St. Petersburg Noir

by Natalia Smirnova

Porphyry accepted her explanation with a curt nod. He fixed her with an unblinking stare, as though testing her mettle. Kate kept her composure and said, “I have a serious problem.”

  “That’s the only reason people come to me.”

  “My sister is missing.”

  “Since when?”

  Not long ago her parents had been seized by the idea of showing their youngest daughter, Sonya—who was born in America and spoke no Russian—the country of her roots. A gift of sorts for her twelfth birthday. They got their visas and had arrived in St. Petersburg one month before.

  “Then what happened?”

  Sonya had just disappeared. According to her parents’ incoherent account of events, she asked to go out for a walk around the hotel and never returned. Their parents only noticed her absence when the girl had been gone for a full three hours. They called the police, who refused to help, saying they couldn’t do anything unless she had been gone for more than a week. Dad paid the lieutenant a bribe to persuade him to start the search immediately. The officer came back the next day to say that nothing could be done: Sonya was gone.

  Kate listed many more relevant details, but she didn’t divulge the most important one of all. When her parents had broken the news to her, she immediately knew it was her mission to save Sonya. It was like a revelation. Kate dashed to the Russian embassy, but despite her Russian name, tears, pleas, and an envelope with a hefty bribe, they said that the procedure for issuing a visa would take a month. She decided then and there that she would spend the intervening time not on prayer, but on preparation: she took leave from her job at a law firm and hired a trainer, a former marine, to teach her skills that would come in handy for rescuing someone. Killing, in particular. She trained with a desperate zeal. Now she could finish off the slight man sitting in front of her using nothing but a teaspoon. Except she couldn’t let anyone know. The trainer had said, “Never let your enemy know your real strength.” And Porphyry looked more like a foe than a friend.

  He snapped his fingers nervously. “Got a photo of your sister?”

  In the last picture of her, taken at the airport in Chicago just before their departure to Russia, the child stared with grudging severity into the camera lens. Porphyry wanted to keep the picture, but Kate refused to let it out of her grasp.

  He scrutinized the image for a long time. Then he said, “You know my rates?”

  Kate quoted a price.

  “Half up front. No refunds. No matter what the outcome.”

  Ten bills were counted out for him. Porphyry carelessly shoveled the pile into his pocket and made to leave: “I’ll keep you posted.”

  “No.” Kate said it with such conviction that he sat down again. “I am going with you. I might be able to help.”

  “Oh yeah? How?” Porphyry sneered.

  “Sonya is being held somewhere on Haymarket Square.”

  “How do you know?”

  Kate had only accepted the news of her sister’s disappearance because she was certain that Sonya was alive. She couldn’t explain it, but she could sense her sister even at a distance. It had always been like that. They could never play hide and seek: Kate always found Sonya instantly. An inner voice whispered to her.

  “Sonya is somewhere nearby,” she said.

  “Just keep in mind that I haven’t promised I’ll find her alive. Got it?”

  “She’s alive.”

  “Hope is a good thing.”

  “She’s alive,” Kate repeated obstinately.

  “We’ll find out soon enough. Listen up, now. Here are the rules: You do exactly as I say. No objections, no questions. Keep a cool head no matter what happens. No hysteria. Got it?”

  Kate accepted all of his conditions.

  “Oh, and uh … pay for my breakfast,” Porphyry said, walking out of the café.

  * * *

  A low-vaulted underpass diving into the bowels of the subway cut across the insides of Haymarket Square. Even in summer a wind blew from within it. Kate was told to keep her distance.

  Porphyry descended the stone steps and headed for a motley pile of rags. He stopped beside it and said something. The pile began to stir, as though there was a mole burrowing within it, and a human face emerged. It was a swollen, cadaver-colored lump. Staring at Porphyry, the creature belched. Then the castoff clothing began to rustle, and a paw appeared, clutching a new iPhone. The face muttered a few short, incomprehensible phrases into it, switched off the phone, and disappeared once more into the heap of rags.

