Worth The Risk

by Richard Gustafson

  “Hey, asshole,” Sergei said to Scott. His voice was loud even in the din of the club. It was rough, too. “Where’s my money?”

  Scott sat still in his chair, wide eyes on Sergei. His mouth opened, closed, opened again, and closed. At that point Nick hoped Scott wouldn’t say anything.

  Nick glanced at Tom. The man’s face was tense. He looked ready to jump the Russian. He noticed Nick’s stare and glanced at him. Nick shook his head slightly. Tom pursed his lips but didn’t move.

  “You don’t think I know when five Americans leave my hotel?” Sergei said. He moved to his right, around whoever restrained Nick, to be closer to Scott. His attention was completely on his prey now.

  Nick’s hands were in his lap. He shifted slightly, moving each hand to a thigh. The man towering over him didn’t respond except to reflexively push down a bit harder. Nick figured the man was watching Scott struggle.

  And Scott was struggling. He looked as if he was going to throw up all over the table. Katie looked at Sergei, then back at her husband. “What’s this all about, Scott?” she asked. Her voice was high-pitched, her eyes wide, confused. Nick knew she was on the verge of losing it. He glanced at Michelle. The woman was silent, taking it all in. A professional.

  “Yeah, asshole,” Sergei said. “What’s this all about? Tell her.”

  Scott was silent, miserable, his gaze on the table in front of him.

  Sergei took a step forward, between Nick and Katie. Nick was now out of his sight, forgotten, as Sergei glared over Katie’s shocked face at Scott.

  “No?” he said. “OK, I’ll tell her.” He shifted his gaze to Katie. “Your husband slept with one of my whores.” The corner of his mouth curled up slightly at the look of horror that spread over Katie’s face. “Now he won’t pay what he owes me.”

  Katie turned to Scott in a grotesque slow motion, her chair sliding backwards as she shifted her weight. “Is this true?” she said. Her face was now rigid, the emotions refusing to come to the surface. Nick knew she didn’t care about the money. It was Scott’s betrayal that mattered.

  Scott stared down at the table in front of him. He was completely defeated. Sergei laughed.

  Katie slapped Scott. Hard. His head snapped to the right, then came back to a neutral position, still looking down. He didn’t fight it, which increased Katie’s fury. Sergei laughed again.

  Nick felt his rising anger quickly flow away. The Calm came over him, and knew it was time. The Calm had only surfaced a handful of times in his life, but more often than not, somebody soon was dead because of it. He figured The Calm was his body’s way of getting focused, ready to fight. He didn’t like when it showed up, but knew it prepared him for what came next.

  He flexed his right hand, making a fist, relaxing it, making it again, relaxing, getting a feel for the power.

  Katie stood up. Nick knew she was seconds from disintegration. He made a tight fist and glanced down at the legs behind him. Not yet.

  The man holding Nick down then made his mistake. He laughed along with Sergei, made a short comment in Russian that made them both laugh again, and moved to his right. Later Nick figured he meant to give Sergei a high-five. It never landed.

  The man shifted his weight and stepped forward, giving Nick a clear path to his knee. Nick took a breath, allowed The Calm to take over. He smashed his right elbow viciously into the man’s knee.

  Nick knew he didn’t have enough leverage to break the man’s kneecap, but he didn’t have to. He knew there would be one of two results: if the blow wasn’t hard enough, the man would haul off and hit Nick upside the head. Or worse, move his hands slightly and choke him into unconsciousness. If the blow was hard enough, he would double over instinctively and grab his knee.

  The blow was hard enough.

  The man gasped and the hands left Nick’s shoulders. Nick sensed him bending over to clutch his knee. Nick reached up with both hands, grasped where he figured the man’s collar would be. He felt cloth and pulled down hard. The man’s face slammed into the table, the sounds of the club drowning out both his shocked yell and the pop as his nose exploded on the wood.

  Nick jumped up and faced Sergei. The Russian’s laughter died in his throat as he saw his bodyguard crumple to the ground, groggy, blood pouring out of his face. The bartender recovered quickly. He pulled a knife out of his suit coat pocket and flicked it open in one quick move as Nick descended on him.

