Mardi Gras Mambo

by Gred Herren

  “Oh, my God! Sasha, where’s Frank? We’ve got to go get him.” I tried to get up but got dizzy again.

  Velma shot a glance over at Sasha and then looked me in the eyes. “I don’t think you should be going anywhere for a while, young man. You just passed out—”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, it was just a trance. I was talking to the Goddess. It happens all the time—”

  “Why don’t you try calling Colin again?” she suggested.

  I glared at her but tried again. I flipped the phone closed when the voice mail picked up. But then an idea came to me. I could use some help....

  I walked over to my desk and got Angela Blackledge’s business card out of the top drawer. Colin had given it to me when we’d opened the office, with strict instructions never to call her unless he was unavailable and it was an emergency.

  I think this definitely qualified as an emergency.

  I called. It rang twice, and then a disembodied voice came on the line: “We are sorry, but the number you are calling is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again.”

  What the fuck?

  I tried again, with the same result. I handed the phone to Velma with the card. “You try.”

  She dialed, then held up the phone so I could hear the message again.

  I sat down hard in my desk chair. Had the whole world gone completely insane?

  There had to be some rational explanation. Maybe Angela had just had her phone number changed. But why didn’t I have the new number?

  Sasha walked over to me and put his big hands on my shoulders. “Is going to be okay, Scotty. Did you see Misha?”

  And then, as I looked up into his face, his bright eyes, the smile on his face, I realized that I wasn’t the only person with problems. “Oh, Sasha,” I whispered, and I started crying. “I’m so so sorry.”

  His entire body went rigid and he stood up completely straight. He bit his lower lip. “Misha dead?”

  He stood there, not moving. His shoulders didn’t shake. He was completely silent. But tears flowed out of his eyes.

  Somehow, this silent, unmoving grief was the saddest thing I’d ever seen.

  I stood up and threw my arms around him. He grabbed on to me, and I braced myself for the rib crushing that was to come. But he held me loosely, and he still didn’t shake—nothing. The only way I knew he was crying was from his breathing.

  Finally, he let go of me and stepped back.

  “Sasha, what exactly happened in Russia?” I asked gently. “You didn’t tell us everything last night, did you?”

  Sasha nodded but didn’t say anything. He reached up and wiped the tears off his expressionless face. He walked back into the living room and sat down on the sofa. Velma and I followed, and we sat down on either side of him, taking his hands.

  Looking straight ahead, Sasha said, “Kafelnikov is very bad man, Scotty. He tied to Chechnyan rebels—and Middle Eastern terrorism. And he trying to move operation out of Russia and into United States . . . which big problem for your country.” Sasha tilted his head up and looked at me. “I was approached by an American agent, yes.” His English was no longer broken. I stared at him. He sounded exactly like Misha had. The accent was barely discernible. But then, the facial resemblance was so uncanny; they all three had looked so much alike.

  “They wanted me to take Pasha’s place with Kafelnikov,” he went on, shaking his head. “I owed it to Pasha. You don’t understand. Pasha wasn’t a bad person.”

  “What!?” I exploded. I stared at him. “Our government asked you to take his place? But that’s not right.” In the back of my head I could hear my mother tsking. “The government isn’t supposed to do a lot of things, Scotty,” she was saying inside my head, “but that doesn’t mean they don’t do it. That’s why we always have to be vigilant.”

  “They promised me to bring Pasha to America and get him off drugs,” Sasha continued. “They trained me for weeks—very intensive training on self-defense and weaponry and so forth. I already was proficient from my days with the Russian army, but they trained me well, and they didn’t want to take any chances. The only problem was Kafelnikov—he was an animal. He couldn’t get enough of Pasha.” He shuddered. “I put him off as long as I could. Repulsive as I found him, somehow I managed to do it. For Pasha. They smuggled Pasha into America—Houston—and put him in a drug hospital, and I took his place.” He closed his eyes. “Viktor was a monster.” He shuddered again. “It was horrible, the things he liked to do. He liked to—no, I don’t want to say.” He looked at me. “I don’t want anyone to ever know.” His eyes were pleading.

