Doubled or Nothing

by Warren Esby

  Nothing much happened the rest of that week until Friday when I received a check from the insurance company. Apparently what I considered to be a practically brand new car, they considered to be an ordinary used car worth approximately seventy five per cent of a new car. On Saturday morning I talked Astrid into taking me to a Ford dealership to look at used Expeditions. After having recently driven a Cadillac Hybrid, a Tahoe Hybrid and an old model Expedition, I decided I wanted the Expedition, not only because it had a un-hybrided engine, but because I wanted to have one that was not new enough to create SUV envy in my compatriots south of the border when I went back down there again. I found a decent one that was only two years old and had low mileage. It was black and had a few door dings and scratches which I would have preferred not to have but which I thought was a plus in my current part time profession. The salesman told me it had only been driven by a little old lady drug runner on Sundays when the Mexicans were in church. I wondered if he was making a joke or he knew something I didn’t. I told him he had clinched the deal with his last remark and he said fine but he didn’t laugh, so I assumed the story about the little old lady drug runner was not a joke. I thanked Astrid and went home. The Saturday mail had arrived and there was a receipt from the bank saying the second deposit had arrived safely and that my current balance was now one million four hundred and eighty five thousand dollars. For those of you who aren’t that good in math, that receipt meant that somewhere in my apartment were two packages of used unmarked one hundred dollar bills each wrapped with a band of white paper and both together containing a total of ten thousand dollars. I hoped Ben and Jerry didn’t care.

  I took a one hundred dollar bill from my new stash. My old stash had been completely used up by my trip to Flagstaff. Feeling flush, I decided to walk a few blocks down the road to the sit down Mexican restaurant and get a real lunch rather than just getting a bean burrito from the taco shop on the next corner. I had just sat down at a booth by myself when Olga walked in, looked around, saw where I was sitting and came over and sat down in the booth opposite me.

  “Hi, Alexei,” she said. I said, “Hi,” back and then she said, “I need your help.” Uh oh, I thought to myself, but I said instead, “What can I do for you?”

  “Please tell me what I should order. I don’t know anything about Mexican food. I ordered a bean burrito, once, because all the Mexicans were ordering it so I thought it must be good. But it was terrible. All it had inside was beans and I almost threw up because it tasted so, uh, so beany. And all they have in this town you have chosen to live in, with a complete lack of consideration for others I may add, are Taco shops and a Mexican restaurant.”

  Then she smiled at me and I was completely lost. I knew I would help her at any cost. And I did, and the cost was not that great, about twelve dollars apiece, because I paid for lunch. I began by asking her,

  “What do you usually like to eat?”

  She replied, “I like some vegetables, maybe a little chicken or fish or meat, a little flavoring but not too much and not too heavy and not too light, do you know what I mean?”

  I said I did and then I said the words that I knew would endear me to her forever, “Order a cup of the tortilla soup. It’s really good here.” She took my advice and ordered a cup. I ordered a bowl. I didn’t dare order a bean burrito which I really usually like to have with the tortilla soup. That’s why I ordered a bowl rather than a cup to make up for not having the bean burrito. I didn’t tell her that tortilla soup for most Anglos is like blondes are for me. You never forget your first, be it a cup or a bowl.

  The waitress came and asked for our drink order. Olga asked for water but I ordered a Jarritos Tamarindo for each of us. When the waitress returned, we put in our soup order and I waited until Olga took a sip of her drink to see if she liked it. Tamarind flavor is not for everyone, but I was betting she would like it. I could tell by her smile that she was one of the ones who did. She seemed happy and relaxed. I started the conversation then by asking her how she and Igor and Vladimir had found me. She didn’t seem at all surprised that I knew the names of the other two. She said they heard about a Corolla exploding at the Salk Institute and decided that one of them would watch it during the day while the other two would drive around looking at the other research institutions on the chance I was working somewhere else. They had been looking for me for over two weeks when she saw me going into the Salk Institute with the girl with the pretty face and the humpty dumpty body on Tuesday morning. I told her that was an unkind way to describe Astrid, but she said she didn’t know how else to describe her. And then she asked,

  “Is this funny one your girlfriend?”

