The birthday girl

by Stephen Leather

  'Well, Allison, Mr Sabatino didn't tell us that he was expecting anyone.' He looked her up and down, taking in the short dress and the long legs. 'You're his type, though.'

  'That's for sure,' his colleague said. 'I'll take her up.'

  Mersiha followed him up the stairs to the offices. The man was huge, almost as wide as he was tall, and the tuxedo was stretched tight across his shoulders. 'Wait here,' he said over his shoulder, and knocked on one of the doors. It opened and he exchanged words with someone inside. The door opened further and the man in the tuxedo waved Mersiha over. 'You lied to me, girl.

  But he'll see you anyway.' His smile suggested that he knew something she didn't, and Mersiha shivered.

  Sabatino was sitting behind a large desk next to a bank of television monitors that showed what was going on downstairs.

  His gaze wandered down her body, lingering over her breasts and thighs. Mersiha felt like a show dog being weighed up for first or second place. Another man stood slightly behind Sabatino, his back to a window, chewing on a cigar. He could have been one of the men she'd seen in Sabatino's car, good-looking but with mean eyes.

  'So, what can I do you for… Allison?' Sabatino asked.

  Mersiha tried to make herself look as vacant as possible, figuring that Sabatino wouldn't be attracted to anyone with more than a handful of brain cells. Vacant but sexy. It seemed to be working because Sabatino leaned forward to get a better look. 'It's sort of… er… personal, Mr Sabatino. Could I sort of see you in, you know, private?' To Mersiha's ears it sounded as if she was overdoing it, but Sabatino didn't seem to realise that it was only an act. Then again, he didn't look too bright himself.

  Mersiha pouted and thrust her breasts out. 'If that's, er, okay with you.'

  Sabatino swivelled around in his chair and grinned at the man behind him. 'It's okay, Vincenti,' he said. 'I can handle this.'

  The man nodded curtly and walked by Mersiha to the door.

  She heard him open and close it. The floor was vibrating through her feet, and even with the door closed Mersiha could hear the pounding music down below. If she did fire the gun, she doubted that anyone would hear it in the nightclub.

  Sabatino stood up and sidled his large bulk around the desk.

  He walked up to Mersiha and stroked her hair. He seemed even bigger close up, dwarfing her with his presence. He was wearing a pungent aftershave that smelled of lemons. 'Pretty little thing, aren't you?' he mused.

  His hand touched her cheek and she fought the urge to flinch. Instead she smiled as invitingly as possible. 'We won't be disturbed, will we?' she asked.

  Sabatino frowned. Then his eyes widened. 'Did my brother send you?' he asked. Mersiha hadn't a clue what he was talking about but she nodded nonetheless. Sabatino giggled, and the sound was almost girlish. He went over to the door and locked it, then stood with his back to it, barely able to contain his excitement. 'Bzuchar knows just how I like them,' he said under his breath. He stood watching her for several seconds, like a butcher weighing up a piece of meat before making the first cut.

  'Take off your dress,' he said eventually.

  'What?' Mersiha said.

  'You heard me. Take off your dress.'* Mersiha was so surprised that she took an involuntary step backwards. 'No,' she said.

  'Just do as you're told. I wanna see what you've got.' He pushed himself away from the door and started to advance towards her, rubbing his sweating hands together. Mersiha reached into her handbag and pulled out the gun. Sabatino stopped dead at the sight of the weapon. 'What the fuck's going on?' he spat.

  'Just stay where you are,' she ordered. She held the gun in both hands, the barrel centred on Sabatino's groin.

  'What is this? A fucking hit?'

  'I want you to leave Tony Freeman alone,' she said.

  'What?'

  'Tony Freeman. CRW. I want you to leave his company alone.

  If you don't, I'll kill you.'

  Deep lines creased Sabatino's forehead. He looked at the gun.

  Then he looked at Mersiha. 'You've got to be joking.'

  'No, Mr Sabatino. I'm serious. If you don't promise to leave the company alone, I'll kill you.'

  Sabatino squinted at her face as if he were looking into the sun. 'How old are you?' he asked.

  'Old enough to pull the trigger. Now, will you do as I say? Or shall I put a bullet in your leg?'

