Nika let the rumble of the tires on the road lull her, she lay back using her bag as a lumpy pillow. Her first day in this new world was spent locked in back of a sweltering, windowless van. Three other girls traveled with her. Two were from Ukraine, the third came all the way from Norilsk, up in the permanently frozen north. They had spoken in the dark — trying to keep their courage up — all agreed this wasn’t as bad as it could be. Soon they would walk onto the wonderful streets of America. They passed a jug of water, but there was no food. Their sweat and cheap perfume mixed in the stale air.
“Hey Moscow, what the fuck are you doing?” Yumma asked. At nineteen, she was the oldest of the girls, she had the thick gravel in her voice that only years of tobacco can give.
“It’s Yaroslavl.” Nika twisted, unzipping her dress.
“I don’t care fuck where you’re from, keep your dress on. You want them to think we’re whores?”
“I’m hot, and you’re not my mother.”
“Thank god for that. Do any of you useless cows have a cigarette?”
Nika pulled the dress over her head. In her slip, she felt much better. After a long, hot moment, she heard the zippers of other girls following her lead.
“Oh, that’s real classy. What will they think when they open the door and find you idiots naked?”
Twenty minutes later, Nika smiled when she heard Yumma’s zipper slowly go down.
Lunch hour came and went without a break. In the afternoon the van stopped and they could hear a loud tinny radio playing brassy music. None of the girls spoke Spanish, the rapid speech of the DJ was a blur of noise to them. They heard the gas tank filling. Nika knocked on the door, pleading that she needed to pee.
Blinding light filled their compartment. Glowing in the sun, the man with the acne-ruined face tossed a plastic bucket in to them. Before Nika’s eyes could adjust enough to make out the surroundings, the door banged closed again. It embarrassed her to squat over the bucket, but it was either that or have her bladder burst. The sound of her urine splashing down caused one of the girls to giggle.
“What?” Nika snapped. She had no idea which girl it was, but she would be damned if they would laugh at her.
“Sorry.” It was Guzel Saifutdinova, the girl from Norilsk. Nika could tell by her small mouse like voice. It was as if she thought even in their dark cage, someone would overhear her.
Nika felt a little better having lost the pain of a swollen bladder. It was the most satisfying piss she had ever had. Strange, she thought, how denying a thing can make it so much better once you got it.
“I’m hungry.” This came from the deep voiced Zhanna. She had told them she was seventeen and came from Odessa. She had been studying for her college entrance exams when her mother lost her job at the Volga automobile factory. With no money or hope, she decided to leave for America.
“Here,” Nika said. On the plane, she had slipped saltines and peanuts into her bag. “No cigs, huh?” Yumma said.
“No. Have a cracker, pretend it’s a smoke.” Nika shared her snacks with the others. Why not, soon they would have to stop for dinner. The man driving the van wouldn’t starve them.
They didn’t stop for dinner. Nika’s stomach was growling when she finally let sleep take her away. How long she slept was impossible to tell. The combination of jet lag and the monotony of the dark van left her disoriented. A knot had tightened in her belly, from both fear and hunger. The van had turned from oppressive heat to bone chilling cold. The girls huddled together, wrapping the rough Mexican blankets around themselves.
“We never should’ve come here,” Guzel whined, near tears. “If I wanted to freeze to death, I could have stayed home. Where are they taking us? We don’t even know who they are. This was a terrible mistake.”
“Shhh, we’ll be alright,” Nika said.
“How do you know? They can do what they want with us, who will protect us?”
“Why would they fly us across the world to hurt us?” Nika was sounding much braver than she felt. “I don’t know how it was in Norilsk, but in Yaroslavl it sucked.”
Guzel sobbed quietly.
“Stop crying.” Nika grabbed the girl’s shoulder and shook her roughly. Guzel fell silent. Nika lay back down, pulling up her blanket. Since her big sister left home, she had been forced to grow up. She took over the household. It was her job to keep her father in line, or he would spend what little money they had on wine.
At thirteen, Nika was the youngest in the van, but now she was the one they turned to for leadership. If she had to be harsh to keep them from falling apart, she would. With every step, from Yaroslavl to Moscow to Mexico, she had faced new fears, and with each conquered she felt braver. Whatever came next, she would deal with it. And in the end, she was sure the prize in America would prove to be worth it.
