Worth The Risk

by Richard Gustafson

  “If you say so,” Nick said with a smile.

  “And California. I must to see California! Hollywood. Maybe see Harry Ford at a café!”

  Nick paid and accepted his change and CDs with a few words of encouragement. He decided to let Crazy Boris find out the bad news himself about how far apart the two states were. At least he’d be happy until then.

  Nick walked out, feeling good. He liked Boris. Maybe the man wasn’t crazy, perhaps just a bit eccentric.

  “She’s been good girl this morning,” the orphanage nurse, Olga, said with a smile as she handed Nonna to Nick. Olga was short and overweight, hair tied up inside her nurse’s cap. Stains decorated her white uniform and several different baby-related odors floated around her. “She sleep well. Drink bottle. Soon another bottle.”

  “Spasiva,” he replied. Thank you.

  Olga hesitated, then made a motion with her hand, circling her face. “Nonna like you. Dark. Dark eyes. Her mother Georgian.”

  Nick nodded and smiled. He had heard from the orphanage director about Nonna’s parents. The mother from the republic of Georgia, the father from Russia. According to norms and history, they weren’t supposed to like each other. But those two did, quite passionately, and when Nonna came she was quickly shuttled to an orphanage before word got out.

  “Perhaps you Georgian, too.” Olga said. Nick smiled, nodded and said “perhaps,” to keep her happy. If she felt better about a fellow Georgian adopting Nonna, then it would be better for Nonna, too.

  Nonna looked at Nick doubtfully. She was eight months old and, like most orphans who didn’t get enough to eat, was quite small for her age. Black hair peeked out from under a white knit cap, and she had at least four layers of clothes on, culminating in a pink jumper. The poor thing was sweating in the heat, but they were told never to remove layers of clothes. The orphanage workers erred on the side of being too warm when they dressed the kids. Way too warm.

  Nick put his hand on her cheek. She had a heat rash on her nose and forehead, but there wasn’t much he could do about that yet. Nine days from now, yes, but not now. Prospective parents weren’t the only ones who just had to take it.

  He hoisted her on one hip, arm around her waist, and took a bottle from Olga. Nonna clasped her hands together in front of her. Olga had said the kids frequently did this, since nobody else was there to hold their hands. It was their way of coping. The first time Nick heard that, he vowed she would never want for hand-holding once he got her home.

  They walked out into the courtyard for some air. It was hot, but fresh relative to the orphanage. There were many tall, leafy trees, but little else, in the courtyard. No play sets or tricycles. Just several benches, paint peeling, scattered around. A sturdy metal fence ringed the courtyard, with the only entrance being the one they had just walked through.

  A few other families sat on benches with their kids, playing, talking, or just enjoying each other. Nick sat off to the side with Nonna. He wanted to be with her alone, as this was the first time he had visited the orphanage by himself. Over the few days since they met, Nick had noticed Nonna displayed a distinct preference for women. Olga said this was common, due to the fact that the kids typically only see women in the orphanage. Nick stayed diligent with the razor, but still got the impression Nonna didn’t know what to do with him.

  He sat her on his knee and brought out a few toys he had jammed in his backpack. A stuffed giraffe and plastic rings were first out, with the rings immediately going into her mouth. She chewed quietly, without expression, like a tiny cow with heat rash.

  He pulled a red hat out of his backpack and handed it to her. “Here you go, honey,” he said. “Mommy knitted it herself, because she loves you.” Nonna looked at it for a moment, then put it in her mouth. Nick watched with amusement as she tasted it. Apparently not finding it appetizing, she took it out of her mouth and abruptly threw it on the ground.

  Nick laughed, leaned over, and picked it up. He brushed a few twigs and some dirt off of it, then replaced the old and faded hat she wore with the new one. By that time Nonna was back to playing with the plastic rings.