  Nick grabbed Sergei’s knife hand in both of his own before the Russian had a chance to think, and thrust upwards. Sergei didn’t expect the speed of the attack, and almost immediately his knife was at his own throat. He brought up his other hand to defend himself, and found both hands in Nick’s grasp.

  Nick stepped in closer, his face only inches from Sergei’s shocked expression. He hissed at the Russian, “Think about what you’re doing, Sergei.” Sergei struggled, not willing to accept defeat. Nick pushed the knife up, the tip entered the flesh behind Sergei’s chin. A thin line of blood oozed down the blade, and Sergei abruptly stopped moving.

  “Is a small amount of money from one American worth it, Sergei?” Nick said in a low voice, so only the Russian could hear. “You told his wife, so you don’t have that leverage anymore. Just let it drop.” He spoke slowly, carefully, so the Russian would understand every word. Sergei glared back at Nick, silent.

  “Just let it drop, Sergei,” Nick said again. The Russian eyed him, and his mouth turned up slightly in a sneer. Nick took that as a “no” and pushed harder on the knife. More blood dripped down the knife and onto their hands, but Sergei didn’t flinch.

  “Don’t fuck with us,” Sergei finally said. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

  They were at an impasse. Nick knew it. He knew he wasn’t going to stab a Russian enforcer in a Moscow club and get away with it. But he wasn’t about to let Sergei get away with threatening his friends. He and the Russian glared into each other’s eyes for a long moment.

  Then Nick felt a touch on his arm. He had been so focused on Sergei that he didn’t notice Katie approach them.

  “How much does he owe you?” she asked Sergei softly, hand still on Nick’s arm.

  Surprise flickered in the Russian’s eyes for a moment, replaced quickly by a glint of triumph. “Two hundred dollars,” he said.

  She started to open her purse.

  “But the price has gone up,” Sergei said. He motioned to the bodyguard, still dazed on the floor. “Since I now have to bring my friend to the doctor.”

  “How much?” she asked again.

  Sergei thought quickly. “Double. Four hundred dollars.”

  Nick felt a surge of anger and nudged the blade deeper. Sergei turned slowly to Nick. “I trust you don’t want the price to go higher,” he said softly.

  Gritting his teeth, Nick let off on the pressure.

  “I don’t have that kind of money now,” Katie said. She was obviously in shock. Her words were slow, measured. “Can I give it to you tomorrow?”

  Sergei paused for a moment before speaking. “By noon tomorrow. Bring it to me at the restaurant.”

  “Then you’ll leave us alone.”

  “I never said that. But if you don’t pay, I won’t leave you alone.”

  “I’ll pay,” she said, and without another word turned away. She stumbled back to the table and sat down. Scott didn’t look at her.

  “Now give me that damn knife,” Sergei growled to Nick. Nick reluctantly lowered the knife and handed it to Sergei, who grabbed it with a grunt and wiped it on a napkin from the table before closing it.

  A man walked up behind Sergei. He was large and looked familiar. It took Nick a moment to remember where he had seen him. Then it came to him: the bodyguard who had been with Maxsim. So Maxsim and Sergei were connected. Nick wasn’t surprised.

  Up close, Nick noticed the man had a long scar that ran from the corner of his mouth down below his jawbone. He had a hardened look to him. Apparently Sergei wasn’t the only ex-military i
n the mob.

  The man looked from Sergei to Nick. He murmured something to Sergei, who shook his head. “No, it’s over,” he said as he motioned towards Katie. “The woman saved him.” Sergei spoke in English for Nick’s benefit. He saw Nick’s furious expression and smiled. The larger man just looked at Nick with a curious expression for several seconds, until Sergei said, “Let’s go.”

  He and Sergei helped their friend to his feet, which he gained with difficulty, and they disappeared into the washroom to clean up. The small group of club-goers who had witnessed the altercation dispersed, likely disappointed there wasn’t more bloodshed.

  Nick turned to the others. Michelle was the only one who didn’t look like she had been maced. She put her arm around Katie, who had her face buried in her hands, and whispered something to her. Katie nodded slightly, or perhaps it was her head shaking from the sobs.