  Sabatino took a step forward. 'You're not going to shoot anything with the safety on,' he said.

  Mersiha tightened her trigger finger without dropping her gaze. 'I'm not stupid, Mr Sabatino. I know the safety is off. If you want me to check, I'd be quite happy to test it on you.' She began to increase the pressure.

  'No!' Sabatino said. 'Don't!'

  Mersiha sneered at the man. He'd tried to fool her, and now he was frightened. He was a typical bully: vicious and overbearing when he thought he was in control, snivelling when faced with a stronger adversary.

  'Who are you?' he asked, sweat visible on his forehead.

  'I'm the person who's telling you to keep away from CRW.

  And I'll be the person who'll put a bullet in you if you don't do as I say.'

  'You don't look like the sort of girl who's capable of killing.'

  'Oh, I've killed before, Mr Sabatino. Believe me, I've killed.'

  'I'm sure you have… what did you say your name was?

  Allison?' He put his hands in his pockets.

  'My name's not important. And take your hands out of your pockets. Keep them where I can see them.'

  Sabatino smiled agreeably. 'Whatever you want,' he said. His hands reappeared. 'Just keep calm, don't…' His right hand moved in a blur, upwards and out, and a handful of small change flew through the air. Mersiha reacted instinctively, ducking out of the way, trying to protect her face from the flying pennies and quarters. Sabatino moved quickly despite his size, and he reached her in three quick steps. He grabbed the gun and twisted it out of her grasp. Mersiha tried to back away but Sabatino slapped her, knocking her sideways. The blow spun her around and she fell against the desk.

  Sabatino studied the gun in his hand. 'You were right,' he said.

  'The safety was off.' He released the clip and held it in his left hand. 'Bullets, too. You weren't bluffing.'

  He tossed the gun and clip on to the sofa and went over to her. She tried to wriggle away but Sabatino grabbed her by the throat. He laughed as she went for his eyes with clawed fingers and swayed back, easily avoiding her. He spun her around so that her back was towards him, then hit her between the shoulder-blades so that she slumped over the desk. 'Let's see what you look like without the dress,' he hissed, and pulled down the zip.

  Mersiha tried to slip to the side but Sabatino rammed a knee between her legs, trapping her. 'No, you're not going anywhere,' he said, pulling her hair roughly. He kissed her on the neck and she felt his rough tongue rasp against her skin. She pushed back with her hips, trying to force him away, but the movement only made him even more excited. She felt him grow hard. 'That's it,' he whispered. 'Fight me. Fight me all the way. There's nothing you can do, little girl. I'm gonna fuck you like you've never been fucked before, men I'm gonna take you on a picnic'

  He groped around her body and seized her breasts, squeezing them so hard that she yelped. Mersiha frantically looked around for something, anything, to use as a weapon. There was a diary on the desk, a lamp, a stapler, a wooden box containing correspondence, a brass letter-opener shaped like an aeroplane propeller.

  She grabbed the letter-opener as Sabatino released her breasts and began to force her dress up over her hips. 'No!' she shouted.

  He seized the back of her neck with one hand as he used the other to tear off her panties. The cotton ripped like paper and then she felt his hand on her flesh, roughly prising her legs apart. 'No!' she screamed again, and lashed out behind her with the letter-opener. She missed, her elbow banging into his thigh. She swung her arm lower, this time just missing his leg.

  Sabati
no laughed at her clumsy attempts to attack him. He let go of her neck, using his knee to keep her pinned to the desk as he tried to take the letter-opener from her. He caught her wrist and twisted it savagely. She released the opener and he tossed it to one side. Mersiha heard it rattle against the wooden floor.

  He pushed her skirt higher, up around her waist, and then she heard his zip being opened. The sound was virtually identical to the sound of her knickers tearing. She tried to push her upper body off the desk, but Sabatino forced her down with the flat of his hand. 'Struggle as much as you want,' he hissed. 'The more you struggle, the more I'll enjoy it.' He moved against her, forcing her legs apart. Something hard nudged against her inner thigh and she felt suddenly sick as she realised what it was. Memories flooded back. The men. The grasping hands.

  The sweaty faces. Her mother, begging.

