by Teagan Kade
Ethan holds up his hand. “Pros, though they should probably get back to the firing range.”
“Are they still standing?”
“One of them took a round in the shoulder, I think, but who knows.”
Vanessa glances at me briefly. “Alright, I’ll call Senya, but first I’m patching this shitshow up, and you,” she points to me, “are going to help.”
*
We pull up in front of a bar downtown. Ethan cuts the ignition, his right hand freshly bandaged.
Vanessa let us take her car, an old Lincoln complete with Royal Pine air freshener and a sea of spent coffee cups.
“Is this the place?” I ask.
Ethan chewing on his lip. “Let’s go, but we’re going to keep a low profile, yes?”
I nod in agreement. “I definitely don’t want to be standing out.”
It’s warm inside the bar, the kind of dark and dim establishment with lively music and an older crowd who appear more part of the furniture than patrons.
Ethan snakes us toward a booth at the back where a man is sitting with a short glass of pale liquid.
I flinch because he’s wearing a leather jacket, looks exactly like one of the men we just escaped from.
Ethan doesn’t seem to share my concern, seating us and extending his hand. “Ethan.”
“Senya,” comes the reply. He takes a toothpick from his mouth, carefully placing it down beside the glass and taking Ethan’s hand. His eyes track towards me. “I see you’ve brought Ms. Montello.”
Ethan looks at me like I’m a complete stranger. “Ms. Montello? You know her?”
Senya presses out his top lip. I don’t think I like him. “I do. She’s a long way from home, probably not so well known this way, but yeah, I do.”
I can’t believe he recognizes me.
“Sofia,” he says, tapping the side of his head, “You’re looking well.”
“I thought you were in a gang?” says Ethan, lowering his voice.
Senya pulls down the top of shirt to reveal a tattoo of a snake around his neck, two large eyes below it. “Not a gang, the Brotherhood.”
Ethan lowers his voice even further. “The Russian Mafia?”
Senya sits back upright, nodding.
Ethan looks between me and him, shaking his head. “Jesus.”
“Won’t be much help,” adds Senya, “not given what you two are up against.” He takes a black box with white ribbon beside him and places it on the table, sliding it across to Ethan. “Happy birthday, by the way. I hope you like it.”
Ethan slides over an envelope in return, which is quickly whisked from sight.
Ethan undoes the ribbon and opens the box enough for me to see another gun inside. He closes it and places it beside him on the seat.
Senya stands, reaching for the short glass and downing it quickly. He zips up his jacket. “Figured being a grunt you’d know how to use that, but I’ve got to warn you, you’re going to get yourself killed regardless.”
“That’s it?” laughs Ethan. “You’re not going to tell us who she is, what the hell’s going on here?”
Senya shakes his head slowly. “No, but what I am going to tell you,” he points at Ethan, “is to get as far away as you fucking can from her.”
I’ve had enough of this cloak-and-dagger nonsense. “Why?” I ask, but Senya’s already walking away.
I go to get up, but Ethan pulls me back down. “No, let him go. He’s said his piece. He won’t tell us anything more.”
“You believe him? That I’m dangerous? Maybe you should. Maybe you should listen and get as far away from me as you can.”
Ethan takes me by the shoulders, glancing towards the bar briefly. “No fucking way, you hear me. I promised you I’d protect you no matter what. I’m not leaving now.”
“I’m risking your life, clearly,” I add, “but I don’t know how to do this alone.”
He kisses me on the forehead before the first tear falls. “You’re not, and you never were.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ETHAN
A light drizzle starts to fall, the windshield growing blurrier and with it the larger world until it’s little more than an abstraction. It reminds me of the night we received the call—the call that would change my life.
Maybe end it.
We’re in the Lincoln around the corner from the bar. Lit by a neon sign to our left, I can see Sofia’s trying to make sense of what just happened. It definitely needs investigation, yes, but for now we have to get out of the city.
