Almost Broken Up (Almost Bad Boys)

by Peart, A. O.

“What are you doing?” Ali asks. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna glue this back together.”

  “Not at all. But I’m not leaving the proof that I broke it.”

  I look at Ali and mockingly lift my eyebrows. “That’s how you hide the evidence. I just learned something new.”

  We file out through the back door—the way we came—and then around the corner to Svetlana’s car. Ali and Josh are walking behind me and Svetlana, giggling and whispering like two freakin’ teens. Svetlana takes the kitten from me and kisses it on the top of its head, crooning something in Russian. Josh says a goodbye and gets in his car parked in front of Catherine’s house.

  “What the hell was that gun-waving circus about?” I ask Svetlana, angrily. “Couldn’t you at least give us a heads-up that you carry?”

  Svetlana gives me a sideways glance. “I always carry. It’s a… a… wait.” She frowns in concentration. “A professional hazard.” She seems pleased with herself for remembering the correct English phrase.

  “Oh, great. Do you at least have a permit for this piece?”

  “Uhm… no, because I’m not a citizen. I only have the green card. Got it through the Lottery.”

  I sigh. Deeply and long. “So if the cops stop you, what would you do?”

  “Why would they want to look in my purse? I’m not doing anything wrong.” Svetlana opens the door to her car, and we all get in—me in the front and Ali in the back.

  No, breaking into someone’s house and threatening a person with an illegal gun is absolutely not wrong. This is all soooo unbelievable, but a headache is starting to build up behind my eyes, so I stop talking. Whatever.

  The kitty is meowing when Svetlana gives it back to me to hold it while she drives. It tries to jump off my lap, but I hold it firmly. That brings another bout of meows, and I feel the tiny but freakishly sharp claws raking at my thigh. “Argh, stop it.” I examine the damage. There is a hole and a quickly moving run in my delicate stocking.

  “She’s hungry,” Svetlana comments.

  “And totally pissed off,” I mutter.

  “Oh, sorry,” she apologizes, noticing my ruined stocking. “Thank you. Both of you.” She looks at me, and then quickly at Ali.

  I raise my eyebrows. “You’re welcome, but for what exactly? You could’ve easily managed all this on your own. Especially with that gun of yours.”

  Svetlana starts the car and is quiet for a long moment, her eyes fixed on the road. When she finally speaks, her voice is soft, “I don’t have any girlfriends here. No family either. There is only Andrei but… you know, that’s not the same. Catherine, the French woman, pretended to be my friend. But she’s just a thief and a cheat. I always have to watch my back around her. Same with Amelie.”

  “Just don’t pull another stunt like the one with your gun, and we can be buddies,” I tell her.

  “Amen to that, sister,” Ali adds from the back seat. “Where the hell did you get that piece anyway? That Andrei guy?”

  “Of course.” Svetlana shrugs. “It’s a good gun. A bit big, but I like it. Easy to use.”

  “Do you realize it’s illegal to carry concealed without a permit? You can get your ass hauled back to Russia if you get caught with it.” I turn to look at her.

  She doesn’t say anything.

  “It probably has the serial number filed off too.” My dad is a retired cop, so while my friends grew up watching Disney Princesses movies, I watched Miami Vice reruns and NYPD Blue. I spent more time at the shooting range with Daddy than baking pink-frosted cupcakes with Mom. The truth is, I know more about guns than I want to admit.

  Svetlana gives me a sideways glance.

  “The bullets are unmarked too, right? Made by some gangsta-wannabe in his trailer home?”

  “You know a lot about these things. Watch CSI often?” Svetlana snorts and grins at me.

  “Yeah, sure.” I laugh. “Actually, my dad is a retired cop.”

  She turns her head to me and looks at me sharply.

  “Relax. I said he’s a retired cop.” I sigh. “Listen. It’s none of my business, but maybe you should consider a lifestyle change. Sooner or later you’ll run into trouble.”

  “I know,” she says somberly. “But as I told you, Andrei won’t let me go just because I want to. He’s the one who pulls the strings. Soon Andrei will get bored with me and will find another girl. I must wait for the right moment.”

