by Tia Siren
“Can I see you again?” she asked.
“I only fuck women once,” he said.
When he was gone, she threw the hair-dryer against the mirror and broke both items.
Dima was waiting in the car outside the hotel. “And? What was she like?” he asked.
“Useless. Kept complaining she had cramps. I only screwed her for a couple of hours.”
Dima laughed. His brother was always bragging about his sexual prowess. Dima was jealous of Igor's looks and the fact that women seemed to throw themselves at him. He hardly had to speak to them before they were willing to sleep with him.
“Here,” Dima said. He passed Igor a Beretta handgun. “Let's go persuade him.”
“Let's do it,” Igor replied.
Dima drove out of town to what appeared to be a rich suburb. “Do you get it?” Igor asked.
“What?”
“Look at these big houses. Fucking politicians. How the hell do they go from being penniless upstarts to super rich in the space of a few short years?” Igor asked.
“You already know. Because they are all corrupt bastards. The US is rotten to the core. Everybody knows that.”
“We are no angels, but we, at least, try to do things honestly,” Igor concluded.
Dima laughed. “Of course we do. The only difference is, if being honest doesn't work in our favor, we very quickly turn nasty.”
Dima drove past the gate to the French-style mansion and looked at the huge iron gate. There was just one security guard sitting in a wooden hut. He drove a bit farther and parked next to the high wall that ran around the property. The brothers got out and, with the help of a rope and hook, scaled the wall.
Mr. and Mrs. Adessi looked like the perfect couple as they lay asleep in bed. The bedroom was spacious and smelled of potpourri. Igor wondered if they’d had sex the previous evening; Mrs. Adessi seemed to be naked, and her nightdress was lying on the floor.
Dima nodded, and Igor put the barrel of his Beretta into Mr. Adessi's open mouth. He snorted and opened his eyes.
“What the hell?” he muttered as best he could with the gun in his mouth. Mrs. Adessi woke up and saw Dima standing above her. She screamed and sat up in bed, forgetting that she was naked. She quickly grabbed the sheet and pulled it over her breasts.
Dima took hold of her arm and pulled her from the bed. He placed her face down on the floor and held a gun to her head.
“Mr. Adessi,” Igor began, “as you are the head of real estate at the city administration, we would like to make a complaint to you.” Adessi looked at him, terror in his eyes. “I think you know why we are here.” Adessi shook his head. “Oh yes, you do. We bid more than anyone for the old post office project. You know that and we know that. Yet you gave the contract not to the highest bidder, or even the second highest, but to some sleazy outfit from Alabama. Funny, that's where you come from.”
Dima put his foot on Mrs. Adessi's back and pressed. She squealed and tried to break free, but it was useless.
“We want your guarantee that you will cancel the contract and award it to us. As I said, we won the bidding.” Igor pulled the gun from his mouth and waited for his response.
“Go to hell. Fucking Russians. Think you own the place. Fuck off back to Moscow.”
“Not only are you corrupt, you are very rude. Have you ever seen a woman thrown from an upstairs window?” Igor said as he nodded to Dima.
Dima pulled Mrs. Adessi up by the hair and took her to the window. He held her with one hand and opened the window with the other. She screamed as he pushed her out of the window and held on to her by the ankles.
“Last chance, Adessi. She'll make a terrible mess of your driveway,” Igor said.
“Alfons, help me,” she shrieked. “Please, let them have what they want.”
Dima let go of her right leg, and she swung to and fro, attached to his strong arm by just her left ankle.
“All right! Please, pull her inside,” he said.
“No. Not until you give me the guarantee we came for,” Igor said.
“I guarantee it. You can have the contract. Just pull her back inside, please.”
“Thank you, Mr. Adessi. Just remember, we can come back anytime, so please don't change your mind.”