I load up Ally’s phone number and pass my cell across to Sofia. “Call your friend. See what she has to say.”
She looks down at the phone. “Where are we going to go?”
I turn over the ignition and shift into gear. “I’ll head for Philly, but let’s see what your friend has to say.”
I pull out while Sofia brings the phone to her ear. I can hear it ringing on the other end of the line. A timid voice answers. “Hello?”
Sofia looks across to me unsure. “Ally?”
An audible sigh. “Sofia, God. Are you getting out of the city?”
“Yes,” Sofia replies.
A pause. “Okay, and your memory, has it come back?”
“No, but apparently my last name is Montello? Is that right?”
Another pause. “I, I can’t really talk, sorry.”
Sofia takes the phone away from her ear, staring at the screen.
“What happened?” I ask, navigating towards the freeway.
Sofia looks shocked. “She… She hung up.”
That familiar doubt resurfaces. Who are we to trust this Ally? She could be fucking anyone. She could be the one behind this whole thing. Stranger things have happened.
“What’s wrong?” Sofia asks.
I decide to verbalize my concerns, tightening my grip on the steering wheel just like Vanessa. “I don’t know if we should trust her. I don’t know if we can trust anyone right about now.”
Sofia almost drops the phone in surprise when it starts to ring again. She looks across at me, showing me the screen. I don’t recognize the number. “Put it on speaker.”
Sofia does so, holding the phone between us while I merge onto the freeway, the lights of oncoming traffic lighting the interior of the truck intermittently. She hits ‘Answer.’
It’s Ally again. “Sofia, hi. Sorry about before. That was a burner phone. I can’t be too careful, you understand.”
Burner phones, Russian mafia—this is getting wilder by the second. What next? A weapons shipment, a visit from Tony Soprano? Still, regardless of how deep Sofia is in whatever shit-pile this is, I’m going to stand by her. She’s right. She can’t do this alone. I won’t fucking allow it.
“I’ll make this brief,” Ally continues, listing off an address in Philadelphia. “Did you get that?”
Sofia’s pressing her forefinger to her temple. She repeats the address, though I’ve memorized it myself just in case. “Yes.”
“Good. Stay safe,” says Ally, the line going dead once more.
Sofia places the phone down in the console, shaking her head. “What is going on? What am I mixed up in here?”
Nothing good, I feel like replying. “I’m not sure, but something tells me we’re not headed to a Bar mitzvah here.”
“What’s the Russian version of a Bar mitzvah?” She’s shaking her head again. “I don’t even know the first thing about Russia except vodka-something something, furry hats…”
“You don’t remember Senya, Vanessa’s cousin?”
“No.” She pulls at her hair. “I just want to remember. That’s all I want so I can start to untangle this mess. I mean, there were guys with guns, real guns, Ethan, shooting at us. That’s not normal, is it?”
In some parts of the world, some parts I’ve frequented, it is, but here, no. It’s sure fucking not. “It’s all going to be okay,” I tell her, taking the exit towards Philly.
But not even I am so sure now.
&nbs
p; *
We stop and grab a quick bite at a diner, though Sofia barely eats and my burger may as well be a hockey puck.
Back on the road, I consider asking Sofia to use my phone to check her last name, see what she can find, but I decide against it. Someone might be looking for searches. Who knows?
What I do know is that Sofia is strong, probably a hell of a lot stronger than she realizes, but I think we have to both be clear-headed going into this. In a way, the less she knows, the better.
A few hours later, I reach across and tap Sofia on the shoulder. She’s got my jacket over her, her head resting against the window looking so unbelievably gorgeous I consider turning right back around and trying to get out of the country, find a little spot somewhere by the beach we can be together and forget about this whole thing.
She smiles when she sees me, looking out the window. “Are we here?”
I survey where we are: A seedy industrial area on the outskirts of Philly that spells suspicious in every conceivable combination, from the dim, barely there lighting to a modicum of horrors no doubt hiding in the shadows. It feels like we’re being led into a trap here. I’m not the only one who shares this concern.
