Skin Trade (20 page)

The door opened easily. I closed it behind me.

I didn't know what I was looking for, but there had to be something that told me why they beat her up here, in this place. It was Tuesday morning. It was a week since they'd hurt Lily. Raped her.

Say it, I said to myself. Raped her and hacked her hair off.

I felt my way through the place in the dark, hands on the walls, feeling the pebbly surface of the plaster. In the living room, I could make out a stain on the floor where
they found her. The rug had been removed. Some forensic lab somewhere in Paris was laboring over it. Pointless stuff. Trying to match blood samples, but who to? Some Serb hood named Zhaba? The man on the wheel in London? The creep who fingered Lily's hair at the salon in London? I was pretty sure they were the same bastard. I crawled around the floor, desperate.

Lily comes to Paris because of me, first because of something she sees in the Levesque file, then because she feels threatened. She makes a date with her old friend Martha Burnham who works with battered prostitutes; a few hours later, she's beaten, raped, out cold in this apartment. Who called it in? I shivered. I was so strung out, I never asked. Was she really out? Was she conscious? Who made the call?

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could see the long narrow corridor that led from the living room. Off it was the kitchen with an old stove, rust-stained linoleum on the floor and cracked green paint on the walls. More doors. More rooms. I checked the doors. Two bedrooms. A bathroom. The floorboards creaked.

A shadow crawled over the wall as a car passed under the street light. I looked at my watch. Almost five.

God, I was tired. I slid down against the wall in the hallway for a minute. Adrenalin kept me barely awake. The boards creaking again, I scratched at the floor, looking for anything, a pin, a cigarette butt, a scrap of paper. On the cold floor, there was only more dust.

In one of the bedrooms, I reached under the metal frame of the bed, with its bare mattress folded over double. The room smelled musty, shut up, dead. My
fingers touched something cold and metallic stuck between the floorboards. It came loose. Another car went by outside. Its headlights flashed into the room and I saw I was holding a coin. It was a Czech crown. Did Martha mention Czechoslovakia? Did Momo?

Martha Burnham was half cracked. This was only a coin. I ran my hand along the floor again, felt something, raised my hand close to my face so I could see what it was. On my hand were tiny cuttings of hair. Red hair. Lily's hair.

A light flashed from the living room. Someone was here. Someone had followed me to the apartment. I took the gun in one hand.

The concierge held open the door. It was the same sullen woman I'd met before, only now she was furious because I'd messed with her building when she was in charge. Behind her were Tolya Sverdloff and Momo Gourad.

I got up off the floor, the coin in my hand.

“How the hell did you find me?”

Gourad was pissed off. “How? Very difficult, you know.” He tapped his head sarcastically. “I use my little gray cells, you know? I knew you'd come here. I knew you'd have to see for yourself that there is nothing to see.”

“Who found her, Momo?”

“I did.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“It's classified.”

“Bullshit.”

Momo said, “You're way off limits. The minute you come through the door, you fuck with the crime scene.”

“No one else is fucking with it. No one else is doing anything, isn't that right, Momo?”

“Your satirism is not great.”

“Sarcasm,” I said.

“I put myself on a limb for you.”

I turned to Tolya, whose tux was a mess, the jacket rumpled, wine stains on the shirt. “What are you doing here?”

“You disappear from the club without telling me, I go looking for you at that dump you're staying in, I run into Gourad who's also looking for you.”

“Now you found me.”

Gourad said, “I came to the hotel because my chief is asking about you. He doesn't like you running around Paris. He sent some idiot to talk to you the other night, you weren't there, he was sending a bigger idiot today. I was going to warn you to stay the fuck away from anything to do with this case for a few days.”

“That's it?”

“It's fucking serious, Artie.”

“You know and I know that Lily was beaten up here, she was raped here, they hacked off her hair here. Tell me something, Momo.”

“What's that?”

“Who called you? How did you know Lily was hurt?” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Tell me.”

“The concierge heard something.”