*****
“Michael?” Cassy shouted as she walked through the backyard of the large house she and Michael had just inherited. “Michael, where are you? Dinner's ready.” Cassy noticed how lovely the lavender smelled in the border she was walking along. Michael wasn't in the yard; she turned her attention to the house. Michael slept in a room next to Cassy's, but he wasn't there either.
“Edith, have you seen Michael?' Cassy asked the cook.
“No. Not for a while.”
“Strange.” Cassy walked down the driveway and into the street. She looked left and right but saw no sign of him.
She walked to the store where Mrs. Cheeseborough sold the best apple pie in New York State. “Have you seen Michael?” she asked.
“No, Cassy. Not today.”
Cassy walked back to the house and sat down at the dinner table. Perhaps if she relaxed and waited, he would turn up, she thought.
After two hours Cassy was frantic. It would be dark soon. She called Judy.
“Judy, Michael's gone missing. I need to speak to your dad.”
“Okay. Hold on.”
Cassy heard a rumbling sound as Judy's father picked up the phone. “Hi, Cassy. What's up?”
“Joe, Michael's gone missing. What should I do?”
“How long has he been gone?”
“About a couple of hours.”
“Well as a police officer I can tell you that the police won't do anything until he's been missing for twenty-four hours.”
“But you know what he's like. He can't look after himself for that long. Jesus, I'm worried sick.”
A day later Michael still hadn't arrived home, and the police sent an army of officers to look for him.
“Is he given to walking off on his own?” Detective Jordan asked.
“Never. He knows he should stay within the boundaries of the house,” Cassy said.
“Well, my men are looking for him. If he's around the area, we'll find him.”
*****
“What the fuck?” Igor said. “Jesus Christ. Who the fuck would do something like that to a kid?”
“What?” Dima asked.
“Look, here on TV.”
Dima listened as the reporter told his audience that the late Douglas Solomon's autistic son had been kidnapped. A ransom note had been sent to Cassy Solomon, along with a severed ear.
“Albanians,” Dima said. “They're ruthless fuckers. They don't give a shit who they hurt. How much money do they want?”
“Ten million. How do you know they are Albanians?”
“They always cut people's ears off.”
They continued to watch, and after a few minutes there was a press conference with the police and Cassy.
“Is that Cassy Solomon? Jesus, she's hot. I wouldn't mind a night in the sack with her,” Igor said.
“Stop thinking about your dick all the time. Can't you see how upset she is?” Dima said.
“She'd feel a lot better impaled by me. That's for sure.”
Dima laughed. “You're a disgrace.”
“I love women. You know that.”
“Have you ever fucked a woman more than once?” Dima asked.
Igor had to think. “Er...no. I don't think so. Motherfucker, look!” he exclaimed as the camera panned around the room full of journalists. “Murat Hyka. Did you see him?”
“No,” Dima said disappointedly.
“Right under their noses. I'm gonna make a call,” Igor said.
“Not to the cops. No way.”
“But that fat Albanian asshole was sitting among the journalists. I bet he's got something to do with it. I hate that bastard. He's a dog. Have you forgotten what he did to us?”
“No.”
; “That woman, what's her name? Cassy. She's in a heap of trouble if Murat Hyka has got anything to do with this.” Igor jumped up from the sofa and stretched his considerable frame. He was well over six feet tall and a solid mass of muscle. “He's got half the police in his pocket. They'll never bring charges.”
“So why do you care?” Dima said.
“She's hot, and she looks upset. I want to help her.”
“You're fucking mad. Would you go to war with Murat Hyka just to get into her panties?”
Igor looked at his brother. “Yes, I think I would. Come on, Dima, he's a jerk, and so are all the guys who work for him. This is a good chance to eradicate him once and for all.”
*****
Cassy badly needed fresh air. She'd been sitting inside with a police liaison officer for four days, and she felt stifled by the atmosphere. Her phone calls were being monitored in case the kidnappers rang.
Outside, she walked past her parked Mercedes and noticed a piece of paper under the wiper. She picked it up.