  “No, just a friend. We work together in the same lab.”

  “Then why do you sleep with her? And how do you do it? Is there enough room in her bed for you? There’s so much, uh, bottom part to her.”

  She was really curious and seemed to know I had visited big sister that week. And I realized she must have followed me there and knew I had spent Thursday night there. That was the only night I had spent at Astrid’s and she must have been on watch that night.

  “I only spent Thursday with her. You must have been watching that night but not the other nights because I spent those other nights at home.”

  “I know you spent last night at home alone because that and Thursday were the first two nights I followed you after we found you on Tuesday. I don’t know about Tuesday or Wednesday nights since Igor and Vladimir had those nights, but you definitely stayed with her all night Thursday. So she must be a friend with benefits. But who is getting the benefits? I think maybe her. Is this payback for driving you around? And why don’t you get another car?”

  I said, “In a way. She’s helped me out a lot since I’ve been here and she’s really very nice.”

  “But not for you Alexei. You can do so much better.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I was hoping by better, she meant herself. She was definitely a lot cuter than Astrid and both halves fit together perfectly.

  “So what’s with you?” I asked. “How come you’re traveling around with Igor and Vladimir? I don’t think they fit with you any more than you think Astrid does with me. You’re not really part of their operation are you? And just like you don’t like Astrid, I don’t care for your friends either. Where are they, by the way?”

  She didn’t answer the first part and said in answer to the last part, “Oh it’s my day to keep an eye on you. I know by now you must know we are following you, so I thought it would be okay to tell you that. Now that we found you again, they think they can take a little time off and leave you for me to watch. They decided to go to Mexico since they’ve never been there. They’re going to a beach down there called Rosarito Beach and won’t be back until tomorrow. So here I am with you. I might as well keep an eye out by being with you than have to chase you around. Pretty smart, huh? It’s stupid to pretend anyway, because I’m sure you know who we are.” She said all this with a coy smile on her face.

  “How do you know that I know who you are?”

  “Well, you seem to know who Igor and Vladimir are. And you don’t seem surprised to see me when we run into each other. And Ivor talked about you. He liked you. He said you were a very good shot and that you owed it all to him because you couldn’t shoot when he met you and he taught you all you know.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Anyway, Igor and Vladimir think you may be working for the Russians and trying to find something they want, or you already have it. They think you are trying to get the information back to Russia and take all the credit and leave them out in the cold and that you’re trying to cut your own deal. Is that true?”

  “What is it they’re looking for?”

  “Something Ivor gave you. They don’t know what it is.”

  “Neither do I. Ivor didn’t given me anything.”

  “Well, if they’re right, you wouldn’t tell me anyway, so it doesn’t matter. Of course if you do have whate
ver it is and they find out and you won’t give it to them, then they may ask me to kill you.”

  “Well then, let’s both assume I don’t have it so you won’t have to kill me. At least not today, anyway. It’s too nice a day. But aren’t you working for the Russians yourself?”

  “Not really, but sort of, I guess. I’m just trying to repay a debt. I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

  “Repay a debt by killing people.”

  “Whatever. We’ll talk about it later. As you said, it’s too nice a day.” And then she laughed.

  I asked her if she wanted to go eat some gelato. She answered, “No. Ice cream will make me fat. But I’ll have a bite of yours. What flavor do you like?” I told her pistachio and dark chocolate. “Yum,” she said. “That sounds delicious.” But she lied to me. She didn’t have just one bite. She ate half of it. Then she asked me what I was doing for the rest of the day. I told her I was going back to the apartment and then maybe down to the beach.

  She said, “Okay if I come along? I haven’t been to the beach yet.”

  I said, “Sure. But I want to go by my apartment and get some flip flops.” She was already wearing sandals. They were black as were her T shirt and shorts. Only the scarf around her neck was a different color. It was bright red as you may have expected.

