Into the Shadows

by Carolyn Crane

  None of the co-op warehouses were named Poke, but one of them was in Polk County. “Is she still there? Is she okay? Ana zhevoy?” Alive?

  The woman shrugged and showed her empty hands. She didn’t know. She and the leader spoke in Russian. No, she had seen her mother, Yana. She was sure that was Yana. That was all.

  Sirens wailed nearby. Too close.

  “Tell everybody to hold on,” Richard called from the front.

  Nadia braced between seats, leaning into a woman’s legs as the van turned sharply.

  “Izveeneeta meenja,” she said. Excuse me.

  “Police,” Rita said, in English. “Police will kill us.”

  “We’re okay,” Nadia said stupidly, hoping the sirens signaled cops on their way to the warehouse.

  A few women were praying. Others focused on the starry sky outside the grubby circular window on the side of the van.

  She wondered about this fear of police. Was it something their overlords had instilled in them to keep them from ratting, or were police working with the Quartet? That’s what Richard believed. Had they had encounters with the police?

  The sirens faded, thank goodness, and the ride was going more smoothly now that they were on the highway.

  She touched the sticky leather around her wound. She was pretty sure it had stopped bleeding. If she’d lost a lot of blood, she’d be feeling woozy, right?

  She climbed up to the front and sat in the passenger seat. “We okay?”

  “We’ve got a tail,” Richard said.

  “Are you shitting me?”

  Richard frowned. It wasn’t the sort of thing he’d shit her about.

  “Which one?” She glanced at the side view mirror, at the pairs of headlights arrayed behind them, tracing the outline of the rip the bullet had made in her sleeve. It felt wetter now. It was then she noticed blood on her hand—it had dripped all the way down her arm under her sleeve. Crap.

  “See the squarish headlights? Some sort of four-door. Blue, I think.” Richard said. “I’ll know once we turn off, for sure. I’m not loving how this went.”

  “How is Gold?”

  “Gut shot.”

  “Will they bring him to a hospital?”

  “They’ve got a backroom setup,” he said.

  She checked the mirror again.

  “He’s pretty far back,” Richard said. “Pull up a map on your phone.”

  She wiped her hand on her pants and reached for her phone, started getting up the map. She had a message, but she didn’t recognize the number. Probably nothing.

  “Nadia—is that blood?”

  “I got nicked.”

  “What?” Richard swung his gaze between her and the highway, back and forth. “Where?”

  “Just surface,” she said. “Surface is as surface does.”

  “What the fuck?”

  “It’s fine.” Nadia handed him the phone.

  “Motherfucker won’t get in front of me,” Richard said, checking the map. “Seatbelts. We’re almost at the exit. You—” he pointed at the leader. “Strap in, da?” He pointed at his seat belt. “Da!”

  “What are you going to do?” Nadia watched the exit pass by. “Wasn’t that it?”

  “Tell the women to hold on.” He handed her the phone.

  She didn’t know the phrase for that. “Hold on, you guys!” She called back, hoping the urgency in her voice got the message across.

  Richard slammed on his brakes, getting into the right lane. Then he veered left, getting behind the blue car.

  A head emerged from the sunroof. A man aimed a gun.

  “Duck!” Richard said.

  A shot. The van rocked.

  “Fuck me, he got a tire!” Richard veered left, clear over the median. Cars honked as he fishtailed, then gunned it into the lane going the other way.

  “Crap!” Nadia exclaimed.

  “You got a map up? Get me anywhere but a straightaway. Get me somewhere built. There’s a little town west.” He exited onto a frontage road. Back out on the highway, the blue car was crossing the median.

  “There’s a road across a preserve to a little town,” she said. “Part’s a bridge over a swamp. Turn up here.”

  “I don’t like bridges.”

  “It’s all we have.”

  The ride was getting bumpier. He veered left and gunned it, as much as he could in a van with one flat tire. They were heading through a state park. Trees shadowed the road, even from the moonlight. A sign for Marchek Wetlands glowed in their headlights.

  Nadia caught sight of red flashes in the treetops up ahead just as they drove onto the bridge, “Cops,” she said.