Call me. It's about your brother. Don't involve the cops.
Te: 0178654218767
Cassy looked around nervously to make sure nobody had seen her. She walked across the lawn, stood behind a tree, and took out her cell phone.
“Cassy Solomon. What do you know about my brother?”
“I think he's being held by a group of Albanians.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Igor Ivanovich. I'm a real estate developer.”
“And what makes you think he's being held by Albanians?”
“I saw the press conference. There was a man I know in the audience. He's an Albanian criminal. Did you know that Albania's are well-known for cutting off the ears of their victims?” Cassy felt nauseous as the image of the severed ear came to mind. “If you put those two things together, I think you're talking about an Albanian gang.”
“So what is this man's name?”
“You don't need to know. All I can tell you is that the cops will never solve this because he's got all the top cops in his pocket. They all get huge sums of money from him to turn a blind eye to his activities.”
“So what do you suggest I do?”
“Meet me. I will explain what we are going to do. Okay?”
“But I don't understand. Why you are doing this? What business is it of yours?” Cassy said.
“Because I hate the motherfucker. He's the worst person God ever made.”
“I'm not sure. How do I know you are who you say you are?”
“Tell you what, why don't we meet at Grand Central in the middle of rush hour? There will be thousands of people around. That way you'll feel safe.”
*****
Cassy waited at Chirping Chicken in Grand Central. She'd never seen Igor before, but when he walked into the restaurant, she knew it was him. On the phone he'd spoken with a Russian accent, and the man who came into the restaurant looked Russian. Not only did he look Russian, but he was also extremely good looking. Tall, well built, cropped black hair, a fine-boned Slavic face, and the deepest blue eyes.
He was even more impressed with Cassy than he had been when he'd seen her on TV. She was wonderfully beautiful, with green eyes, long dark hair, and the softest-looking skin.
“You know, I shouldn't be here. If the cops knew, they'd probably charge me with something,” she said anxiously.
“Fuck the cops. They won't help you. They haven't got the balls to fight Murat Hyka.”
“And you have?” she asked, slightly sarcastically.
“Yes. My brother and I have got a score to settle with him.”
“You told me you’re a real estate dealer.”
“Listen, we buy and sell apartment buildings in New York and London. I came to America when I was eighteen, seeking my fortune. I have done a lot of bad shit, but now we're trying to stay above the law. I'm gonna get your brother back and put an end to this asshole. Okay?”
“And what do you want in return?” Cassy said.
“I don't want money. If I bring Michael home to you, I want you. Your debt will be one night with me.”
Cassy looked at him as if he'd gone mad. “You are joking, right?”
“No, I'm not. One night for your brother. That's all.”
“Thanks, but I don't play with my virtue. Now get the hell away from me.”
When Cassy got home, she rang Judy's dad, who was a sergeant at NYPD. She asked him to do a check on Murat Hyka and Igor Ivanovich. Later, he told her Murat was an Albanian businessman with suspected links to drug trafficking and protection. His information on Igor was that he was a Russian real estate dealer with interests in New York and London. She was surprised to learn his net worth was over three billion dollars. His record was clean, although he had been taken in for questioning a few times regarding threatening behavior toward public officials and bankers.
*****
“Are you Michael?” Igor asked. Michael nodded and put his hands back over his ears. “It's okay. I've come to take you back to Cassy.” Michaels' eyes lit up at the sound of her name.
“Bad. Bad,” he said as he looked at the two men on the floor, both of them with their necks broken.
“Come on, Igor, hurry up. Untie him and let's get out of here,” Dima said. He looked up the cellar stairs to the light, waiting for more men to appear. He gripped his gun more tightly, peering to see if there were any moving shadows.
Igor pulled Michael along with him as they climbed the cellar steps and arrived in the kitchen of the seedy detached house in Queens. Dima looked at the other two men they had immobilized. One of them was lying face down in a pool of blood on the kitchen floor, the other slumped across the kitchen table, his head turned at a grotesque angle.
