by Bella King
She squints at me but doesn’t debate the point. I’m sure she’s happy to get it at her original asking price. I’m too tired from the events of today to debate with her any longer. I probably wouldn’t get very far with it anyway.
“Just talk with my accountant on your way out. You know the drill,” I say, closing the latches on the suitcase and pulling it off the table between us.
“Enjoy the guns,” she says, heading toward the door.
“Oh, and the code has changed,” I say, remembering that I’ve had to give my accountant a new code word to authorize expenses since we’re tightening security.
“What is it?” she asks over her shoulder, pausing with her hand on the copper door handle.
“Elaine,” I answer.
Chapter Six
Elaine
“Thirty-thousand rubles,” the pudgy male receptionist at the front desk grumbles as I roll up with my single suitcase full of luggage.
“Thirty?” I ask, thinking that sounds a bit high.
The receptionist nods.
I narrow my eyes at him, propping my suitcase against the cheap wooden desk and pulling out a small black handbag from the giant pocket of my coat. One thing about these Russians, they sure do know how to make pockets. I could fit half my belongings in this coat if I wanted to.
I brought much more than that with me, but I’m suspicious that he’s overcharging me for my stay. I’ve been here for over a week, but I assumed it would cost something closer to twenty-five thousand rubles, not thirty.
I look up from my handbag, my fingers pinching several ten-thousand ruble notes. “Wasn’t it supposed to be twenty-five?”
The receptionist shakes his head, his eyelids coming down in annoyance. “Twenty-five for the room, and five for your guest.”
I recoil. “I didn’t have any guests.”
“Nikolai Volkov,” he replies.
“Wait a second,” I say, even more suspicious of him now. “How do you know about Nikolai?”
“Everyone knows who Nikolai Volkov is. He came running through the lobby the other night, shooting a gun inside. I wish they would keep their criminal nonsense out of this hotel,” he explains.
“So, he really is a mafia boss,” I say, shaking my head. “I’ll be damned.”
“You will be damned if you don’t pay for his stay here,” the receptionist snaps. “You’re lucky I don’t charge you more for the commotion.”
“Oh, but he didn’t stay,” I say hurriedly, pulling out three crisp ten-thousand ruble notes from my handbag and moving them slowly toward the desk.
“I didn’t see him leave,” the receptionist says, pursing his lips and folding his arms across his chest in a challenging stance.
“He left out the back,” I say. “Listen, I’m sorry about him. I didn’t know he was part of the mafia. That’s wild.”
“Indeed,” the receptionist says, looking more at the money in my hand than at me.
“Alright,” I say, placing the rubles on the coffee-stained reception desk. “Have a nice day.”
The receptionist gives me a forced smile and snatches the money off the desk. I clasp a gloved hand around the suitcase and pull it away with me, walking toward the door while stuffing my handbag back into my oversized coat pocket.
I brace myself for the cold, but I’m sorely unprepared for it as I break out into the late-morning chill. The air is so cold that it’s painful against my pale skin, turning my cheeks a blotchy pink the moment the wind picks up.
It only takes a few steps for me to regret going out without a hat on. A few more steps, and I’m considering turning right back around and holing myself up in the hotel until spring. Just a few more steps, and I stop to wave down a taxi. I’m close enough to walk to the airport but too cold to justify freezing my ass off to save three-hundred rubles.
What’s that? Five bucks?
I’m more afraid of the drivers not speaking English than anything, which is why I didn’t take one when I arrived at the airport. That’s silly, though, considering how many international people must be traveling to and from the airport. The driver is bound to speak enough English to get me there.
I spot a bright yellow taxi parked against the curb. It’s impossible to miss amongst the dreary silver and black cars rolling down the pale road outside the hotel.
I dash up to the car, trying not to look like a desperate tourist while ultimately failing miserably at it. The driver steps out to help me with my luggage, grabbing it from my hands and tossing it into the trunk.
“I’m going to the airport,” I say as he walks back to the driver’s side of the car.
He doesn’t pay attention to what I say, but perhaps the street is too noisy for him to hear me.
I jump into the back seat and lean forward as he takes the taxi out of park. “To the airport, please.”
He turns his head and frowns, saying something in Russian.
“English?” I ask hopefully, but the look on his face tells me I won’t get that pleasure. “Airport? Planes?” I make a motion with my hand that I hope symbolizes a plane flying through the air, trying to seem polite.
“Airport,” he says back to me.
“Right,” I say, jumping up in my seat. “I need to go to the airport.”
The driver shakes his head and pulls the taxi out into the loose traffic, speeding off in the direction of the airport. The acceleration throws me back into my seat, and I let out a sigh, happy to be on my way home.
Thank god I’m getting out of here. Russia is beautiful but too damn cold.
I wonder what happened to Nikolai when he escaped out from the fire exit. I’m sure I would have heard about him in the news if he had been killed. Even the hotel receptionist knew who he was, which means he must be a notable member of the bratva.
Considering what I know now, I have a hell of a story to tell my friends when I return to the states. I hooked up with a mafia boss without even knowing it. Imagine that!