  Ali leans forward and gently pats Svetlana’s shoulder. “Just be careful. You seem like a great girl. I would hate to see you get hurt.” Then she glances at me as for confirmation and says, “Maybe you should get together with us and our other girlfriends sometime. But the gun stays home.”

  Svetlana’s eyes open wide at Ali’s comment. For a moment I wonder if it’s because she won’t consider not packing. But she smiles, meeting Ali’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “I would love to get together again… in better circumstances of course.”

  TEN

  “Insanity is relative. It depends on who has who locked in what cage.”

  Ray Bradbury

  Svetlana drops me off at my place and drives off to take Ali home. I walk into my apartment and close the door behind me.

  I need a break after all the nonsense of the evening. And I better call Colin right away. As soon as I fish my cell phone out from my purse, the phone in my bedroom rings. Colin usually calls me on my cell phone, but this might be my parents.

  I pick up and say, “Hello.” I sound tired even to my own ears.

  “Hello, beautiful.” The voice in the receiver is a strange whisper, and I immediately think it must be a wrong number. Some guy, calling a girlfriend or wife misdialed and is making an ass out of himself.

  “Wrong number, sorry.”

  “No, it’s not a wrong number, Natalie,” he chuckles.

  What the hell? Who’s this joker?

  “Who’s this?” I’m getting irritated and considering hanging up.

  “You have such a gorgeous body. And hair. I like reddish blondes. They are rare,” he whispers.

  A shiver runs along my spine, and my hands start to tremble. This is not funny. “Whatever, asshole.” I hang up, shaking my head in exasperation. But a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach starts building up, and somehow I know this wasn’t a prank. Who was that guy? What’s going on? I run to the front door and double check if it’s locked. Next, I’m checking all the windows and closing the curtains. By now my heart is pounding in my chest, and I breathe heavily.

  I peak between the curtains onto the street outside. I’m on the third floor with a good view of the area. The street is lit by a row of the old fashion lights. There are people walking outside, which doesn’t surprise me even at this time of night. Capitol Hill is a lively neighborhood that never really sleeps. My eyes dart from one point to another, trying to see anything suspicious when my phone rings again.

  The sound startles me. My heart bounces on top of my stomach, and I feel like throwing up. This is really freaky. I’m not going to pick up. The answering machine kicks in with my nonchalantly-sounding voice announcing that I’m unavailable and to leave a message. The beep echoes, and I hear the same creep, quietly laughing, and then whispering, “Pick up, pick up. I know you’re there, sweetheart. I just want to hear your sexy voice. Come on, pick up!” He’s not laughing or whispering anymore, but instead he sounds angry.

  And I get seriously freaked out. That’s it. I’m disconnecting the phone. I reach behind my nightstand and yank the phone cord from the wall. The recording stops, and I sit heavily on the bed.

  Does this have something to do with my crazy escapade tonight? Is this someone from Svetlana’s gang-related crowd? No, that’s not possible. I only gave her my cell phone number. Besides, she wouldn’t give it to anyone. But maybe someone saw us breaking into Catherine’s house? That doesn’t make sense either. How would they even know me? Or maybe it’s Amelie’s doing? Maybe she asked some asshole to scare me shitless. No, that doesn’t add up either. I
f it was her, those calls would go to Svetlana, not me. Amelie doesn’t even know my name.

  I need to call Svetlana. And Ali—to see if she’s received some crazy calls too. With trembling hands, I grab my cell phone and, for a moment, consider dialing Colin instead. But he’s on the other side of the country and can’t help me right away. No sense in scaring him and making him jump on the first plane over. I need to figure this out on my own.

  I’m texting Ali to see if she’s okay. She texts right back, saying that she’s in her bed, falling asleep. She adds, “Alone.”

  Good. At least nobody is stalking her. I decide to wait with telling Ali about the phone creep till tomorrow. I call Svetlana. Maybe she will have a clue.

  She answers on the first ring, “Natalie?”

  “Yes. Listen, are you okay?”

  Svetlana takes a moment to comment, “Yes. Why? Something wrong?”