  Sabatino's knee pushed her right leg to the side. 'No,' she gasped. She lifted her foot up, then raked it down his leg, the heel scraping the flesh through his trousers. His leg jerked away and he howled. Mersiha kept driving down and impaled his foot with her heel. She put all her weight on it, pushing herself backwards and screwing her heel down. Sabatino screamed and let go of her, staggering backwards. As he pulled his foot away, the heel of her shoe snapped.

  She whirled around, panting and shaking. She was in a half-crouch, her hands forming talons, her eyes wild, standing lop-sided because of the broken shoe. Sabatino was hopping on his good foot, muttering and cursing, his eyes filled with hate.

  They both looked at the gun at the same time. Mersiha leapt for it. Sabatino tried to grab her but she slipped by him and dived on to the couch. She held the gun in her left hand and fumbled the clip with the right. Before she could ram it home, Sabatino hit her from behind, knocking her to the floor. As she fell she slammed the clip in place. Sabatino limped towards her as she rolled over and pulled back the hammer with her thumb. 'Don't,' she said, but he was beyond listening. He had a crazed look in his eyes, his mouth was bared into a sneer, and his trousers were wide open. He stumbled towards her, limping on his injured foot, his hands reaching for her. Mersiha fired twice. Both bullets hit him in the chest and he fell on top of her, still grabbing for the gun. He got his hands to the weapon and despite his injuries began to wrestle with her for possession of it.

  He was strong, far stronger than she was. She felt the gun start to slip from her sweating fingers and she whimpered.

  She couldn't move her legs and the weight of his body made it difficult to breathe. One of his pudgy fingers squeezed into the trigger guard. She tried to pull the weapon away from him but he was too powerful. Blood trickled from between his teeth as if his gums had suddenly gone bad and dribbled down over her dress. She yanked at the gun and it went off, the noise deafening her. The bullet hit Sabatino in the throat. His hands jerked and the gun fired again. The bullet tore through the side of his jaw, blowing away bone, flesh and teeth. Mersiha screamed and from somewhere got the strength to roll out from under his dead weight.

  She sat up, out of breath, her finger throbbing where it had been pressed against the trigger guard. There was blood on her dress. She wiped it with her hand and it smeared across the black material. It was all over her hands, wet and sticky.

  Someone banged on the door, so hard that it rattled. 'Mr Sabatino? You okay in there?' Mersiha stood up. Sabatino had fallen on to the gun and she tried to roll him over.

  He was too heavy to move. She grunted and stood over him, holding his ankles and pulling his legs. Using all her strength, she could manage only to slide him a few inches.

  The gun remained trapped under his body. The door banged again and Mersiha dropped his legs. They hit the floor with a dull thud. 'Mr Sabatino! You all right?'

  Mersiha backed away from the body. There were footsteps on the stairs outside, and the sound of someone kicking the door.

  She went over to the window, hobbling because of the broken heel. She kicked off her useless shoes and examined the window.

  Outside was a rusting fire escape which led down to the car park, two storeys below. There was no lock on the window. She slid it open. Two shoulders crashed against the door as she climbed outside, then she realised to her horror that she'd left her bag on the floor. She dashed back into the room, grabbed it and practically dived through the window and on to the fire escape, scraping her knees on the bare metal. She ran down the steps, taking diem three at a time. She heard two gunshots and the sound of the door splintering as she reached the asphalt and ran barefoot into the darkness.

  Allison Dooley lay back on her bed, watching the television with the sound turned right down. She was tense, dreading the phone * fa call from Mersiha's parents which she was sure would come 1 before her friend got back to the house. She looked at the alarm clock. It was after midnight. She kept telling herself that it was far too late for them to call, that they'd be asleep, but her imagination insisted on coming up with alternative scenarios: a T. fire, a break-in, a hundred and one reasons why they might get on the phone and wake her mother from her drunken slumber. She'd thought about disconnecting the phones but decided against it in case Mersiha called. There was nothing to do but wait and worry.

  A stone rattled against her window, startling her. She swung her legs off the bed, but before she could get to the window a second pebble hit the glass. Allison looked down on Mersiha, standing in the garden. She crept downstairs. Her mother was ^ lying face down on the sofa, snoring, her left hand still holding the empty wine bottle.