I smile to myself, remembering the way his hands moved over my body and clutched my breasts with such primal energy. He knew how to make a woman like me feel brand new. I’ve never had sex like that before in my life, and I wouldn’t mind experiencing it a few thousand more times.
Let’s just hope that nothing unfortunate comes from having unprotected sex with a man like Nikolai. Any man without a condom wouldn’t be the safest move, but some men are riskier than others. I could’ve been more cautious with Nikolai.
I promise myself that I’ll be more careful once I get back home. The adventure in Russia has been lovely, and there was a thrilling twist at the end, but it’s time to get back to business. My next book isn’t going to write itself.
I’m going to pull a bit of inspiration from my encounter with Nikolai, because why not? I think that’s what my next book needs – a bit more excitement. I’ve had enough of it already, but fantasy is different. You can live out much grander things without leaving the comfort and warmth of your home. What could be better?
“A thousand,” the driver barks as the taxi stutters to a stop in front of a completely empty airport parking lot.
“That’s too much,” I say, not letting him get one over me. I’m not in a hurry. I arrived early specifically so that the taxi driver wouldn’t take advantage of me.
“Eight-hundred,” he says, holding out his hand.
“Three-hundred,” I reply, already pulling the money out of my purse.
The man bellows out a few choice words, jabbing his hand out toward me. Even in Russian, I can tell that he’s cursing. I don’t care because I know better than to let his anger fool me. I place three-hundred rubles in his palm and jump out of the taxi, moving around back to grab my suitcase.
The taxi starts to drive away as I approach the trunk.
“Hey,” I exclaim, waving my hands in the air. I’m unsure if the driver is just a dick or if he has forgotten that my suitcase is in the back. Either way, he’s taking off with it.
The ta
xi doesn’t stop. It speeds away through the barren parking lot, taking all of my stuff with it. That’s only one of my concerns now, however. Now that I notice how empty the parking lot is, I know something must be awry.
I look around, a shiver running through me as a breeze rolls through the empty parking lot. The only thing on the asphalt is my brown leather boots and a dusting of snow. There isn’t a single car in the lot.
Okay, calm down. You’re just early.
I’m early, and this is a small airport, but I would expect at least one other person to be here. The workers would be inside, and they would have driven here and parked their cars in the parking lot. Something else is going on.
I walk up to the sliding glass doors, and my stomach churns as I see bright red letters graffitied across the foggy glass. It’s in Russian, but it doesn’t look like anything nice. I pull out my phone to attempt a translation only to remember that I still don’t have a sim card. How stupid was I to come here without one?
I’m thoroughly regretting that decision now. I may have survived Nikolai’s run-in with his enemies, but I’ll freeze to death in this empty airport if I don’t find another taxi or shelter soon. Without a hat to warm my head, my brains will turn to strawberry ice cream.
Chapter Seven
Elaine
Even through my gloves, my fingers are starting to go numb. God, why did I have to choose this place? I could be home with a cup of coffee in my hands and a cursor blinking on a fresh document, waiting for me to write my next masterpiece.
I can’t let myself get caught up in self-pity, however seductive it may be. I’ve done enough of that already since my ex broke up with me. I’ve gotten better about suffering over him, especially since I hooked up with Nikolai. It’s funny how one good night can send you down the road to heal from a thousand bad ones.
I stare at the neon red spray paint that decorates the airport entrance. The building is obviously closed, but why? I bought a ticket, and I have a flight to get on. There isn’t a soul in sight, which is starting to give me the creeps.
I’d better get to a shop or somewhere that I can find someone who speaks English to ask them what’s going on. This was the airport that I arrived at a little over a week ago, and now it’s a ghost town. It’s unsettling.
The hum of a car engine interrupts my thoughts. A black G-Wagon, a luxury vehicle, rolls up on me slowly. They’re probably another confused person trying to get to their flight. I wave my hand to let them know that I’m in need of assistance.
The car pulls up to me, and a window comes down. Inside, there is a driver and a man, both bald and wearing sunglasses despite the overcast weather. I have an uneasy feeling about them, but there’s nowhere for me to go anyway. I’ll have to speak to them.
“What are you doing here?” the man in the passenger’s seat asks in English, leaning out the window almost far enough to fall out. He’s still Russian, judging by his thick accent, but at least he knows my native tongue.
“I have a flight today. What happened to the airport?” I ask, stepping closer to the car.
“It was canceled,” he says, a smile flickering across his pale lips.
“Flights are canceled today? Why?” I ask, confused. I didn’t get any notice of this.
“No, the airport is canceled forever. I suggest you leave,” the man replies, keeping his words short and choppy.
“Why?” I ask, shaking my head.
This is crazy. I didn’t think that airports could just close down like that without any notice. Did they go bankrupt?
“Read the sign,” the man says, jabbing his finger toward the graffiti on the building doors.
“I don’t understand Russian,” I reply.
“Then allow me to translate,” he says, his voice showing clear signs of irritation. “This is Fedorov territory. Trespassers will be shot.”