  More secrets, more lies.

  “There’s more, isn’t there?” I asked, although I didn’t really want to know.

  “No.” Tears again silently began to leak from his eyes. He looked at me, pleading.

  “Tell me,” I insisted softly.

  “I”—he swallowed—“Pasha was never”—he tapped the side of his head—“he was never smart. He was a simple boy, really sweet and kind. But the drugs changed him. He didn’t care about anything anymore. He was more than Viktor’s lover.”

  “He was part of it, wasn’t he?”

  Sasha nodded. “You have to understand—it was all my fault; I had to save him. . . .” He started to sob. “Pasha was not a monster. He was such a sweet little boy. Sasha and I always had to watch out for him.”

  “Sasha?” I let go of his hand. “You and Sasha had to look out for him?”

  I stared at him. My head was starting to hurt again.

  He stared at me, and then his jaw clenched.

  “You’re Misha, aren’t you?” I couldn’t help myself, the absurdity of it all was too much for me. I started laughing, but then I started crying too. “So, why are you still alive?”

  “What the fuck is going on around here?” Velma held up her hands. “I’m not following this.”

  “You do need a scorecard,” I sighed, wiping my face. “Okay, let me see if I have it right, okay? Correct me if I’m wrong.” I started ticking things off on my fingers. “Papa Diderot had an affair with your mother and got her pregnant. She went back to Russia without telling him she was pregnant. She gave birth to identical triplets—Pasha, Sasha, and Misha. After she died, Misha wrote to Papa Diderot for help. By this time, Pasha had gotten mixed up with drugs, porn, and a really bad Russian gangster. American agents approached Sasha about getting Pasha to turn on the gangster Viktor Kafelnikov.”

  Sasha—Misha—nodded.

  “Okay, then Maman Diderot responded to your letter. She came to Europe with her best friend, Sylvia Overton, who then fell in love with you and you two were married. You came to the United States, and then the American agents swapped Pasha out for Sasha and brought him to the States and put him in rehab. When Pasha got out of rehab, he came to New Orleans and started dealing drugs—I’m assuming Pasha was the one I bought my X from?” He nodded again. “So, when did Sasha get here?”

  Velma still looked confused.

  “His cover was blown a couple of weeks ago,” Misha said, “so they brought him here.”

  “Well, our government did a really shitty job of hiding you all,” I replied. “And how did Pasha find me? Was that a setup?”

  “No, just blind luck. . . .” He ran a hand over his cropped hair. “I knew there was a nephew who lived in the Quarter—a dancer boy. Your grandmother had shown me pictures of you. I saw you leaving Pasha’s once. I couldn’t believe he was selling drugs to his own nephew.” He shook his head.

  “Oh, I left out the part, Velma, where Mom found out about them and wrote to them. Did you look them up?”

  “I looked them up.” He sighed. “It wasn’t hard to find them. Douglas and Cecile, very welcoming and nice, but they told me not to tell you, so I didn’t. Cecile said when the time was right everyone would know, but she didn’t think your grandmother was ready.”

  “She knows now.” I was so tired of the whole mess I just wanted to scream. “In fact, she
knew from the beginning there were three of you.” And to myself, I added, And if everyone had just been honest with everyone, maybe Pasha and Sasha would be alive right now. Fucking secrets and lies. When exactly did my life become a plot borrowed from All My Children anyway?

  There would be time for confronting the family later—once Frank was safe and whoever was killing off my uncles was behind bars.

  That was going to be one hell of a family meeting.

  “So, where are these Russians? Did you recognize them?” I asked.

  “At the Devil’s Weed. I went down the inside staircase and heard someone talking on a cell phone in Russian. I figured, how many Russians can there be in New Orleans? I took your spare keys from your parents.”

  I sighed. Mom and Dad had my keys hanging on their kitchen wall with a sign over it that says “SCOTTY’S SPARES.”

  He continued, “So I followed him. He kept speaking in Russian on his phone; it didn’t make any sense to me. He didn’t see me, so I followed him into the hotel, the one there on the corner. That’s where they are staying.”

  “The Bourbon Orleans?”