Sofia sits upright. “Are you sure this is the right place?”
I nod. “There’s no doubt.” I point over to Unit 110, a single lamp lighting a red, sun-streaked door. “That one right there, but to be honest, I don’t know if this is wise.”
“I don’t think Ally’s bad.”
“How do you know?”
She looks out the window. “Intuition, maybe? I just know.”
I breathe in and tap my fingers on the top of the steering wheel. I did a few loops around the area, could only find the one car parked beside 110. That’s a good sign, but it doesn’t mean this Ally is alone. I reach to the passenger footwell and pick up the box Senya gave me, taking out the weapon, checking it’s loaded before placing it down the back of my jeans. It’s been a while since I carried like this, felt the cool bite of steel against my buttocks. It brings back a flood of memories I’d been trying hard to repress.
“Stay behind me,” I tell Sofia, popping open my door. Any trouble, you make a run for the car, okay? I’ll cover you. Don’t worry about me. Just drive the hell on out of here. I’ll leave my phone in the console.”
She nods. “Okay.”
We get out and Sofia comes around behind me.
There’s no buzzer at the door, so I knock twice instead.
It’s a long while before I hear a bolt un-sliding.
Ally stands there before us looking more or less as she did in the locket photo bar copper streaks and dark rings under her eyes. She smiles when she sees Sofia behind me. “Quickly, come inside.”
Ally closes and locks the door behind us. The unit is empty, strong fluorescents overhead casting the entire area sterile and blue. She rushes around me to embrace Sofia, holding the back of her head. “God, it’s so good to see you.”
Sofia smiles, but I can tell the feeling’s not reciprocated, at least not the way Ally wants it.
Ally lets her go, wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve. She looks up to the ceiling, her eyelids fluttering, hands flapping in the air. “I’m such a mess.”
She focuses on me, holding out her hand. “You must be Ethan?”
I take it. “That’s right. What can you tell us about Sofia?”
That puts her into work mode. She places her hands on her hips. “Okay, okay, where to start?”
“Why are people trying to shoot me?” asks Sofia. “Was I a bad person?”
I go to cut in, but it’s already out there.
Ally tilts her head sideways, no doubt thinking how best to answer, but this pause isn’t a good indicator in and of itself. “Well, you’re full name is Sofia Montello, as you know. We’ve been BFFs ever since we went to same ballet school when we were toddlers.”
Sofia seems surprised at this snippet of information. “I’m a ballerina?”
“Was,” Sofia corrects, kind of, nodding to her leg. “But you hurt your leg bad, couldn’t keep it up.”
“What else?” asks Sofia, eager for more.
“Ah, not too long ago you learnt your father is a don in the Russian mafia. I mean, I think we both expected him to be into something shady given all those late-night meetings, the extravagance, blah-blah, but I don’t think you knew the full extent of the operation.”
I know Sofia’s reeling, as am I, but she’s holding it together. “I told you about this?”
“It was me actually who told you about it when I learned my father was working for your dad in the organization. I did some digging, discovered a few things which I shared with you. Together we pieced it together pretty well.”
Sofia’s blinking. “But if I’m the daughter of this big, powerful mafia guy, why are people shooting at me? Is it a rival? An enemy of one of our fathers? Why did they shoot me in the first place?”
Ally taps her foot in the ground. “This, I don’t know. I think maybe you decided to get involved in the family business, maybe did something to displease your father?”
Sofia’s putting it together. “You think my own father what? Ordered a hit on me?”
Ally’s looking around the unit. It’s a while before her eyes rest on Sofia again. “In short, yes. I think that’s exactly what happened.”
Sofia’s shaking her head, fiddling with my jacket. “Wow.”
“It’s a lot to take in, I know.”
You can fucking say that again.
“But here.” Ally reaches into her back pocket and hands Sofia a slip of paper. “It’s an address for a safehouse an ex of mine used to use when he wanted to lie low. You remember Bobby? Like, weird kind of mohawk, really tiny penis?”