  Nick spent the next hour on the bench with her, in their own little world, just getting to know each other. He bounced her on his knee, played with the toys, fed her thick gruel from a bottle. He noticed the hole in the nozzle had been opened quite a bit to allow the oatmeal stuff to come squirting out when she sucked it, which was vaguely disconcerting to him. They also went inside to change her into a diaper, which was also disconcerting since Kelli had handled diaper duty before. For some reason they couldn’t provide diapers to the orphanage, but they could put one on Nonna when they were with her. Nick suspected she wore it most of the day.

  Nonna never made a sound. No smiles, either, but she did spend a lot of time exploring Nick’s face with her fingers, when she wasn’t chewing on toys. At one point she stuck a finger in his mouth. He rewarded it with a Bronx cheer. He thought for a moment she would giggle, but nothing.

  He vowed to keep trying.

  Too soon, Nick told his daughter he’d be back tomorrow and reluctantly gave her to Olga. He hoped she’d cry when he handed her over, or at least stretch out her arms towards him, but she was pretty stoic about the whole thing. If anything, she seemed relieved to be rid of that odd American man. Nick kissed the top of her head and left her in good hands.

  Typically he and Kelli would head back to their hotel room after seeing Nonna, to eat lunch in the air conditioned room during the hottest part of the day. Today, though, Nick decided to walk along the Don River. Kelli had been nervous about going so far from the hotel, so they didn’t get around much.

  Now it was time to do some exploring.

  He knew the river was east, so he hoisted his backpack and found the first busy street going his way. He passed several jewelry shops. He thought it odd that a town with so much poverty also had multiple jewelry shops. Perhaps they were for the New Russians.

  Their driver had initially brought up the New Russians when he first drove them to Baby Home Number Four. They passed several SUV’s on the way. He pointed to one.

  “The New Russians,” he told them. “After Gorbachev, a lot changed here. Now the mob owns many things.”

  “So the mafia drives the SUV’s?” Nick asked.

  “Yes. They drive the nice cars, eat good beef at the nice restaurants, dress the best, have the most beautiful girlfriends.” He stopped, and they didn’t get much more out of him on the subject. He didn’t sound jealous. He sounded as if he were afraid to be jealous. Nick let it drop.

  He passed the jewelry stores without entering.

  Chapter 6

  Across town, the short man sat behind a desk. He leaned back and steepled his fingers in a way which made him look contemplative, thoughtful. The truth was that he had made up his mind hours ago how this meeting would progress. And so far it had gone completely to plan. But he knew it would, because he was Dmitri and they weren’t.

  Dmitri Kopolov sat because the pressure on his back was less when he sat, and therefore his left leg, or what remained of his left leg, pained him less. The large wooden desk also hid his leg from anybody who came too close to him, which in his opinion was several feet. He wore long pants, high-quality merchandise from one of the best tailors in Rostov, but he knew people would be looking at his leg, trying to figure out exactly where flesh ended and prosthetic began.

  Very few people outside his inner circle knew for sure, but Dmitri’s left leg concluded above his knee. The knee was steel, covered by hard molded plastic. The ankle and foot were wood but everything between was plastic. It was the result of three bullets placed there by a Rostov police officer several years before, during a run-in after a drug deal gone bad. The man cornered Dmitri in a warehouse and shot when Dmitri charged him. For some inexplicable reason the man had aimed low. Dmitri was in the hospital for several weeks and never walked normally again.

  It had taken nearly a year, but Dmitri finally caught u
p with the cop late one night. The man was bound by rope in the basement of Dmitri’s estate, then systematically shot in both arms and both legs. After the third shot the man begged Dmitri to kill him, but Dmitri wasn’t finished. He pumped three bullets into the man’s left leg, above the knee, and left him hanging for two hours. It would’ve been longer but by then the man had lost consciousness and Dmitri had grown weary of revenge. He put one final bullet in the man’s skull, cut him down, and delivered his body, along with flowers, to his widow.

  Two years later, a rival called Dmitri a gimp. It wasn’t to his face or the man wouldn’t have survived the day. It was to a colleague, and word quickly got back to Dmitri. The next day the rival was delivered, unconscious, to a local hospital. There a team of doctors quickly and professionally severed his left leg above the knee. He spent months learning how to walk again.