  “Okay,” she said, and we walked back to the apartment.

  Chapter 26

  We walked into the apartment and she looked around. Then she said to me those six little words that never fail to excite me. She said, “Let’s have sex. I’m really horny.” No. Wait. Is that six words or is it seven words? I’m never sure how to treat a contraction when counting words. I and am are definitely two words, but I don’t know whether you count the contraction I’m as one word or two. If it’s two, then she said those seven little words that never fail to excite me. But wait. Let’s is a contraction too, so if let’s is also two words, then she said those eight little words that never fail to excite me. You can tell I wasn’t as good in English as I was in math and science. About as good as I was in history though. Any way she said those six or eight words that never fail to excite me, and then she began to strip and I watched as the first thing she took off was the black picture frame wig. Underneath she had short blonde hair cut in a bob and her blue eyes looked far better with her blonde hair than they ever had with her cheap black wig. As we both hurriedly undressed, I noticed she wasn’t a real blonde. I mean her blonde hair was real blonde hair, definitely real blonde hair, but she wasn’t a real blonde in the same sense that Julie and Astrid’s big sister were real blondes, if you know what I mean. So when counting real blondes I had slept with after that, I couldn’t count her as a real blonde even though she was a real blonde and I slept with her, or could I. Of course Muffy still counted.

  When she took off the wig, she said, “Hi. I’m Anya.”

  Apparently Olga was only the persona she assumed when she put on the wig which was part of her business uniform, you might say, the persona that involved killing people. But her upbeat personality never seemed to change whether she had the wig on or not. She always seemed to be smiling and happy. I often wondered whether she understood the seriousness of killing people as part of her job. To her it just seemed to be something she did, and I thought she was one of those people who could turn it off at the end of the day and not bring her work home with her, but I wasn’t sure at that point. Anyway, we proceeded to have the best sex I’ve ever had. She was a lot of fun and a little wild. She was a willing participant and liked variety and a little kinkiness and adventure, but she refused to wear the wig. That was for business and this definitely was for pleasure. Like everything else about her, she was very upbeat and happy in bed and happy to please – and to be pleased by the way. It didn’t matter that she might have to kill me, and she later tried. But for now she was just having fun and living from day to day. I would have had even more fun if I didn’t have the feeling that I was like a prisoner having his last supper before his execution the next day. We were very compatible and kept going the whole afternoon. We never did get to the beach. In between we talked and she told me about what had happened in Flagstaff when they lost track of me and about going to Los Angeles and seeing Hollywood and Sunset Strip and Malibu and Universal Studios. She had seen a lot more of Los Angeles than I had of San Diego those last few months, but she said she hadn’t been to Mexico. She also ended up telling me how she had ended up doing what she was doing.

  “I’m doing it for Ivor’s parents.”

  “Not for Ivor?”

  “No. I don’t care anything about that creep and I’m not sorry about him being dead. But his folks are sad and asked me to fill in and do his job so his mission would be completed and they could think he accomplished what they raised him to do.”

  “You mean to steal vital secrets?”

  “I don’t know anything about vital anything. He had some information that he was to send back to Russia. He got it from his laboratory at MIT. It’s probably worthless. I don’t see how anything he did could be vital to anyone, he was such a loser. But that’s what his parents wanted me to do. To help finish what he was supposed to do so they would be happy. And, you know, kill a few people if I have to since that was part of his job, but he couldn’t do that very well either, even when he was alive. To tell you the truth, Alexei, Ivor was as worthless a piece of shit as his parents were my saviors.”

  “How were they your saviors? I don’t understand why you like them so much when you hated Ivor like you did. You really are confusing me.”

  “Okay. My parents came to the U.S. when the Federovs came. They had been good friends back in the old country and they remained good friends here. Ivor and I were both only children and we knew each other for our whole lives. We were both born here. Neither of the families made friends easily, and we had no other relatives here. And Ivor’s parents still owed their allegiance to Russia for some reason and didn’t want to make friends. They made exceptions for us since my parents were already friends of theirs.”