“The phone’s been ringing off the hook,” Gregor said when I returned.
“Who called?”
“Who knows? Boss, everyone has an answering machine. I could hook you up.”
I should have guessed he wouldn’t answer it. I hadn’t asked him to, and why would I, the damn thing never rang. Before I could ask him where Anya was, the phone started ringing.
“Where the hell have you been?” It was a seriously not happy Detective Lowrie.
“Out. What bug crawled up your ass?”
“I’m running on two hours of sleep and paranoia, so don’t screw with me.”
“Ok, but I can’t answer questions you’re not asking.”
“Who the fuck did you piss off?”
“Excuse me?” I felt like I was caught in some bizarre hidden camera show.
“I call my man in the Russian mob squad, twenty minutes later I have some cowboy with a Homeland Security badge at my door.”
“A fed?”
“Yeah, a big fat G-man. He wanted your name and kept throwing terms like ‘enemy combatant’ like it was confetti and the Lakers had won the title.”
“You give me up?”
“Screw him.”
“Thanks.”
“Didn’t do it for you, I can’t stand anyone coming into my playground and telling me the bat and ball are theirs.”
“What’s their interest here?”
“Hell if I know, I was kind of hoping you might shed some light on this bullshit.”
“No idea. Did the Russians say anything to the Mob Squad?” I asked.
“Hell, they never even rolled on it. My guy said the house was on a federal ‘don’t touch’ list. Is that pure crap or what?”
My mind spun. If the Russian mobsters weren’t in lockdown, then they would be out hunting us. They didn’t know my name, and even if they did, I paid cash for my rent and the utilities were in the owner’s name. If you didn’t know me, finding me was next to impossible.
“Odds are real good the captain’s going to be on my ass to give up my snitch, and that’s you,” Lowrie said.
“Give me twenty-four hours and I’ll be smoke.”
“Tell me it’s for a good cause.”
“A thirteen year old girl has been trafficked. I have to find her before the Russians do.”
I could hear his breath as he exhaled into the phone. After a thought-filled moment he finally said in a flat measured tone, “I’ll give you what I can.”
“Thank you.” I knew he would do what he could, and that was the most I could expect of any man.
I was about to fill Gregor in when Anya stepped out of the bathroom. Wet from a shower, she was dressed only in a towel. I had to control my jaw from dropping. Fresh, clean, without makeup, she looked years younger and made me feel years older for lusting after her.
Gregor looked from her to me, then got up and went into the kitchen.
“Where did you go?” Anya asked, moving up to me as if she were unaware of the affect she was having on me. I watched a bead of water roll over her collar bone and down her chest. She watched my eyes, and smiled softly.
“You are going to find my sister, yes?”
“Yes.” The phone rang, saving me from falling into Anya’s eyes.
“Moses, things have gone crazy down here.” It was Piper and she sounded uncharacteristically rattled. “They tore this place up, broken bottles, booze all over the floor. Put Turaj in the hospital.”
“Slow down, darlin’, who tore it up?” I asked
“I got here early, Turaj was setting up, I was in the dressing room. I heard shouting and stayed hid. What kind of mental midget robs a strip club before it opens?”
“They robbed the club?” Even stone cold idiots knew we took the cash to the bank every night, all we ever had at the beginning of a shift was a couple hundred for change.
“You know, I forgot to ask them what they were doing there, I was a little busy crawling into the back of a closet.”
“You didn’t see anything?”
“Got a good look at the back of the closet. Did you know one of the girls keeps a box of dope and a pipe back there?”
“Real interesting. Where’s Uncle Manny?”
“Glendale Adventist, that’s where the paramedics took Turaj.”
“Paramedics?” Turaj was the club owner’s nephew and a worthless womanizer, but if anyone was going to fuck him up I wanted it to be me.
“They hurt him bad. What the hell is going on, Mo?”
“I don’t know. Call Doc, tell him to get his black ass in there, then call Jesus and see if he can put together a cleaning crew. Have them restock the bar. I’ll find Uncle Manny and see if he wants us to open.” Piper was much calmer when she hung up. The girls might mock me, think I was a jerk and a joke, but when the shit hit, I was always the first they’d call.