  Dmitri paid for the prosthetic and sent a get well card to the man’s home after he left the hospital.

  Nobody ever mentioned the leg again.

  The man across the desk from Dmitri was understandably nervous. He sat as still as possible in the metal chair, and kept his eyes as high as he could without raising Dmitri’s ire. He looked carefully at Dmitri’s thick black hair, or at his shoulders or arms, now strong from compensating for weakened legs, and didn’t say anything.

  Dmitri kept the man waiting, on edge, for several moments. Finally he opened his fingers and leaned forward, looking the man in the eyes.

  “So what would you have me do, Anton?” he asked. His voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the menace. “We have a deal for your protection.”

  Anton gulped. “Yes, Mr. Kopolov, we have a deal, but business hasn’t been good. With this economy, people don’t come in to buy furniture so much…” he trailed off, realizing how weak he sounded.

  “I don’t care how your business is,” Dmitri said. He kept his voice low. “What I know is that you told my men you didn’t have my July payment. Now what kind of businessman would I be if I let that go?”

  Anton gulped again, and visibly paled. “I can get you the money, Dmitri.”

  “How? You said business is off.”

  “Well, umm…” Anton stammered, then the words poured out in a rush. “Perhaps you can loan me the money. I’d pay you back, but it will just take a little more time.”

  Dmitri relaxed a bit. He was Dmitri and they weren’t. “I think we could work something out. But I require collateral now, since you have proven not to be such an astute businessman, and I must protect my interests.”

  “What collateral?”

  Dmitri spread his hands out. “Nothing too much, I’m a fair man. Inventory equal to twice your July payment will suffice. And your monthly payment will be twenty percent higher now, to compensate me for my troubles.”

  “But…but…” Anton fell silent. As they always do.

  “Would you like to see what will happen if you don’t make your next payment?” Dmitri asked.

  Anton looked like he definitely did not want to see what would happen if he didn’t make his next payment, but he nodded anyway.

  Dmitri glanced at the large guard standing near the doorway and inclined his head slightly. The man opened the door and a second man, even larger than the first, walked in, pushing a woman ahead of him. One meaty paw was fastened on her arm, and she struggled against his grip.

  She spied her husband sitting with Dmitri and let out a small gasp. “Anton…” she said.

  Anton whirled around in his chair and groaned at the sight of his wife. Forgetting where he was for a moment, he started to get out of his chair.

  “Sit down!” Dmitri yelled. Anton collapsed back into the chair but did not take his eyes off his wife. His body tensed and his hands gripped the sides of his chair tightly as his wife was dragged around to Dmitri’s side of the desk. She cringed away from Dmitri as he snaked an arm around her waist. The bodyguard blocked her path, standing over her with his arms crossed.

  Dmitri pulled her toward him. She stumbled and sat down hard on his lap, then tried to back off by putting her hands on his shoulders and pushing. Dmitri grinned and pulled her closer until she stopped struggling.

  Dmitri gave Anton a look of triumph. “You see, little man,” he said to Anton, who appeared to be trying very hard not to launch himself across the desk. “It’s not just you who suffers when you fail. I’ll find your family and make them pay.”

  “I’ll pay you!” Anton shouted, rising from his seat. The bodyguard behind him put a restraining hand on his shoulder, but the shopkeeper shrugged him off, and Dmitri waved the bodyguard back. He wanted to hear what Anton had to say.

  “I’ll pay you, dammit,” Anton said through clenched teeth. “There’s no need to do anything to my family. You’ll get your money on your terms.” Twin tears rolled down his cheeks as he looked at his terrified wife.

  Dmitri ignored him and turned to the woman on his lap. “Your name is Larissa, is it not?”

  She paused. Nodded. She didn’t look at him.

  “You are a beautiful woman.”

  She struggled a bit in his lap at that, not comfortable with where his thoughts might be heading.

  His right arm tightened around her as he reached into his desk with his left hand. It came out holding a small object. Larissa struggled harder as she realized it was a knife.