  “Dammit!” Richard slammed on the brakes and reversed, gunning it backward off the bridge. Square headlights appeared behind them—it was the car that had been tailing them, angled to block the other end of the bridge. Three men jumped out. A gun barrel flashed in the light.

  “Slow down! You can’t ram it!” she said. “Don’t you dare!”

  Richard reversed again and went forward, but it was too late. An unmarked cop car with a cherry light stuck on top blocked their way. Two cops in uniform jumped out, weapons drawn, shielded behind doors.

  “Police!” one of the women in the van said.

  “Okay,” Nadia said.

  But they all knew it wasn’t okay. She turned to Richard.

  “Those cops are working for the co-op,” he said. “They’re coordinating with our tail.”

  “You sure?”

  He grunted. “They have semiautomatic rifles. They’re expecting us to shoot our way out,” Richard said. “They know what we are, and they’re ready.”

  “We can’t—”

  “I know,” he said.

  Nadia’s heart pounded. What we are. It sounded so crazy to her. She was a woman trying to rescue her mother.

  Nadia looked back at the women, meeting the leader’s eyes.

  “Out with your hands on your heads,” a uniformed officer yelled through a bullhorn.

  “Listen to me—” Richard spoke quickly and emphatically. “They won’t want to kill us outright. They’ll take us alive, but they’re nervous and ready to injure us if we try anything out in the open. I’m going to try to buy our way out with the fifty grand in your belt. It won’t work, but they’ll be suspicious if we don’t try anything. We’re going to let them put us in the back of that cop car, and that’ll be our chance. I’ve got something tucked away for just that situation, okay? We’ll declare a mutiny on that cop car.”

  “What about the women?”

  “We get free first, and then we see about circling back. Follow my lead, got it? You understand?”

  “Our faces—masks—”

  “They’ll just pull them off,” Richard said.

  Two men appeared on either side of the van, both large and thick-necked, both toting weapons that looked like they belonged in a war zone. Nadia looked back at the grim faces of the women. “Mnya osheen zhal,” she whispered. I’m so sorry.

  “They stay; you two, out,” The biggest one commanded.

  Shakily, Nadia opened her door and got out. Another man appeared—older with a gray, bristled mustache and the same weaponry. He instructed them to walk toward the center of the bridge, shadowing them all the way, weapon at the ready, as the two thick-necked guys from the blue car pointed flashlights into the van. One barked at the women in Russian. Don’t move, something like that.

  Ahead, the two cops were ominous black forms, illuminated from behind by powerful headlights; at least the red flashers were off now. Richard and Nadia were forced to lie down on the hard asphalt of the bridge midway between the vehicles, fingers knit behind their heads. The cops approached; she still couldn’t make out their faces, but she could see their weapons clear as day, ready to do some damage.

  One of the thick-necked guys came strolling up to the middle of the bridge where she and Richard lay.

  Because apparently she and Richard needed four guys with firearms all pointed a
t them. The other thick-necked guy stayed at the van.

  “Where are the others?” One of the cops barked.

  “Gone,” Richard said.

  Rough hands searched her for weapons and took Arty and Lizzie. Not her money belt. They were searching him. They took his guns, too. Richard has a plan, she told herself. Something hidden.

  Soft chirps rose up from the moonlit marsh beyond. Had the lights awakened the birds, or was it near dawn?

  “I think we can make a deal here,” Richard said. “Don’t call anyone until you hear what we can give you.”

  Nadia’s heart beat like crazy, arm stinging from the behind-the-head position, road cold and rough on the side of her face.

  “You got money?” the gray-moustachioed guy asked.

  “We can lay our hands on it,” Richard said.

  “Oh, yeah?” You could hear the smirk in his voice. He turned and called back to the van. “Stan, check the van for cash,” he called back. “The glove compartment. Under the front seat.”

  “Should I help?” The other thick-necked guy asked.

  “The seamstresses won’t give him trouble,” the taller of the cops said.

  So these cops knew the women. She felt the heat fill her face. Were they even real cops?