  Leaning back on the wall of the underpass, faced for some reason in white marble, Porphyry lazily lit a smoke, paying no attention to what was going on around him. Close by, a couple of swollen-looking men of indiscernible age were sitting on their haunches. One of them produced a bottle of Coca-Cola, into which the other fellow poured some varnish from a can. Some alcoholic tinctures contained in pharmaceutical vials were also added, and the concoction was shaken. They drank the “Haymarket Square Cocktail” straight from the bottle, passing it back and forth, gulping greedily and wincing.

  Kate turned away, waiting.

  A tall young man dressed in a leather jacket and leather pants approached Porphyry. On one hairy finger, adorned with a massive diamond ring, he twirled a Mercedes keychain, which made a soft whirring noise. A thick gold chain glinted on his furry chest. The cocky young man’s angular face broke out into a smile.

  The men talked. The hairy dude gave Porphyry a friendly left hook on the chest. They summoned Kate with an imperceptible nod. Looking the woman over, the hairy man smirked.

  “Let’s see the photo,” he said.

  Kate didn’t let go of it. She didn’t want the greasy macho fingers touching Sonya’s little face.

  Giving it just one glance, he said, “Nope, not her.”

  “What about the neighbors?” Porphyry asked.

  “I’d have heard something. A good specimen like that, I’d have taken her for myself. Could’ve made some good money too.”

  “You can make some good money right now.”

  “No. Never seen her.”

  “Come off it, Alik. She disappeared in your territory. You know everything that goes on here.”

  Alik just shrugged. “There’s no telling. Maybe the Nutcracker got her.” He gave Porphyry a clap on the shoulder and withdrew, whistling and twirling his keychain.

  “Who’s that dude?”

  “He’s the lord of the local beggars,” Porphyry replied sternly. “Very rich. If children go missing here, chances are they end up with Alik. He makes them into good workers. Although sometimes he maims them. Makes them sniff glue, gets them hooked on vodka and drugs. To keep them in line. But girls are usually put to different use.”

  “He could have been lying,”

  “There’s no reason for Alik to lie. He’s not afraid of you. And a doll like your sister he would have gladly taken for himself. He loves kids in his own way … You ready to go on?”

  Kate was ready for everything. She only said, “Who is the Nutcracker?”

  Porphyry screwed up his face. “Don’t take it seriously.”

  “I want to know.”

  “It’s total bullshit.”

  “Please!”

  “You really want to know? Fine. Supposedly there is an old man who lives in basements and kidnaps children to feed them to the rats. It’s just an urban legend.”

  Kate was ready to believe any story she heard. “Why do they call him that? The Nutcracker fought rats, and in Tchaikovsky he was a good guy.”

  “Tchaikovsky or Dostoevsky, it’s all the same. This is Haymarket Square, and it’s a whole different ballgame,” Porphyry said darkly.

  “Where are those basements he lives in?”

  “Not my line of work.”

  “I am paying you to find my sister.”

  “It’s not about money. It would be like looking for a ghost. You got time to waste?”

  She had to desist.

  Porphyry led her away from the squar
e to where the passthrough courtyards began. They traversed these for a distance of several blocks. Kate tried to remember the way, but the dirty yellow walls seemed to run together into one turbid stream. She had lost her bearings and had only a vague sense of the direction of the square.

  In one courtyard, Porphyry yanked open a shabby stairwell door and went up to the fourth floor. Kate was allowed to do as she pleased: she could wait outside or go in after him. She followed, close on his heels. At an unmarked apartment door, Porphyry made a call on his cell phone and growled something into it. The bolt clicked and the door opened to reveal an obese fellow in a bathrobe hanging shamelessly untied. The next moment a little face, caked in heavy makeup, poked out of the doorway. Her eyelashes were stuck together with blobs of mascara. The little mouth was swollen under a thick coating of lipstick. Dressed in a transparent nighty with wine stains all over it, she was no more than ten years old. She licked her lips and she asked in a hoarse voice: “Hey, handsome, could you buy me some ice cream? My throat’s all dry.”