  She tiptoed to the kitchen and opened the back door. Mersiha rushed in and dashed upstairs. Allison relocked the door and followed her. She found Mersiha sitting at the dressing table, looking at herself in the mirror. 'So, how did it go?' she asked, closing the door and throwing herself on to the bed. Mersiha didn't answer. 'Come on, you promised,' Allison whined.

  Mersiha shook her head, but said nothing.

  'What was he like? Where's the dress?' Mersiha was still wearing her school clothes, though she'd put make-up on since she'd left the house. 'Put the dress on for me, please. Come on.

  You owe me, Mersiha.' She reached for the bag but Mersiha pulled it away and hugged it to her chest. Allison got off the bed and stood behind Mersiha and looked at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror. For the first time she could see that her friend's eye make-up and lipstick were smeared. 'What's wrong?' she asked.

  Mersiha shrugged. 'It was nothing.'

  'Did you have a fight? Is that it?'

  Mersiha smiled wryly. 'Yeah. Sort of.'

  'Did he hurt you?'

  Mersiha stared at her reflection in the mirror. 'No,' she said quietly. 'He didn't hurt me.'

  Bzuchar Utsyev sat in the back of the stretch limo as it drove through the wintry streets of Baltimore, his face set in stone.

  His two bodyguards knew better than to disturb him so they too sat in silence. Utsyev hadn't said a word all the way from New York. The limo hit a pothole and lurched to the side as the driver fought to control the steering wheel, but Utsyev appeared not to notice. It was a cold morning and the few people on the streets were huddled in thick coats for warmth, their shoulders hunched against the bitter wind that blew in from the Inner Harbour.

  'Here we are, boss,' the driver said, bringing the limo to a smooth stop in front of The Firehouse. Utsyev climbed out and stood staring up at the converted fire station. A man in a black overcoat was standing at the entrance, an unlit cigar in his mouth. He dropped the cigar on to the floor and stamped on it.

  'Mr Utsyev,' he said, extending his hand.

  Utsyev ignored the greeting. 'Who the fuck are you?' he growled. It was the first thing he'd said since the limo had pulled on to the New Jersey Turnpike.

  'Vincenti,' the man said, letting his arm fall to his side. 'I worked for Mr Sabatino.'

  'Not any fucking more you don't,' Utsyev said, barging past him and into the darkened nightclub. 'Show me where it happened.'

  Vincenti followed on Utsyev's heels as
he walked across the dance floor, their footsteps echoing off the brick walls. Several members of the nightclub staff stood around as if at a wedding party where the bride had failed to turn up. Utsyev's two heavies followed at a safe distance. They'd seen Utsyev's explosive temper before and didn't want to be too close if he erupted.

  'Are the police still here?' Utsyev asked as he climbed the stairs.

  'Been and gone,' Vincenti said behind him.

  Utsyev didn't speak again until the two men were in the office, the door closed behind them. 'So tell me what the fuck happened,' he said, staring at a darkened patch on the wooden floor. There were no chalk marks on the boards, no sign other than the dried blood that a body had once lain there.

  'It was a girl, a young girl. Seventeen, maybe eighteen, black hair. Pretty. Sabatino's type. I mean, Mr Sabatino's type.'

  'And?'

  'And she was with him alone. Then we heard a struggle. Then gunshots.'

  'A struggle?'

  'Yeah. We thought your brother was, you know… fucking her.'

  'You can't tell the difference between sex and a struggle?'

  Vincenti looked uncomfortable. 'Sometimes it was difficult to tell with Mr Sabatino. When he was with a girl there was often a lot of… noise.'

  'Noise?'

  'Yeah. Crying. You know. He was a bit…'

  'Rough?' Utsyev supplied.

  'Yeah, rough,' Vincenti agreed, clearly relieved that Utsyev understood.

  'This girl, you'd seen her before?'

  Vincenti shook his head. 'He didn't know who she was.'

  Utsyev turned and studied the broken door. 'You kicked the door down?'

  'Yeah. Me andjacko.'

  'And?'

  'She was long gone. Down the fire escape. Your brother was already dead.'

  Utsyev went over to the bloodstains and knelt down. He rubbed the dark brown patch with a gloved hand, then sniffed at it, like a tracker seeking a trail to follow. 'How many shots?'

  'Four.'

  'Professional?'