A feeling of dread washes over me. The car that these men are driving is the same type of car that Nikolai was hiding behind when he was being shot at outside the hotel the other night. Fedorov could be the name of a Russian gang. Are they with the same mafia as Nikolai, or are they with a different group?
“I’ll be sure to leave right away. Thank you,” I say to the questionable man leaning out of the window. I pull the collar of my coat tight over the side of my face and start to walk away, making good work of the pavement beneath my feet.
“Hey, not so fast,” he calls out to me.
I can hear the sound of small rocks crackling beneath the heavy tires of the G-Wagon as it starts to follow me. I break out into a run, throwing caution to the wind and going with my instinct on this one. I’ve already lost my luggage. I’m not going to let these men take anything else from me.
“Get back here, woman!”
Hell-to-the-no, I will not get back there. That seems like the worst of my options right now, which are growing slimmer as I run toward the end of the sidewalk.
My heart is beating faster than it did when I was running after Nikolai at the hotel, thundering in my chest like it wants to escape between my ribs. The air freezes my lungs, rushing in with every gulp and burning them with icy fury. It’s pure pain, but it’s better than getting caught by a couple of thugs in a deserted parking lot.
I’m running toward the end of the sidewalk, and there’s no way I’m going to be able to escape from these men without leaping over a fence or going inside of the airport. I know it’s closed, but it didn’t look like there was anyone inside to stop me from rushing in if I need to.
I look back to see the car barreling toward me with two tires on the sidewalk and two on the pavement. I thought they would want to rob or assault me, but it looks like they want to kill me instead.
I leap toward the building, my boots slipping against the thin ice that’s beginning to collect on the gritty sidewalk as my shoulder grazes the harsh gray exterior wall of the airport. I spot a door and run for it, praying that it will open.
My hand closes against the cold handle, and I yank it as though I would be able to rip the door from its hinges.
A girl can dream.
The door flies open, much to my surprise and relief, and I throw my body inside, slamming it shut. I scan the door for a bolt lock, but the only one on it would require a key. I guess that’s why it’s not locked.
Turning around, I can see the interior of the airport fairly well, even though no lights are on. There is a skylight that’s letting in the deep gray daylight. The sun is too much to ask for in times like these. I’m lucky to have any light at all.
I doubt that I’ll be able to find weapons here, considering where I am, but I may be able to find another exit that’s discrete enough to get me away from the thugs chasing after me. I make my way across the lonely lobby toward the security check.
The first thing I’m doing when I get out of here is traveling to another airport that’s open and buying a ticket out of here. I’ve had enough adventure to last me a lifetime. I didn’t come to Russia to get involved in the mafia.
I jump through the scanners, half expecting them to beep as I pass through. They always seem to do that, no matter how little metal I have on my body. There’s always something that sets them off. I’m almost convinced that they’re rigged to go off randomly.
By the time the thugs are in the airport with me, I want to be out of sight. I slam my shoulder into a metal door, sending it flying open into the main airport area. I wish I could travel like this every time. I would love to get through security this quickly.
Even though it’s deathly cold outside, the interior of the airport is still surprisingly warm, as though this place was only abandoned yesterday. The power might still be on. The more I think about it, the stranger this situation seems.
If the Fedorov bratva has taken over the airport, why haven’t any police come to fight them off? Isn’t mafia occupation of an airport a serious international safety risk? I would have expected to see the military crawling over this place, unless they’re afraid of th
e mafia.
I’m in over my head, but if I manage to get out of here alive, I’m going to distance myself from this mess no matter how much I have to pay the taxi driver. I’ll hand over my last ruble if it means getting away from the bratva.
I slide to a halt a few yards from the boarding exit, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows with my mouth hanging open. Outside, there are planes abandoned on the runway, as though everyone working at this small Russian airport just vanished into thin air. There isn’t a single soul in sight.
It looks the same as it would if a thousand people were huddled around the boarding door, waiting eagerly to jump aboard the next plane that pulls in. The only thing that’s out of place is an odd gray-green canister on the floor.
I walk up to it and give it a tap with the point of my boot. It rolls over, making a hollow metallic sound as it moves. There’s text in white letters stenciled in white on the side. It reads: Phenolide-11.
Chapter Eight
Nikolai
“We have some bad news,” Alek says, appearing at the doorway of the break room as I take a bite of scrambled eggs.
I haven’t even finished my breakfast, and I’m already getting an update. This can’t be good. “When don’t we have bad news?” I ask, picking up a napkin and wiping my mouth.
This year has been a string of unfortunate events, one after another. The bratva can’t seem to catch a break, and the fire is only getting hotter. The Fedorov bratva has been closing in on us with surprising force, and their territory reach has expanded aggressively. I assume that it has something to do with their mysterious new leadership.
Alek takes a deep breath, and I can see the sweat on his forehead. He’s nervous, which is a bad sign. “The Fedorov bratva has taken over the airport in the southern portion of the city. We have reason to believe that they’re planning something big.”
I nearly choke on my eggs. “The airport? Do they want the government to roll their tanks into the city and blow us all the bits?”