  “You let us go, nobody will know,” Richard said. “Let’s make this work. Ten thousand to each of you in under an hour.”

  One of the guys shoved Richard’s shoulder with a rifle. “Where?”

  “I need to know I can trust you,” Richard said. “The fuck I’m just going to draw you a map.”

  “So it’s not in the van?” The guy with the gray moustache asked.

  Richard didn’t answer. A cop kicked him in the gut. “In the van, or not?”

  “Not,” he ground out.

  The moustachioed guy called out to Stan, who’d disappeared into the van. “Never mind, Stan.”

  The tall cop slapped cuffs on Richard’s wrists as the other guy shouted again to Stan.

  No answer from Stan.

  All four men standing above Richard and Nadia turned their attention to the van now, like four sailboats turning in the wind.

  Where was Stan?

  That was when the night exploded in machine gun fire. The men jerked and shook above them, dropping almost simultaneously.

  One fell right on Nadia. She squirmed and jerked him off of her, feeling warm drips on her cheek. Blood.

  Not hers.

  “Richard!”

  “I’m okay,” Richard said. “You?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What the fuck?!”

  She scooted away, looking in horror at the man who’d fallen on her—eyes open, throat a bloody mess.

  A lone figure strolled from the van beyond, Uzi in hand, silver braids flashing in the headlights.

  Rita.

  “No police,” Rita said, loudly enough for them to hear.

  “Oh, my God,” Nadia whispered. Rita had grabbed one of the Uzis Richard had looted. God knows what they’d done to Stan. She looked over at Richard, thinking about his plan to take over during transport.

  He caught her eye. “Or Rita can mow them the fuck down with one of the Uzis,” he said, sensing her thoughts.

  She couldn’t believe that they hadn’t thought to involve the women in the fight. Who was tougher than women who had survived what they had survived? And what had they been before?

  Just beyond Richard, one of the supposedly dead men moved his hand, raising a gun. It was the gray-moustachioed guy.

  Nadia screamed and pointed. In a blur of motion, Richard spun on his ass and kicked the gun out of the man’s hand. Then he jumped to his feet and stomped the guy’s throat with violent force—once, and then again; an inhuman gurgle emerged from the man’s throat. And then nothing.

  Nadia’s mouth went dry.

  “Get these cuffs off of me,” Richard growled. “Move! The keys. The car. The cuffs. Go, go, go!”

  Nadia sprung into action, fumbling through the nearest cop’s pockets. Rita came up, looking fierce.

  “Thank you,” Nadia said, checking pocket after pocket, hands trembling, trying to ignore the blood and stench.

  Thank you. It seemed so inadequate. Rita said nothing, mouth a grim line. A partner. A warrior. No police.

  Nadia found keys.

  “Lemme see,” Richard said. She showed him the key ring. “Yeah, the tiny one. Let Rita do it. You move that cop car out of the way. Keys’ll be in the ignition.

  Nadia gave Rita the keys to the cuffs and pointed at Richard, then she ran to the car. It actually was a cop car inside; she felt like she was in a cockpit with all the extra controls and lights around her. But the keys were in the ignition, as Richard said. She put it into gear and reversed it, backing it off the bridge and off to the side, smashing right into the guardrail. Good enough. She threw it into park.

  The van screamed up, and she jumped in.

  “The tire!”

  “We’re okay,” Richard said as they cleared the bridge. “We can make it to the church. We’ll deal with the tire then.”

  Right. And there were too many of them to fit into the cars. Or maybe he didn’t want to leave behind a van full of clues.

  Nadia turned to the back. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m sorry…just sorry.” Her Russian was going out of her. Hell, even if she spoke fluent Russian she wouldn’t know what to say. She’d nearly gotten them killed. And Rita had saved their asses.

  One of the women put a hand on hers. “Your mother,” she said. “You will find her.”

  Nadia nodded, throat so thick, she could barely speak. These women had lost so much. What would they say if they knew her own father was responsible for their plight? Would her mother believe she hadn’t known she was alive? That she hadn’t known all of this was going on?