  “Your husband tried to cheat me,” Dmitri said as he held the knife up to inspect it. The blade was small, only a few inches, the type used to trim nails, but it gave Larissa no comfort. “He’s unable to pay me what he owes me.”

  “No,” Anton moaned, beginning to panic. “I’ll pay you!”

  “He tells me this,” Dmitri said to Larissa, clucking his tongue and trying his best to look sad. “I’m concerned he’s not being truthful.”

  “I am!” Anton protested. Dmitri ignored him. He pressed the blade to Larissa’s left cheek. She flinched and a small drop of blood appeared at the point of the blade. She closed her eyes, tears squeezing out from the sides.

  “Your husband needs to learn to pay his debts,” Dmitri said. “He needs to learn to be a businessman. Perhaps all he needs is proper motivation.”

  He pressed the point into her skin. Larissa let out a moan and began to struggle in his grip. The bodyguard next to her stepped sideways and grabbed the top of her head, holding it in place as Dmitri dragged the knife down her cheek, three inches, four. Blood poured out over the blade and ran down Dmitri’s hand as he carved a straight line to her chin. She squeezed her eyes shut from the pain. Tears flowed out and mingled with the blood.

  Anton finally had had enough. He let out a roar and lunged at Dmitri. He was stopped short by the second bodyguard, who reached forward, grabbed Anton’s shoulders from behind, and pulled him backwards into his chair. Anton landed roughly and struggled against the harsh pressure on his shoulders.

  Dmitri finally stopped cutting. He pulled out a white handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Larissa, who immediately thrust it onto the cut. Dmitri pulled out a second handkerchief and wiped his knife and hand on it, turning it red. He tossed the handkerchief into a wastebasket under the desk, and turned to Anton.

  “Now perhaps you’ll take me more seriously,” he told the crying shopkeeper. “You’ll not want to see what happens to your lovely Larissa if you miss another payment.”

  He let go of Larissa, who immediately got up and rushed around the desk to Anton. She stopped short of her husband, however, and glared at him.

  Dmitri laughed. “You think it’s bad now,” he told the shaken shopkeeper. “Just wait until it heals and she sees the scar every morning. She’ll blame you for destroying her beauty, you know.”

  He waved an arm. “Now leave. I’ll send a man to you tomorrow to discuss our new arrangements.”

  After the door closed Dmitri leaned back and lit a cigarette. It was good to be Dmitri.

  “Here, Mikhail,” the boss said. “Marines. Left eight years ago. Iraq, mainly.” He paused,
and his heartbeat sped up slightly. “Recon Marines,” he said, almost proudly.

  “Special Forces?” Mikhail asked, leaning forward.

  “Yes,” the second man said as he read. “Definitely Force Recon, although they don’t say as much here.”

  “Can you find details?” the bodyguard asked.

  “Eventually,” the second man replied. “But the details are not important. His being a Recon Marine is what’s important.” He turned around in his leather chair to look at the bodyguard. “And you say he attacked Sergei and Vlad only after they went after his friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “And it was triggered by…”

  “The prostitute. The one Maxsim beat up. Vlad thinks this Nick was angry because she had been hurt. He thought the man wanted to tear Maxsim apart even before Sergei got there.”

  The second man thought hard. “Hmmm, Recon Marine. Chivalrous.”

  Mikhail subconsciously rubbed his scar. “He could be very dangerous.”

  The other man nodded. “He could be very dangerous, indeed.”

  He smiled.

  Chapter 7

  The Don River flowed through the southern edge of Rostov, separating the city from the fields beyond. Connecting Rostov to the Caususes, Turkey, and beyond, it played a major part in making the city one of the main ports in southern Russia and a major hub of commerce.

  At least, that was what the guide book said. Nick put it down and stared at the river. Vital or not, the water was brown and uninviting, and he had no plan to jump in it any time soon. He was sure there was a lot of history there, but he was more interested in the truck parked on grass near the river. The truck was large and had a picture of a very happy hot dog dancing with a very happy hamburger, big grins on their meaty faces. It was an eerie picture, Nick decided, but it made him hungry.