  The fat man kicked her away with his knee, sending her sprawling. Her nightie flew up, revealing her stomach, which was covered in yellow bruises. She got up, straightening the flimsy garment, and hobbled off, tunelessly singing a nursery rhyme: “Quiet, quiet little mice! The cat’s on the rooftop, she’ll leap in a trice.” The smell of chlorine and vomit wafted out from the apartment hallway.

  “Porphyry!” the fat man exclaimed, smiling sweetly. “You haven’t been over here in ages, buddy! Want to try something fresh?

  “I’m interested in used goods.”

  “Anything you wish. What exactly are you looking for?”

  “This one.” Porphyry waved a hand at Kate as though summoning a waiter.

  She approached them but did not let go of the snapshot. The fat man squinted like a well-fed cat and made clucking noises with his tongue.

  “What a honeybun! Wouldn’t mind snuggling her myself. Sorry, Porphyry, that one didn’t come my way. I wouldn’t have let her get away if she had. What a doll! May I offer you another one? Perhaps your lady friend would like something? Some of the boys I have are pretty good. I highly recommend them.” He snapped his fingers in affirmation of the high quality of his product.

  Kate went downstairs without saying a word. A sudden downpour detained them in the stairwell. The rain came down in torrents, as it does in the tropics, pounding the asphalt with its coarse watery arrows and clattering on the rooftops. Porphyry lit up, exhaling the thick smoke.

  “Doesn’t look good,” he said, flicking the ash underfoot.

  Kate waited for him to elaborate.

  “Liolik runs all the child prostitution rings. Eight out of ten will end up with him. Girls are always in demand. Sometimes he’ll take care of an order personally, if the client is after something in particular. But she’s not here. Even if you broke his neck, it wouldn’t get us closer to what we’re looking for.”

  “Why do you take his word for it?”

  “Liolik would sell your sister back to you. If he had her.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “You don’t get it. That asshole Alik could easily have been lying, like you said. Sonya could have ended up with him. But after a month, he would definitely have sold her on to Liolik; he has no need for used goods. That way, at least your sister would still be alive. But if Liolik doesn’t have her—”

  “She’s alive,” Kate said, repeating the words of her spell. “We just have to keep looking.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “What’s our plan?”

  “Keep doing everything we can.”

  The rain subsided sharply, tapering off to a fine spatter.

  * * *

  Haymarket Square turned out to be just behind the building. It was highly likely that Porphyry had been walking around in circles intentionally, so that she—an outsider—could not find her own way back. He was right to do so. Kate wanted to go back there and wring Liolik’s fat neck. And she had stopped trusting her partner.

  Inside a glass kiosk, a pyramid of meat rotated slowly on a skewer. A swarthy young man wrapped in a dirty apron was cutting off slices of the roasted meat with a long knife. Eastern music and the stench of burning oil floated from the open window. Resting on a low stool beside the counter was a gray-haired man in a black shirt. Prayer beads clicked; his face betrayed an inward gravity. He opened his eyes and rose to greet Porphyry. They hugged and pressed their cheeks together. The woman was told with a gesture to keep her distance.

  Porphyry spoke with exaggerated politeness. He respectfully inquired about the state of Aslan’s health, and received a cordial reply. Then he muttered something abruptly and, moving in close, whispered in the man’s ear. Aslan listened to him attentively. Then he answered: “All right.”

  Now she was allowed to approach.

  Aslan examined the girl’s picture carefully, running his fingers over the beads, and spat out: “No.”

  Kate didn’t know who he was or what he did, but she understood the obvious: this was her last chance. She didn’t have anything to lose now.

  “Could the Nutcracker have gotten her?” she asked pointedly. “Do you know where I might find him?”

  Aslan looked as though he’d seen a ghost. “Inshallah.”

  Without saying goodbye, he recoiled into the booth, grazing a saucer of milk that stood on the threshold for some reason.

  Porphyry gave her arm a sharp tug and dragged her aside.

  “Who told you to speak?” he hissed. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

  Kate pulled away. “I want to find my sister.”