Even I raise an eyebrow at that.
Ally looks to me. “Ah, no, it’s not like that, but, well…”
“I don’t remember,” says Sofia.
“In any case,” continues Ally, fishing in her front pocket and finding a key. She hands it to Ally. “Here’s the key. Go there and I’ll try to find out more, if I can.” She comes forward again and embraces Sofia, crying openly now against her shoulder. “I thought you were dead,” she wails. “I didn’t think I was ever, ever going to see you again.”
Sofia, looking at me, lifts a hand to the back of Ally’s head, soothing her. “I’m fine, honestly.”
Ally breaks away. “Sorry,” she says, wiping at her face with both sleeves. “I promised myself I wouldn’t get emotional, but bam, there you are.”
Sofia throws her hands up. “Surprise?”
Ally laughs, smiling. She looks like an emotional wreck.
“I’m sorry I don’t remember much about you,” says Sofia.
“It’s okay,” Ally shrugs. “Maybe it’s better in a way. We can start fresh, have spa day when you’re clear of all this like we used to. You love a good champagne breakfast. Did you know that?”
“I do?”
“Sure. You’re got expensive tastes, Sof.”
It’s the first time I’ve heard her name abbreviated like this. I decide then and there perhaps we can trust this Ally individual. I’ve been around long enough to know real emotion when I see it. I deal with it every day, people at their best and worst. Something tells me what Ally and Sofia have is real, even if Sofia can’t see it right now.
I can see Sofia straining to recall. “I’m getting bits and pieces, flashes of things, but nothing concrete, sorry.”
Ally places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, hon. It’ll come back, but can you not remember the time we went to that tequila bar on the south side, because I for one would sure as hell like to forget that night.”
Sofia smiles back. “Done.”
Ally starts to wave us away. “Go on now, before I really start to break down here.”
“Thank you,” I tell her, guiding Sofia towards the door.
Ally comes forward and turns me around, whispering. “Look after her. P
romise me.”
“I will,” I reply, “to my last breath if I have to.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SOFIA
The safehouse is a small apartment, and by small I mean a bathroom, a kitchen and a single sofa. Compared to Ethan’s apartment it’s basically a shoebox.
I have to lie down on the sofa as soon as we arrive, my head beating. There, I drift into a loose sleep, fragments of memories coming back to me now the floodgates seem to have started to stagger open.
I wake, pleased to find Ethan seated there beside me, the ceiling light creating a halo around his head.
“Are you my guardian angel?” I ask.
He laughs, looking back. “No wings, sorry.”
I smile back and lift myself up, the rocks that were filling my head seeming to shift with the movement.
“You good?”
“I remembered a few more things,” I tell him, trying to recall them as soon as possible lest they slip away once more. “Stuff from my childhood, playing with Ally… a lot about my father.”
“What about him?”
I shake my head, eyes still struggling to adjust. “What I do remember makes me think he vacillated between an occasionally doting papa and a mostly absent, aloof father figure. It’s hard to say which side of the scale he fell on more, but I remember the duality, the anger I felt when he wasn’t there.” I reach up and claw at my hair, dragging it out over my shoulders. “It’s so damn frustrating.” I tap my head. “Why. Can’t. I. Remember?”
I stand and pace out into the middle of the room, leaving Ethan sitting on the sofa. “I wish I could pull this stupid plug out of my head and just have it all flow back, you know? I need… I don’t know,” I spitball. “I need an escape.”
He smiles.
“Take off your clothes,” he says, his tone darker than I’ve heard it before.
It takes me by surprise. “You mean… what? Strip?”
“Yes,” he says, his eyes perusing my body openly. “I want you to strip for me.”
My breath hitches in my throat because it’s so unexpected.
I look around, but the curtains are drawn. There are no security cameras as far as I can see, though the idea of being captured on video does have its own delicious edge to it.