“Gregor,” I called out, “stay put, and watch the door.”
“What’s up, boss?” He came out of the kitchen carrying a fry pan he was drying.
“When I know, I’ll call, so pick up.” I was out the door at a run.
Uncle Manny was pacing in the surgical waiting room. Fereshteh, Manny’s wife, sat quietly with her head bowed. I had never met her, but recognized her immediately from the family photo Manny kept on his desk.
“Moses?” Uncle Manny looked surprised to see me.
“Where’s Turaj?”
“Come.” Uncle Manny nodded his head out of the room. He led me through the hospital and out onto a small smoking balcony.
“Do you have a cigarette?” It was the first he had spoken since leaving his wife.
“Quit years ago,” I told him.
“Me too.” His eyes were rimmed with red, and he looked old.
“Who did it, Manny?”
“This is none of your concern.”
“Bullshit. Someone comes in my club, fucks with my people, it’s my business.”
“It is not your club. It is my club, and I’m telling you to stay out of it.” His voice was flat and devoid of emotion.
“Was it the Russians?”
“Go home, Moses. This is family trouble, I will handle it.” Without meeting my eyes he turned and walked back into the hospital.
Walking to my car, it hit me. How fucking stupid could one man be? In the mansion, we trussed up the old man and his thugs, but we left the girls free. They may have hated the mutants who held them captive, but without passports, or any cash, the girls didn’t have a lot of options. I made sure the Russians didn’t know my name, but Marina sure as hell knew my name and where I worked. If she sold me out to save her own skin, I didn’t blame her, I blamed myself for not thinking of it. Now Turaj was in surgery, he had taken the weight meant for me. Whether he gave me up straight away or they beat it out of him, fact was, I was sure they had my address.
Running to a pay phone, I fumbled two quarters in and dialed home. The phone rang fifteen times before I clicked off.
I parked around the corner from my house, I took my 1911.45 from the tire well, slipped it in my belt and moved quickly along the sidewalk. An empty black Mercedes was at the curb. Keeping their car between me and the house, I crouched down by the fender. It takes more force than most think to slit a tire, even with a razor honed buck knife. The air escaped with a crisp hiss. I peeked over the hood, but nothing moved in the house.
Slipping along the side yard, I stole a glance into the bedroom. It was free of Russian dick heads. With a Bullmastiff as an alarm, I had taken to leaving my windows open. Pulling up onto the sill, I dropped silently to the floor. From the living room or kitchen, I heard several men speaking in Russian. I needed to cross the open doorway to get to the closet, and the hidden cabinet where I kept the big guns. Holding my breath, I took one long step across the opening. Pinned against the wall, I waited for them to come running. But they kept talking in the same casual tone.
Sliding my hanging clothes aside, I pushed the spring lock on the cabinet set into the back wall. The lock popped much louder than I had hoped. The conversation in the living room stopped abruptly. Footsteps moved quickly toward the bedroom. I grabbed the first gun my hand hit, my Mossberg 12-gauge street sweeper.
The first man through the door was a tanned muscle boy, he was sweeping the room with a small automatic when I rolled out of the closet. From the floor I fired up, the blast of buckshot took him in the chest and sent him doing the rag doll tumble into the living room.
Racking a fresh shell in, I fired through the open door. Noise and gun smoke filled the small room. Crawling back into the closet, I grabbed my battle bag. It was a duffle I always kept packed and ready with cash, false and real ID, a change of clothes, my handguns and enough ammunition to end a small war.
My bedroom exploded in a hail of bullets. Several Russians swung into the doorway and emptied their pistols, bullets pocked the walls and ripped my mattress to shreds. Shards from a mirror mixed with the spent shells hitting the floor. If I hadn’t been in the closet, I surely would have died in the blitz.
The noise stopped as quickly as it started. When they ducked out to reload, I leapt up. Firing one aimless shot at the living room, I dropped the Mossberg and dove out the ruined window. Rolling when I hit the soft earth, I jumped to my feet and started running. Hitting the Crown Vic, I stomped on the gas and burned two black lines in the asphalt halfway up the block. It wasn’t until I hit Eagle Rock Boulevard that I let off on the pace.