  Michelle looked up at Nick. “I’m going to take her back to the hotel,” she said. Her voice was even, collected. Nick nodded. Tom said, “Do you want me to go with you?”

  Michelle nodded. “Yeah, but walk behind us. I doubt Katie will even know you’re there.” She glanced at Scott and there was disgust in her voice as she said, “And get Scott home, too. They have some talking to do.”

  The women left, one supporting the other, while the men walked behind them. Scott was in shock, his feet moving mechanically. Tom murmured to Nick, “What did she say?”

  Nick replied in a low voice, although he was pretty sure Scott wasn’t hearing anything at the moment. “She bought him off. Hopefully we’re done with them now.”

  “Do you think so?” Tom sounded skeptical.

  Nick didn’t reply. He suspected all her four hundred dollars had bought was time.

  The man knelt gently by Lauren, who sat stiffly in a chair on the other side of the club. He kept his face turned, so the scar by his mouth did not intimidate her.

  “Do you know the man who talked to you earlier, the American?” he asked Lauren.

  Lauren shook her head, but the man kept his gaze on her until she nodded, once, timidly. “I don’t know his name but he’s staying at the Hotel Rostov.”

  “Room?” They both knew she’d have his room number.

  She sighed. “402.”

  He stood up. “Thank you. Give me a moment, then I’ll take you home.”

  Maxsim had disappeared. Probably doing blow in the bathroom, the man thought with disgust. No time to waste. The bodyguard pulled out his cell phone. It contained several speed dial numbers, but he ignored them. He dialed a different number from memory.

  A moment later the connection was established and a tinny voice answered. He said, “I may have something. Can you meet tonight?” A pause. “Good.”

  He terminated the call, then opened up the call history for the phone and deleted the last number. By the time Maxsim returned, rubbing his nose furiously, the man had put the phone away and stood against a post, impassive.

  Chapter 5

  The fallout began immediately.

  Nick locked himself in his room, breathed a big sigh of relief and leaned against the door for several moments. When he finally started to get ready for bed, it was nearing midnight and he was exhausted.

  There was a quiet knock on the door as he crawled into bed. He turned and looked at the heavy wooden door, hoping the sound had come from another room.

  It hadn’t. The knock repeated, louder this time.

  Nick sighed, pulled on sweatpants, and opened the door. Michelle stood outside, ready to pound again. She lowered her arm and asked, “Can I come in for a second?”

  Nick swung the door open and motioned inside. “What’s up?” he asked.

  “Katie won’t let Scott sleep in their room.”

  Nick groaned. He knew what was coming. “He’s not sleeping in my bed. It’s barely big enough for one.”

  Katie nodded. “You have a couch.”

  Nick closed his eyes. “Fine. But those two need to talk.”

  “I know, I know. But Katie’s in shock right now. They can talk tomorrow. Maybe the day after.”

  “OK,” Nick said. He sighed. “Do you want me to go get him?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind. He’s with Tom in our room.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  She shrugged. “About the same. Not saying anything. Just stares. Maybe you can talk to him.”

  Nick grabbed his key so they wouldn’t be locked out. He was in no mood for a key lady’s anger tonight. “I’ll talk to him in the morning. He needs some sleep, and so do I.”

  But they didn’t talk in the morning. Nick woke late, curled up on the side of the bed, arm asleep as usual. He turned over and reached for Kelli, then sat up when he realized she wasn’t there. He listened for sounds from the bathroom for a few seconds before remembering she was gone, and most likely thousands of miles away at that point. He remembered last night. As it came back to him, he felt very lonely

  Groaning loudly, Nick sank back into the bed, wishing Kelli was there with him. She was a great listener, giving advice when she knew the speaker wanted some, or just sitting quietly when the other person just needed to vent.

  And Nick needed to vent. He looked over at the couch. Scott was curled up in as close to a fetal position as he could get, face pressed against the back of the couch, away from reality. He wasn’t moving and Nick had no interest in waking him.