“What kind of thing?”

“Someone banging on the floor.”

“Who was it?”

“It was Lily.”

“She was conscious?”

“Yes.”

“When you found her?”

“Semi-conscious. Yes. I'm sorry.”

“You took pictures of her lying there.” Numb, I rubbed my eyes. “And she was still conscious?”

The concierge stood by, mute. Tolya said to Gourad, “I'll take him back to my hotel.”

“All right. But sit on him.”

At Tolya's hotel I left him in the lobby and went to the bathroom. When I got back, Tolya, the black coat over his shoulders, was talking to someone. His back was to me; I couldn't see who he was talking to. Then he shifted to the left. It was Joe Fallon. Tolya was talking to Joe Fallon.

Joe looked up and put his hand out. “Hey, how are you, Art? I've been thinking about you. I was just going for breakfast. Couldn't sleep.”

“You two know each other?” Tolya said.

Joe said. “We knew each other back when. We met up again recently. How's it going, Artie? How's Lily doing?”

“She's conscious.”

“Good. Great. I'll be in the office all day. You have that number? Call me. Or we could have some lunch. Or I could call you.”

I picked up a pen off the concierge's desk and wrote my number on the back of a hotel brochure.

“Fine.” Joe shook my hand again, nodded at Tolya and went out of the door, looking for coffee.

Tolya said, “What the hell are you doing with Fallon?”

“He's a friend. You said you didn't know him.”

“I didn't remember until I saw his face. I met him once at some party. In New York.”

“So?”

“Fallon's from New York. He's in business. He moves around. I don't like him.”

“Why not?”

Tolya said, “Let's get breakfast.”

“I like him.”

“OK, fine. Let's eat some breakfast.”

“I don't want breakfast. What's wrong with Fallon?”

“I don't like his type.” He was speaking Russian.

“What type?”

“Pretend Americans.”

“So long, Tolya.”

“Where the hell are you going?”

“I have a job to do.”

“You're in trouble, man. You're in trouble with the company you work for, with Carol Browne, with the cops here, with yourself. Just stay cool. We'll work this together, we'll get Lily better, we'll take her home.”

I always hate how I'm in hock to Tolya all the time. Now, I hated it worse because I knew where some of his money came from.

“You're just taking off? For where?”

“None of your business.”

“What is my business?”

“Whores.”

“Grow up. You're way over your head, you're running around like a crazy man. I know this thing with Lily makes you unhappy, but you're nowhere on this case.”

“You're going to fix it, right? Like always?”

“You have to know, whatever you do, Lily will be safe. I'll be there. I have my guys on it, she'll have a nurse.” He paused. “How come you're so pissed off at me, Artyom?” He looked tired. He was sober.

“I ask you if you know who runs hookers here, you tell me no, then it turns out you have a whorehouse like something from a bad Bond movie.”

“It's not mine. I put some money in. It's an investment. They run it right. No one gets hurt. Everyone makes money, including the women. Especially the women. I fucking hate your fucking sanctimonious moralizing.”

When Tolya gets angry, his huge body puffs up, his face gets purple.

“Listen, my cousin Svetlana loved you. This makes you family. But I don't have to put up with this shit. I'll take care of Lily because she's my friend, too, and I love her and I love Beth and I'm her godfather. But I'm fucking tired of your suspicions. You know who I am and what I do and you can come down off your high moral horse, man, and cut it out, and when you decide to dismount, then give me a call.”

“Go to hell.”

“Fuck you.”

I walked to the door. Tolya brushed past me, and all
he said was, “If you want me, you know where to find me. I'll be with the whores,” and set off down the street, his coat flapping in the wind.

“Lily?”

After I slept a few hours, the rest of Tuesday I sat with Lily in the hospital, watching her, waiting for Martha's call. She had promised to call. She promised. I had picked up some maps. I wasn't sure where I was going, but I had maps and they were on my lap while I sat with Lily. Outside the hospital window, snow fell in thick slanted curtains.

