wall, and pinned him there.

“A slow learner, I see,” the old man said. “Victor told me you worked for Don Gallico, but I cannot see that as being truthful. If he wanted to send me a message, he would simply pick up the phone, not send a simpleton and his Armenian serving boy. With the tip and a tap, I can turn Gallico’s power off and he knows it. So the question remains, who sent you?”

“Fuck off.” The rifle butt knocked me flat onto the floor. The middle of my spine burned like it had a hot poker on it.

“Yes, yes, you are quite the deipnosophist. Pasha, kill the Armenian,” he said to the giant. When the giant turned to look at Gregor, I rolled onto my back and kicked upward with all I had. The steel toe of my boot connected with his groin. A high pitched shriek burst out of him, along with all the air in his lungs. Rolling to the left, I grabbed the barrel of the rifle that hung loosely in his hand. I swung it like a baseball bat. I could hear the crack of the stock when it struck his head. The giant took two wobbly steps then collapsed onto the floor.

Flipping the AK around, I drew a bead on the old man’s forehead. The room went still. The old man’s dead eyes opened only slightly. Gregor was still pinned to the wall, one of the goons pressed his rifle into Gregor’s eye socket.

“Better tell your punk to release my friend, before I get nervous and this whole deal gets wet,” I told the old man.

CHAPTER 6

S
LOWLY, THE OLD MAN LET OUT
a hissing sigh. “We have quite a conundrum here. You appear to have captured the king, checkmate. But what if the king does not mind dying?”

“Then we have one thing in common.” I kept the AK trained on his face.

“If you shoot me, they most definitely will shoot him.” He tilted his head toward Gregor, who shrugged indifferently. “How delightfully stoic, brave heroes to the end.”

“Fuck this noise.” Pivoting, I pulled the trigger. Blood exploded from the knee of the man holding a rifle on Gregor. As he fell, Gregor grabbed his second guard by the collar and ran him headfirst into the wall. Before the echo of the shot died, all were down and I again was aimed at the old man. He hadn’t moved an inch, he simply watched it go down.

“Nicely played. I seem to have underestimated your brute desire to win,” he said.

After Gregor tied the goon squad up, he went down to get Anya. I had a little chat with the old man. If his turn of fortune had shaken him, he sure was hiding it well. “Young man, you have truly stuck your head into the proverbial hornets’ nest. The odds of your surviving the next forty-eight hours are less than zero.”

“Maybe I should deep six you and walk away.”

“That is what I, if in your cheap shoes, would most certainly do. But it would not change your fate. From this moment forth, no hole will be deep enough nor distant enough for you to hide in.”

“Where is Anya’s sister?”

“Quite honestly, I have no knowledge, nor desire for any, of the girl’s whereabouts.”

The report of my rifle exploded into the still room. The bullet ripped into the club chair’s leather inches from his head, kicking soft tufts of stuffing onto his cheek. He looked from the hole to me without fear.

“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.”

“But 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.