  He nodded. “That must be where they have Frank. I know the room.”

  Velma rubbed her hands together. “So, I say we go get him.”

  “Velma—” I didn’t know what to say. I was incredibly touched she wanted to go help rescue Frank, but at the same time it would be dangerous. I wasn’t even sure I was up for it. When it came to rescuing, it was usually Frank or Colin rescuing me.

  I decided to try Colin’s cell phone one last time. I said a quick prayer as I dialed, but I knew even as I said the words in my head that it wasn’t going to work, that there wasn’t going to be an answer.

  Sometimes I hate being right.

  It was up to me, and me alone.

  I was going to go get my man. Or die trying.

  “Stop thinking like that,” I said out loud, shivering. I rubbed my arms to get the goosebumps to go down.

  I walked over to the French doors leading to my balcony. I peered through the curtains. The guy was still there, leaning on the fence watching. I narrowed my eyes.

  “Misha, Velma, come here for a minute,” I said, turning to them. They joined me at the window. “See that guy down there? The one leaning against the fence?”

  “In the ball cap? Yes,” Misha replied. Velma nodded.

  “Want to ambush him? He’s watching the house, and I don’t like that one bit.”

  Misha frowned. “Why is he watching the house?” He gave a low growl in his throat.

  “I don’t know, but there’s not a single good reason I can think of, so he must be up to no good. I say we go down and get him.”

  Misha bared his teeth in a savage grin. “Sounds like fun.” He popped his knuckles. “You think he’s maybe one of the people who killed Pasha and Sasha?”

  “Misha”—I put my hands on his shoulders so we were looking into each other’s faces—“we aren’t going to hurt him, or anything. We just need to overpower him and get him up here. He might have some answers, some information we need.”

  “If he killed my brothers, I will get answers out of him,” he said grimly, rubbing his big hands together.

  I started to say we couldn’t break the law by hurting the guy, but I stopped myself. I couldn’t blame Misha for how he felt; the reality was if they’d hurt Frank in any way, I might not be able to stop myself from inflicting some damage on him. I smiled back at him. “And then we’re going to go get Frank—you want to help me with that?” Fuck you, Colin. I don’t need your help—or your permission—and we are going to have a serious chat later, I added under my breath.

  Colin always said that the more complicated the plan, the more likely things were to go wrong. Bearing that in mind, I kept the plan very simple.

  The tricky part was going to be getting Misha out of the apartment without being noticed. This is where Velma came in handy. She quickly explained something I didn’t know—that in the shed at the back of the courtyard was a door that opened out into a small alley that came out in a parking lot on Barracks Street. We decided that Misha would go out that way, solving that problem. Velma and I would go through the back door into the coffee shop. Once we saw Misha on the opposite corner of Barracks and Decatur, Velma would go back out into the courtyard and come out through the front gate. She would cross the street and distract the guy, which would be the cue for Misha and me to make our move and subdue him. Velma was a little disappointed I wouldn’t let her use her frying pan on him, but I promised her if he wasn’t willing to talk after we dragged him back upstairs, I’d let her.

  Simple, right? I said a quick prayer, we had a group hug for success, and put our plan into motion.

  After Misha went out the shed door, Velma and I casually entered the coffee shop through the back door.

  “This is kind of fun,” Velma whispered. I shushed her.

  The coffee shop was pretty empty. The college girl who’d been working earlier looked at me funny when I came out of the hallway but didn’t say anything. I headed over to the window tables and sat down at one right next to the door and peered out. I didn’t see Misha, and I felt my blood start pumping a lot faster. Come on, Misha, I said to myself. Where are you? The guy didn’t seem to have noticed anything; he was still standing there, every once in a while scanning the people walking up and down Decatur Street. A few eternal moments ticked by, and then I saw Misha across the street. His eyes met mine, and I nodded. “Velma—”

  She’d already gotten up and was heading across the street. I sat there, barely breathing, hoping against hope she’d be okay, and then she was there, right in front of him, shielding the coffee shop door from his line of sight.

  “Attagirl!” I grinned.