  “I’m sorry—mnya osheen zhal,” she said.

  “Never mind,” she said. It made Nadia feel even more like crying. Is that what her mother would say? She had to pull it together!

  They called ahead to Lorna. Fifteen minutes later, they were turning onto a dark residential street lined with tall trees and broken sidewalks. The church stood on the corner, a large brick building with a parking lot in back. They pulled around.

  Lorna was already out there. She had tattoos everywhere except her face; she wore a tank top under a black vest full of pockets, and she spoke fluent Russian. Nadia had found her organization through a grapevine that began with her Russian tutor, though it had taken a bit of grease. She’d been happy to use Victor’s funds and the lessons she’d learned from him over the years to bribe the right people to locate her.

  “You’re late,” Lorna said.

  “We ran into some trouble.”

  “Tell me you didn’t bring the cops.”

  “Hell, no.” Nadia handed over the money belt and Lorna strapped it onto herself.

  Lorna thanked her, all businesslike. “Getting quite a collection of these. Come on.” Lorna ushered the group down the back steps and directly into a large, barren church basement. A coffee maker stood on a long table at the far end. Lorna walked to the opposite wall and pushed aside a display case full of yarn and popsicle stick art projects, then pulled open a pocket door that led into a cozy, homey space that was very much like a living room. A few women from a past rescue were there. Lorna would have arranged this—for them to be there, like ambassadors. They greeted the new group, clasping hands and speaking excitedly. Nadia said her good-byes and got out of there.

  Richard had the tire changed when she got back to the van. “It’s fucked up, but it’ll do.” He wanted to ditch it, but not in the same county as the women’s shelter, so they drove for a long time on the side roads. The sky looked lighter on the horizon. Dawn soon.

  “God,” she said.

  “It happens,” Richard said. He knew what she was talking about. Not just stealing this person’s car, but people dying.

  “Still,” she whispered, jacked up with jangly energy.<
br />
  “You know the world of pain we’d be in right now?” Richard said. “They were working co-op security for the Quartet. How are you? Are you bleeding?”

  “It stopped,” she said. “I have to see Benny. I have to hold him.”

  “No way. Things are too hot,” Richard said.

  “Can I call? Maybe later, when they’re awake?”

  “Once we grab a burner,” he said.

  “Is that black car following us?” she asked.

  “Crap,” Richard said. “I haven’t been watching. My head is on fire from back there. Every time I turn my eyes—”

  “Do you have a concussion? Why am I not driving?”

  “Because I know how to drive after a kill, and you don’t,” Richard said.

  She thought again about how he’d crushed the man’s throat. The sickening gurgle. And Rita, mowing down their captors. “Like a fucking phoenix, with that Uzi,” she whispered.

  “I know,” Richard said. “In no fucking mood to go back.”

  “I wouldn’t be, either.”

  The black car turned off.

  “I guess I’m just spooked.” She noodled around on her phone. “The Reedsville co-op is in Polk County.”

  “I know,” Richard said.

  “She was there a year ago. What if we hit it tonight?”

  Richard kept his eyes on the road. She wondered if he thought her mother was dead already.

  “She was there a year ago,” Nadia repeated. “That’s something.”

  “The boys were not happy. They won’t go in on spec anymore,” Richard said. “If they go at all. Gold’s out, of course.”

  “God, have we not made them rich enough yet?” She pocketed the phone and hugged her hands around Thorne’s leather. She hated all of the killing. “I’ll get the money to pay them somehow,” she said.

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “The Quartet sure as hell wouldn’t expect another hit after what happened today,” Richard said. “Too fucked up and dangerous. No pro in his right mind would do it.”

  She waited, smiling to herself.

  “Let me think about it,” he said.

  She nodded. Richard enjoyed a fucked-up, dangerous idea, and he was tenacious, too—once he started on something, it was hard to get him off the track. She sometimes thought of him as having the personality of a mountain climber—once you showed him the mountain, there was no way he could ignore it. She didn’t know much about his family back in Vegas, except that they’d kicked him out for being gay, though he had a brother he was close to.