Dima reversed the car out of the driveway and drove away from the house where Michael had been held.
“You know we're going to have to finish what we started, don't you?” Dima said. “We're going to have to go after Hyka. When he finds out we've done this, he'll come for us.”
“Don't worry. We can handle that little prick,” Igor said.
Michael began to scream. It was high pitched and very loud. “It's okay.” Igor put his arm around Michael. “Michael, we're taking you home. To Cassy.” Michael went silent again.
Dima drove slowly across the city. The last thing he wanted to do was get pulled over by the cops for speeding with Michael in the back of the car. When they arrived at Pearlington Avenue, Michael began to recognize the houses.
“Home,” he said in the manner of a small child.
“Yes, home,” Igor said. “Pull up here. Any closer to the house and they may see us.” Dima pulled up on the quiet road three hundred yards away from the Solomon residence. “Okay, Michael, go home.” Igor opened the car door and watched as Michael began to walk as fast as he could toward the house he shared with Cassy.
When Michael reached the security guard at the gate, Igor and Dima gave a sigh of relief as the guard put his arm around Michael and took him through the gate.
Cassy was sitting at her desk in front of the window of what used to be her father's study. As she read emails expressing sympathy about Michael's kidnapping, something outside caught her eye. She glanced up and screamed. She rushed out of the room, down a corridor, and through the hallway. The front door almost came off its hinges, such was the force with which she threw it open.
“Michael,” she cried. “Oh my god, Michael.” She almost knocked him from his feet in her enthusiasm to hug him. She noticed both his ears were intact. “How did you get here?” she asked.
“Nice men,” Michael said.
The police officer who was at the house to monitor phone calls came out and scratched his head. “In all my years, I've never seen anything like this before,” he said.
That evening after the doctor had checked Michael's health and declared him well, Cassy rang the number that had been left on her car.
“Was it you?” she asked after Igor answered.
/> “Yes. But no cops. Just be glad you've got Michael back.”
“Thank you. I don't know what to—”
“Listen to me. We had to be heavy handed to get Michael out. In all probability, Hyka will turn violent and seek revenge. You need to take Michael to a safe place.”
“Where?”
“I have a house in London. I'll send a car at seven in the morning.”
*****
“Is this yours?” Cassy asked as she looked across the limousine to the private jet. Igor nodded.
“We'll be in London before you know it. Is Michael okay with planes?”
“He's flown before. I don't think it will be a problem.”
“Found me,” Michael said as he looked at Igor.
“Yes. We found you,” Igor said with a grin on his face.
In London, Cassy couldn't believe how large the house was. It was just outside the city in a leafy suburb. Because of the time difference, they'd arrived in the evening and it was just getting dark, but Cassy could see enough of the property to know that Igor was a very wealthy man.
“He's fast asleep,” Cassy said when she came back downstairs. “You've given Michael a lovely room.”
“The best in the house. In the morning, he'll be able to see the horses running around in the fields if he looks out of his window.”
Cassy sat on a huge sofa in the middle of the sitting room and looked at Igor. What had brought him to be so kind to them? He didn't seem to want anything, but that could change, she thought. The police had asked a thousand questions about how Michael had suddenly arrived home, but she'd told them she didn't know. Maybe the kidnappers had gotten cold feet, she'd suggested. She'd told the cops she was going to London for a few days to rest.
“Why? Why did you do this for us?”
“Do you honestly want to know?” he asked as he handed her a glass of wine.
“Yes.”
“Because I'm a sucker for a beautiful woman. I saw you on TV and saw how fucking upset you were. And I thought maybe I could get inside your panties.”
“You are really strange. Do you know that?” she said. “Why go to all that trouble just to get me into bed?”
“Well, put it this way: If I just turned up on your doorstep and demanded to fuck you, what would you have said?”