  “You won’t be able to, now.”

  “Why?”

  “At Aslan’s kiosks, they make shawarma. You know what that is? It’s a pocket of bread, stuffed with fried meat. Real cheap, because they fry up everything from rotten chickens to stray dogs. Sometimes people bring Aslan dead bodies—they don’t let them go to waste either. Human meat really hits the spot. If your sister was killed, it is more likely than not that she would have ended up in Aslan’s shawarmas. But you just ruined everything.

  After your rude behavior, Aslan won’t bother asking his people anything. That’s it. That was our last chance. End of story.”

  “She’s alive,” Kate repeated. “How do I find the Nutcracker?”

  Porphyry slapped his palms together and brushed them off. “Our contract has just expired. Don’t call me again.”

  The fur jacket disappeared into the bustling throng of people.

  Kate stood by herself amid the crowd filling the Haymarket. People hurried about their business, and nobody cared about a missing little girl. The wind got rid of the few remaining storm clouds. The sun came out, and it became as humid as a Turkish bath. Shiny puddles dried up right before her eyes.

  Porphyry hadn’t worked out. She was going to have to use Plan B.

  She dialed a new number (also recommended to her by Facebook friends) and gave the code word. In less than an hour, she handed over two thousand bucks right there on the square, in exchange for a heavy metal object that fit snugly behind her belt.

  * * *

  Annie was still asleep.

  Kate sat down on her own bed. She did not feel any need to rest, nor did she want to eat or drink. Yet she was faced with the most difficult task of all: three hours of waiting. Then she would reenact the events of a month ago, every last detail, up to the moment Sonya disappeared.

  Kate spent the next few hours killing time, letting her fingers get used to the grip of her new Walther. The weapon had been used recently. Kate had learned how to tell by the smell. That was why it had been sold. But she didn’t care how many people had died at the end of the barrel of that gun. All that mattered was that it work without fail when she needed it to.

  She also decided not to let Annie in on things. She had sworn to protect her just as she would her own sister. In order for the whole thing to work, Annie couldn’t have any idea what was going
on. Otherwise, she would get scared. It had not been easy to persuade Annie’s parents to allow the girl to go with her. But after all, she and Sonya had been best friends. Sometimes you just have to back up your friendship with deeds.

  The wait was over. Soon the hour would strike.

  Kate was ready. She stood up, touching Annie’s shoulder gently. “Wake up, honey, it’s evening already. Time to take a walk.”

  Annie blinked rapidly, and smiled. “Kate, do they have hamburgers here?”

  “Let’s go and find out.”

  “When are we going to see Sonya?”

  “Very soon, I hope.”

  Yawning noisily, Annie jumped up on the bed. “Ready when you are!”

  Kate opened up the big suitcase. “First, we have to change.”

  * * *

  A McDonald’s took up the ground floor of a large building on the far side of the square. At around ten o’clock in the evening, a little girl came out of it. She was wearing a white polo shirt and light-blue jeans. A backpack hung from her shoulders and she had a camera around her neck. A funny-looking pair of glasses nearly slid down her nose. She was holding a large milkshake and drinking it through a straw. The little girl stood in front of the restaurant, turning this way and that, then strolled leisurely about the square. A month before, Sonya, a girl of similar height and build and dressed in similar clothes, had found herself at that very same spot, without her parents’ supervision, for approximately half an hour. Kate’s empathic powers told her that this was where it had all begun. She was certain of it. They wouldn’t let such appetizing bait give them the slip, would they?

  Kate was on the lookout for anyone who moved close to Annie. So far, the young tourist had gone unnoticed. Annie walked halfway around the square, then something in her gait changed abruptly. She paused for a moment, as though straining to hear, then bowed her head, walking in a manner that seemed somehow too rigid, like a windup doll. Kate took note of the change, but couldn’t figure out what had caused it. There was no one near her, and she hadn’t been approached by anyone either. Then Kate thought she heard someone cracking his knuckles close by. The sound was so soft that it dissolved into the hubbub of the square.