  I fill her in about the weird phone calls. When I finish, she says, “I don’t think this has anything to do with Catherine or Amelie. They don’t know you, and they wouldn’t call you or Ali. How would they even have your phone number or know your name? Besides, as crazy as she is, Amelie’s not the kind of person who would get someone to call you like that. I’m sure of it.”

  “I’m freaked out. This wasn’t a random phone call. He knew my name. He knows how I look!”

  “You’ve never received such phone calls before?” Svetlana asks.

  “Hell no.”

  “Okay, so was there anything weird that maybe happened in the last few days?”

  Except befriending a Russian mobster’s girlfriend, breaking into an eclectic art collector’s home who stole a jewelry-eating kitten, witnessing cougar-escort sex, and a debt payoff with designer shoes at gun point? No, nothing effin’ else! How do I get myself into such messes? And then it hits me… the creep from the Doors to Hades nightclub!

  “Wait. There was that weirdo in the dance club,” I tell her the whole story.

  “What exactly did he say to you there? I mean, the first time he talked to you—outside the Doors to Hades?” she asks.

  “He said to tell Colin… that’s my boyfriend, that Razor is back. And something that this is just the beginning, and that Colin will pay for what he did to her. I have no idea who or what he was referring to. Colin didn’t know either. We thought the creep mistook me for someone else.”

  “Okay,” she says slowly. “Plug the phone back in and wait for the next call—”

  “Are you insane?”

  “Wait. I have a plan.” How can she sound so calm? “Just let me explain and do as I tell you.”

  Okay, boss. I roll my eyes.

  “If he calls, you let him talk. Even if it’s just crap that you have no desire to hear. We need to know if he’s close by. He called as soon as you turned the lights on, right? That means he knows where you live and he’s watching your windows—”

  “What? Fuck no!” My hands start to shake uncontrollably, and I feel my knees go weak.

  “Natalie, I will bring two of my guys with me. They are good at what they do, trust me. We’ll get him, but we must know where he is.”

  I’m about to start hyperventilating, but I try to pull myself together. “Okay, okay.” As I stand up from my bed and take a step toward the window, Svetlana says in her measured, no-nonsense voice, “And do not go look out the windows now or he will know you’re trying to see if he’s close by.”

  Geez, is she a mind reader or something? I stop myself and, instead, go back to plug my phone back in. If I could only take a little peak between those closed curtains.

  “What the hell am I supposed to say to that creep when he calls? Do I really have to pick up?”

  “Just lead him on to see if he’s outside and if so, where. Let’s say, you stand by the window and brush your hair. If he comments on that, you will know right away he’s seeing you. Then ask him something to figure out where exactly he is, but be careful not to let him know what you’re doing. Make sense?”

  “You’ve done this before?” I squeak.

  She sighs. “Let’s just say, you don’t want to know what I’ve had to do before.”

  Great. This is insane. Normally, I would call Dad right away, but he and Mom are on their cruise, and I don’t want to spoil their fun. Maybe I should call Dad’s friends from the precinct or his PI buddy, instead of relying on the freakin’ Russian mafia? But last time I did, when he and Mom were travelling, things didn’t turn out well for me. Someone broke into my storage unit downstairs and stole a few boxes of some old, useless crap, including the hideous vase Mom brought from Greece for my birthday. Of course the vase was on the list of stolen items. Mom had a fit about me putting her precious gift in storage instead of properly displaying it in my apartment. Let’s just say, this has been one of many small disagreements Mom and me had in the past year. So I really don’t want to involve my parents in anything that could possibly get solved without their knowledge. Svetlana’s thugs seem like a better option with every passing moment.

  The phone rings, and I yelp. Svetlana immediately says, “Keep the cell phone to your ear and pick up the other phone. This way you can hear me, and I can clearly hear too what you’re saying to him. We’re on our way. I just texted the guys.

  Easier said than done. I take a deep breath and pick up the receiver. “Hello.” I manage to keep my voice steady.

  “Ah, Natalie,” the creep says slowly, his voice dripping with a syrupy sweetness. I’m about to gag.

  “What the fuck do you want?” I snap.

  Svetlana hisses in my other ear. “Play along.”