  “So were you also part of the sleeper cell?”

  “No. My parents were not politically involved like the Federovs. They came over to make a better life for me. But they died in a car crash when I was eight and I had nowhere to go, so the Federovs took me in and treated me like a daughter and raised me. If they hadn’t, I don’t know what would have happened to me. They were the only ones I knew except for some friends I made in school.”

  “So you grew up with Ivor, but how did you get involved if you weren’t part of the cell?”

  “Well it started in high school. Ivor was interested in guns and shooting and he taught me how to shoot, just like he taught you. Then his father made arrangements to get him some practice on living things. He made arrangements with a pig farmer who also had a slaughter house and would process his own pigs. He would shoot them in the head at the end of a chute, just before they got to a conveyor belt. After they were killed, they were hoisted on a big hook and taken inside to be processed by the skinners and the butchers. Ivor could have the job killing them on Saturdays so he would get used to killing. The one who usually shot them during the week was Jewish and didn’t work on Saturdays. Ivor took me with him for company when he went out there the first time. It was a long drive. I knew how to shoot too, and he said I could kill a few also, but he really didn’t believe I would. Anyway, the first time Ivor aimed at the pig, he was shaking so badly that he missed and shot off the pig’s ear. The pig was squealing so badly and blood was spraying everywhere that Ivor just stood there paralyzed. I had to take the gun from Ivor’s hand and finish off the pig. Then Ivor started to puke, and then he ran back to the car. I had to continue killing the pigs all morning because that’s what we were paid to do and there was no one else to do it. And that became my Saturday job after that. Ivor never could get used to it. He was too squeamish.”

  “But you didn’t mind.”

  “Nah. You get used to it. And pigs are ugly anyway.
At least these pigs were to me. Ivor told me it was the same with you, by the way, only that you killed rats and rabbits. Now rats are ugly like pigs, but bunnies are cute, so I don’t understand how you could kill bunnies. That disappoints me a little. I guess you and I are similar about killing things, although I don’t know if I could kill a cute little bunny rabbit.”

  I told her they were not that cute. That some of them were quite mean and they would try and scratch you with the claws on their big hind feet. They could really hurt you if you weren’t careful.

  “Okay. Maybe that would make a difference,” she conceded.

  “So did the others ever find out that Ivor was squeamish? You said he was supposed to be the hit man.”

  “No. We agreed to keep that quiet and I would take over since he couldn’t do it and his parents didn’t want them to know. They were embarrassed and disappointed in Ivor.”

  “So did you ever have to kill someone?” Naturally I was curious.

  “Yeah. Once. Ivor was supposed to kill somebody to prove himself since he was supposed to be the hit man for the group, and he was supposed to be ready for a test after killing all the pigs. But he couldn’t do it. It was a simple job. The Russians had discovered that one of their agents was trying to stay in the U.S. and work for the CIA and had exchanged information about Ivor’s sleeper cell in order to do so, and Ivor suspected he may already have done so. Ivor may have been a coward, but he was smart and could figure out these things. Anyway, the agent was supposed to turn over some information to Ivor and didn’t know for sure whether he would be killed when he did, but he suspected Ivor might try. He was instructed to give it to a man and woman smooching on a park bench out at Walden Pond outside of Boston in Concord. When he came to give the information to Ivor, he kept one hand in his pocket, and we knew he had a gun there. He knew Ivor was supposed to be a hit man so he kept Ivor in his view and told him to make sure both hands were always in sight. He was a very careful man, very experienced. As he reached over to give Ivor the information, I took out the Beretta Ivor had given me, stuck the barrel in his ear and pulled the trigger. He didn’t know what hit him. It was so easy. But Ivor threw up anyway. We put him in a plastic body bag, chained him to a cement block and threw him in the deepest part of the pond. Ivor was sweating badly and shaking and could barely do it, but he was the strong one and we eventually got it done.”