  I got up from my window table and ran out the front door. Just as I did, Misha shouted. That wasn’t part of the plan, I realized, and started running across the street. Velma threw herself at the guy. She pressed him back into the fence just as the guy turned his head and stared at Misha, eyes widening in recognition. He shoved Velma away and she fell into the street. Then he started to reach inside his coat—it all seemed to happen in slow motion. I ran across the street just as the guy’s hand came out . . . and I saw that he was holding a gun, and he was aiming it at Misha . . . and without stopping to think, or even being aware of what I was doing, my heart pounding in my ears, I leapt into the air and kicked him in the wrist. I wasn’t even aware that I was yelling. His wrist slammed into the iron fence and the gun flew into the grass on the other side. A jolt of pain went up my leg, and I fell, landing on my side on the ground, all the breath being knocked out of me, and I felt even more pain. I hope I didn’t break a rib or something, I thought, wincing a bit, still not able to believe I had actually kicked the gun out of his hand. He crumpled to the sidewalk clutching his wrist, his eyes staring at me in shock and anger as Misha came running up. I got to my feet and stared at him, rage coursing through me.

  “Shut the fuck up,” I said crossly as Misha grabbed his arm and locked it behind his back. I reached through the fence and my fingers closed around the barrel of his gun. I slipped it into the back of my pants after making sure the safety was on. I helped Velma to her feet. “You okay, Aunty?”

  “I’m fine.” She got right in the guy’s face. “No thanks to you, asshole. Is that any way to treat a lady?”

  “Fuck you!” he spat at her.

  Misha threw a good, hard punch to his jaw, and his entire body went limp and he sagged back against the fence.

  “That’s for not treating the nice lady with respect, asshole,” Misha said, rearing his fist back for another punch.

  People were staring, I realized, as I grabbed Misha’s arm. “Stop, Misha, no!” Misha was too strong, and for a moment I was afraid he would throw me aside and keep beating on the guy. But then the rage in Misha’s eyes faded, and he dropped his arm.

  “Help me,” I said. “We need to get him inside, remember?”

 
; Misha nodded, knelt down and picked the guy up like he didn’t weigh anything, and threw him over his shoulder.

  A small crowd had gathered, watching us across the street. They parted for us, their faces white with shock, their mouths open as we walked across the street, and I unlocked the gate. “Happy Mardi Gras, y’all.” I gave them a smile. “Nothing to see here. Have a great time!” I stood aside as Misha carried him past. I gave them all a brief nod and then shut the gate behind me.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The Devil, Reversed

  removing the chains of bondage

  The guy moaned all the way up to the apartment.

  I led the way, hoping he wasn’t moaning loud enough for Millie and her guests to hear. I wasn’t quite sure how I’d explain this to them. I can usually think pretty quickly on my feet, but what on earth could I say about having a Russian carrying a man with a swollen wrist up the back stairs? Excuse us, ladies, sorry we bothered you, but it’s nothing to be concerned about. Oh, his wrist is swelling up? He’s a little drunk is all and fell on the sidewalk. Call an ambulance? Um, no, I think he’s going to be okay. Just some ice and ibuprofen and he’ll be right as rain.

  Yeah, right.

  All I could do was pray they wouldn’t hear us. By the time we’d gotten him inside my apartment and Misha had set him down on the couch, his wrist was swelling up really bad. Looking at it made me queasy and also made me feel bad. I still couldn’t believe I’d leapt through the air like that, let alone maybe broken this guy’s wrist. I hate violence. Even though I know it’s sometimes necessary, I tend to avoid it whenever humanly possible. I left Misha to tie him up while I dashed into the bathroom to look for the pain pills prescribed for me when I’d had my wisdom teeth out the year before. I’m a pretty quick healer, so after the first day of misery and swelling I hadn’t had to take any more of the pills. I said a quick prayer as I dug through the medicine cabinet, asking the Goddess to forgive me for resorting to violence. I couldn’t remember exactly where I’d put the little brown bottle of pills, but I knew I hadn’t thrown it away; you never throw away perfectly good prescription pain pills. After a few moments, I found it hidden behind a half-used can of shaving cream. I shook two out into my hand and filled a glass with water.