During the day, once in a while, I touched Lily's hair where it stuck out from the bandages. Sometimes I held her hand, or talked, and sometimes she talked back a little.

“Do you know who I am? Sweetheart?”

She didn't answer and I said, “Do you remember Martha?”

“I remember Martha,” she whispered. “My friend.”

“Yes.”

“In love with me.”

“Everyone's in love with you.”

Lily smiled and closed her eyes.

Lariot, the doctor I'd met earlier that week, came by. He was wearing a joke tie, bright pink with cartoon doctors on it. He told me Lily was getting better. Physically, she was improving. He chose his words carefully, but he was frosty; he didn't like me. I followed him into the hallway.

I said, “If I have to go away for twenty-four hours, is it all right?”

He turned to go with the brisk gestures of a man consumed by busyness.

I grabbed his shoulder. “Tell me.”

“Please let go of me.”

“I'm sorry.” I repeated myself. “If I go away for twenty-four hours, if I'm back by tomorrow night, is it OK?”

“Yes,” he said. “She'll be all right.”

Later, Momo dropped in to see Lily, shook my hand, left. The snow was still coming down, but I went into the courtyard for a smoke and stood under an overhang just outside Lily's room. I was standing, smoking, not talking, and watching the snow when I heard her scream.

In the doorway of her room, I slammed into Tolya. Lily was in bed, trying to sit up, a look of absolute terror on her face. I knelt next to her, put my arms around her as best I could, but she pushed me away. Tears streamed down her face.

Lariot hurried in. “What happened?”

“Lily?”

She closed her eyes.

I said, “Someone was here.”

“That's impossible,” Lariot said.

Tolya found his security guy who was in the toilet, fired him, called another one, and got an orderly who showed up ten minutes later with a cot. Tolya was already working the phone.

“What are you doing?” I said.

“I'm going to stay with her,” Tolya said.

I didn't answer.

He said, “I don't know what the fuck happened or who was here, or if there was anyone, but I'm going to live here until she's ready to go home, and then I'll take her home. We'll take her home, Aryom, all right? You do what you have to get the creep. If you need to take a trip, go.”

Tolya could always read me. I nodded. He pushed his hand in his pocket and brought out a wad of cash. I shook my head.

He said, “In case. In case. Take it.”

I took the money. I kissed Lily's cheek and left, but I had smelled him. I knew Zhaba had been in Lily's room. I could smell him.

“You should go now,” she said, opening the door. “You must get out of Paris right away.”

The last few days, I'd visited Katya Slobodkin more than once. I'd stopped by on my way to and from the hospital. You could see the hospital from her apartment. I could talk to Katya; I could talk about what I'd seen and where I'd been and she believed me because she had been there.

Katya knew whatever Momo Gourad knew, maybe more. He wasn't telling me everything, but she told me because she thought I'd kill Zhaba for her. She wanted him dead. The way she saw it, Momo, who was official, couldn't do the killing, but I could. I was foreign, I wasn't a cop anymore, I had nothing permanent at stake in Europe; I could take Lily and go home.

She didn't mention the night at the club, just kissed me three times Russian style, pulled the belt of her pink bathrobe tight and poured me some of the tea she was drinking. Outside the windows, the snow was piled high and soft on her terrace.

She said, “I think you should go. I think you're asking too many questions. People are angry at you, Artemy.”

I looked around and realized the door to the bedroom was shut. “I know that.”

“Momo is asleep,” she said. “He came here earlier from the hospital.”

“I want to know how you're involved in all this.”

“I told you. I know the creep. I want him to be dead.”

“You asked me to kill a guy, Katya. I'm not some enforcer, I can't just knock off a guy.”

“Because he hurt your Lily,” she added. “And me, also.”

“It doesn't work that way.”

She smiled wryly. “You're such an American. Don't you believe me?”

“I don't always know.”

“Because I'm Russian or because I'm a whore?”

“Stop it. You think I'm in trouble?”