  Nick rolled into a sitting position on the edge of the bed and stayed there for several minutes, thinking, before he got up to grab some breakfast. Bread and Lucky Charms, which was the only cereal he could find at the small grocery store near the baby home. He poured bottled water over the cereal and gulped it down. They were told to stay away from the unpasteurized milk, but marshmallow bits in lukewarm water didn’t do much for him, so he once again considered giving milk a shot later that day. The bread, baked yesterday, tasted much better.

  He opened the curtains and was happy to see another cloudless day. In July, they had learned the hard way, the hotel turned off the hot water to save money. He and Kelli got around it by filling several two-liter soda bottles with water in the morning and letting them heat in the sun in front of pulled curtains all day. By late afternoon they had enough mildly warm water to at least take a quick shower or shave. With his dark hair and seemingly permanent stubble, shaving every day was important to Nick.

  Nick filled the bottles, tidied up a bit, and put his book and MP3 player in a backpack. He looked over at Scott. Still no movement. Nick stared at Scott’s back for a moment, not feeling much sympathy.

  It was 9:15 am. He could see Nonna every day, provided he was there by 10:00 am sharp and didn’t pitch a fit when they threw him out of the orphanage ninety minutes later. He had no idea why they could only see their child between 10:00 and 11:30; it was just one of those lame rules they came up with to keep parents in their place. As with the other lame rules, parents took it because eventually you do what you have to do to get your baby.

  But Nick would have ninety minutes with Nonna. It would be a good day.

  The bodyguard stood, absently rubbing his scar, as his boss maneuvered through an easily-penetrated US armed forces web site. He knew better than to talk; his job was simply to bring the information to his boss, who would then know what to do with it.

  “Nick Wallace,” the man repeated several times, slowly, subconsciously, as he trolled the database. “So you thought he was older?” He spoke Russian.

  “Yes,” the bodyguard replied. “Late thirties, early forties. Big, dark. Definitely military, probably retired.”

  “But still dangerous?”

  “He took down Vladimir easily enough and would’ve cut Sergei’s head off if the woman hadn’t intervened,” the bodyguard replied.

  The second man nodded, the beginnings of a smile on his face. Dangerous. He continued to troll.

  Even at the early hour, Crazy Boris’s was running at full volume. Crazy Boris owned an electronics shop a block from
the hotel, where loud rock music blasted from speakers placed outside. Nick assumed Rostov didn’t have noise ordinances. Like the Chicken Shack, Crazy Boris’s was not the name of the place, and the owner probably was not named Boris, but it fit. Nick could easily see one of their commercials, complete with loud music and a frantic guy in a tacky suit running around, yelling, “My name may be Crazy Boris, but these prices are insaaaaaaane!”

  His favorite part of the shop was the music section. Copyright laws were as non-existent as noise ordinances, and Boris had rack upon rack of CDs at about a dollar US each. New releases, rarities, even the complete Beatles collection, which Nick already had but bought anyway because it was such a deal. He wasn’t sure how he’d get all the music past customs, but he’d figure out a way. Maybe slide them between diapers, or pinch Nonna so she’d cry and they’d let them through quickly, without checking closely. He grinned to himself. He knew that wasn’t going to happen. Kelli had taken the Beatles home with her yesterday so he knew they were safe, at least.

  Nick looked through the CDs for the third time in as many days, and decided on a few from The Who. Crazy Boris seemed to have a better selection of the oldies than current artists.

  He walked his CDs up to the counter and was slightly surprised to see Boris himself behind the old-fashioned cash register. Usually he had a kid on the register while he chatted with customers. Boris was probably fifty, with a salt-and-pepper goatee and thinning hair pulled back into a ponytail.

  He took the CDs and gave Nick a big smile. “Ahh, The Who!” he said in a booming voice. “The kids are alright! Are you American?”

  Nick nodded.

  Crazy Boris thrust his hand over the counter so quickly that Nick flinched, and shook Nick’s hand with vigor.

  “Hello, American! Someday I go America, Miami Beach. Miami Vice, great show!” He pronounced “Vice” with a “W,” and made a machine gun sound with his lips as he simulated spraying bullets around the store. “Don Johnson, good actor.”