  Right. I catch a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror. I walk there to see the idiotic scene better: holding a phone to each ear, elbows out, I look like a complete moron. I see the scarf, hanging limply around my neck and immediately remember the earlier craziness of the day—breaking into Catherine’s house with the scarf wrapped around my face. Geez, how do I get myself tangled up into these situations?

  The creep continues in my left ear, “Such a pretty girl, and such a dirty mouth.”

  “I’m sorry. Do we know each other?” I try. Nothing better comes to mind. I hope this will do. “I can’t place your voice.”

  He chuckles quietly, just like the phone stalkers do in the movies. Maybe that’s where he gets his ideas. Okay, I can play that game. Or so I hope, because my whole body is quivering, and my heart is beating some crazy staccato rhythm against my ribs.

  The psycho whispers, “Maybe we do. Maybe we don’t. Or maybe… I know you, but you don’t know me.”

  I refuse to give in to panic. I’m my father’s daughter after all, and there is no way in hell some ass-wipe is going to ruin my evening.

  “So what’s your name?” I try to sound upbeat and flirtatious even, which makes me want to throw up. Besides, my acting abilities do not extend past the role of a Munchkin in the Wizard of Oz production when I was in second grade.

  “What do you want it to be?”

  I want it to be Hang-Up-And-Disappear. But, instead, I say, “How about your real name?”

  Svetlana whispers in my right ear, “You are doing great. We’re getting in the car. Will be there soon. If you decide to stand in the window, don’t let him see that you’re holding the cell phone to your other ear.”

  Ah, that. I totally forgot. I press my right elbow to my side and shake my hair down so it hides the cell phone in my hand. I pull my scarf with my teeth to cover my arm. There—nobody can even tell that my arm is up.

  I live in the corner unit with most windows facing the street. But the window in my spare bedroom is on the perpendicular side of the building. There is a small patch, where in summer some of the neighbors, including old Mrs. Yeng, plant flowers and tend to the tiny vegetable garden. Right now the fenced garden contains only upturned dirt ready for the spring planting. If the stalker is hiding on this side of the building and not on the street side, the only place would be around the old house that sits direct
ly between the apartment building and the garden.

  I know the elderly couple that lives in that house. They keep an undisclosed amount of cats and two huge dogs that look totally mean, but in reality are suckers for behind-the-ears scratches and back rubs. So where the hell is he?

  “You want to know my real name?” The creep chuckles. Nobody uses it anymore. Just call me Razor.”

  I gulp. Razor? That confirms he is the asshole from Doors to Hades! His words from that night are as vivid as ever: Tell that fucking boyfriend of yours that Razor is back. This is just the beginning. He will pay for what he did to her.

  To her… to whom? Hell on wheels.

  “Natalie,” Svetlana whispers in my ear. “Is he talking? You need to lead him on. Remember?”

  Shit, but what do I say now? I clear my throat and say, “Razor, huh? That’s your nickname?”

  “Something like that,” he says. “Do you want to know how I got it?”

  Not really. “Sure.”

  I carved a smile on someone’s face. He was an uptight son of a bitch and beat his girlfriend all the time. And then I carved a heart on someone else’s chest, because the asshole didn’t love his wife and cheated on her. Another one got a cross on his back for stealing from homeless women. Do you want to hear more?

  Who is this psycho? An angel of freakin’ justice? I imagine a tall, winged figure wielding a huge blazing sword. Okay, Natalie, focus.

  “So you punish the wrongdoers?” I ask, getting even more disturbed by his confession.

  “Exactly. One by one. Each of them gets the prize he deserves,” he whispers.

  “And now you’re calling me. Did I do something to—”

  “Not you!” he roars, and I jump, dropping my cell phone to the floor. I quickly pick it up.

  Svetlana is asking what’s going on, but I can’t talk to her without letting the creep know that someone else is listening. She knows that, so I just keep quiet.

  “It was him. The man you are with. He killed her!”

  I’m stunned. Colin? What? “What do you mean? Killed whom? When?”

  “Faith. My Faith,” his voice breaks. He’s sobbing. Okay, this is getting even more bizarre.