Parking in Foster Freeze’s lot, I listened for sirens. Thankfully, my home was in Highland Park, it would take the cops at least twenty minutes to respond if the neighbors even bothered to call it in. Down here, we take care of our own, and keep our mouths and eyes shut when it comes to the cops.
The adrenaline eased off enough to lower the thump in my ears to a dull roar. What had happened to Gregor and Anya? If they were in the house and still alive, I doubted the Russians would have been talking so calmly. Fuck! If Angel was there, she would have run to me when I crept in. If those freaks killed my dog, I would paint the walls with their blood.
Jamming into reverse, I squealed out onto the street. I was flying, rage driven, when I rounded the hill that separated Eagle Rock from Highland Park. The Vic slid around the sweeping corners in a four wheel drift.
Victor was kneeling by the Mercedes’ front passenger tire. He was finishing tightening the lug nuts on the spare. His head jerked up when he heard me roaring down on him. He leapt up just in time to meet my grille. His legs flipped forward and his chest slammed down onto my hood. He left a face sized dent where his head smashed down. I stamped my foot down, locking up the massive brakes, and Victor rolled, tumbling off the hood and onto the pavement.
Pulling my.45 I jumped out. I didn’t bother checking Victor, his threat factor had surely hit zero. The rest of the Russian crew were piled into the Mercedes. Spinning backwards, they bumped over the jack. Standing in the middle of the street, I popped off all seven shots in the clip as they sped away. Their windshield spider-webbed as the bullets struck it. They were gone too soon for me to know if I hit any of the occupants, but I didn’t have any time to worry about them. The cops would be rolling. Even Highland Park has its limits, and emptying a clip in the street, I was sure I had crossed them.
I took the four steps up to my door in one big leap. Running from room to room, I searched for signs of death. If they had killed Gregor, Anya or my dog, they had done a damn clean job of it. Picking up the Mossberg, I heard the soft wail of sirens coming on fast. It was time to jet. Pulling down the blinds, I deadbolted the front door behind me.
After policing up the.45 shells off the road, I grabbed the twisted and broken Victor and tossed him into the back seat. I drove quickly away from the oncoming cop cars. He was bitching and moaning in Russian as I took a series of sharp turns, losing myself in the hills of Mount Washington.
Pulling behind a tall wild bramble on an empty hillside lot, I killed the engine. Slapping in a fresh clip, I racked a shell into the.45 and pointed it over the seat at Victor. “Where the fuck are they?” I said, fighting the urge to splatter him.
“Who… I don’t know…” He was mumbling through clenched teeth.
I struck his broken arm with the barrel of my.45. His scream sounded more animal than human. “Motherfucker. Talk or die, I don’t give a fuck which.” I shoved his head down with the pistol.
“No!” His eyes were wild with pain and fear.
“What did you do with my people?” I tapped his head hard with the pistol, to be sure I had his full attention.
“No one… we found no one,” he said between moans.
“Wrong answer.” I covered my face with my free hand to avoid getting blow-back gore in my eyes.
“Pravda! No one!” His panicked fear was overriding his pain. I dropped the.45 into my lap. Down in the valley, the sounds of sirens had died out. There would be no going home now that it was a crime scene. I could only hope they wouldn’t link me to the house and put out an APB.
It was time to go off the map, slip into the unregistered world where cash was king and all names were false. The Russian mobsters would be hunting me with deep vengeance in their hard little hearts, the cops might be looking for me, the feds were in the wings someplace and I was no closer to finding Anya’s sister.
I pulled Victor out of the car on a side street near Glendale Adventist, it wouldn’t take long for a doctor or ambulance to find him crumpled in the middle of the street. I didn’t give a rat’s ass if he died, he had brought this crap to my home and he paid the price. Maybe I should have put one in his brain pan and left him in the hills, but I knew the truth of violence. The first life I took was in Beirut. I killed a woman in a fire fight. It was a mistake, doesn’t change the fact she was dead at my hand. I learned that moment that every life you take pulls a piece of you with them into the grave.