Maxsim was a happy man.
He hadn’t been so happy yesterday. Yesterday he was one mean sonofabitch, even by his own standards. The attack on Sergei and Vlad by the American had caused him to lose face in front of the entire club. And he knew the news didn’t stay in the club. As early as the next morning he had noticed smirks where there had once been fear. And that wasn’t acceptable.
So he’d taken steps, not unenjoyable steps, to flush the Americans out, and it worked better than he could have hoped. First the noisy obnoxious one showed up at the music store with a gun. And now, now he received word that the quiet American, the one who hit very hard, was at the store looking for the first two Americans. Could it really be that easy to bring the three Americans in? Easy for a man of his intelligence, anyway. Smarter than a few Americans, obviously.
The call had come in to one of his lieutenants, who immediately called Maxsim. Maxsim just as fast dispatched the man and his partner to the store to bring the last American in.
He walked in to the room next to his office and looked at the man hanging from the wall. The American didn’t handle pain well, which wasn’t surprising because the noisy ones usually screamed first. He had given up their hotel and room numbers fast enough, but Maxsim hadn’t moved on it yet. And now he didn’t need to because the last American, whom Maxsim suspected wouldn’t scream nearly as much, had come to him.
Scott had cigarette burns on his chest and arms, and his other wrist was broken above where the chains gripped his flesh. He writhed in agony against the wall, eyes screwed shut, not noticing Maxsim had returned.
But the real prize wasn’t the two men. It was the woman upstairs. For years Maxsim’s colleagues had put up with the arrogance of the Americans. More than once they had said to Maxsim, “Screw America.”
And now they would get their chance, one at a time. Maxsim smiled to himself. He took her first, since she was his. Nobody else knew where these two—soon to be three—were, and she would keep his colleagues pleased for a long time, before eventually being found in the Don.
Yes, it was definitely a good day.
Two men barged through the front door of Crazy Boris’s. They weren’t as big as the bodyguards from the club, but they had the wiry, confident look of well-trained fighters. Nick didn’t move. His left leg was bent at the knee, foot flat against the wall, arms crossed in front of him. He waited patiently as the men sought him out. They seemed surprised to find him waiting for them.
They stopped in front of him, one on each side, just outside of his reach.
“Come with us,” the one on the left said in a low guttural voice.
“No,” Nick replied.
They looked even more surprised.
“You come with us now,” the man said, a bit dramatically, Nick thought.
Nick shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said.
Surprise was rapidly replaced by frustration in the men. They closed in on Nick. The man on the left flicked his hand in a follow-me gesture.
Nick looked at him steadily, ignoring the man on the right. “Maxsim only sent two of you? He must overestimate your abilities. Maybe next time he’ll send more.”
The Russians only understood part of what Nick said, but what they understood made it clear that Nick was mocking them. Two hands went into their suit pockets and two hands came out with black guns. High-powered Glocks, it looked like to Nick. He was glad, since his gun wasn’t going to cut what he had to do later in the morning.
They both moved a bit closer. “We’re not leaving here without you,” the first one said.
Nick shrugged. “You’re not leaving here at all,” he said.
He figured the guy on the left was the leader. When two thugs worked for somebody, one is typically higher in the pecking order, and that person is the one who does the talking.
The guy on the left had done the talking. If Nick took him down first, the guy on the right, not used to making decisions, would probably hesitate for a fraction of a second, which would give Nick the opening he needed.
Nick lined himself up with the guy on the left. The only danger now was if Nick had guessed wrong, and the guy on the right made the first move. Then Nick would be out of position and at a distinct disadvantage.
He guessed correctly.
The man on the left took a step forward, non-dominant hand out to grab Nick’s collar. The gun never wavered from his other hand.
Nick didn't waver, either. He had learned early on that you act, not react. As soon as the man moved, Nick launched himself at him from the wall, using his foot against the wall as leverage. He brought his right elbow up at the same time, fist sliding across his body, and slammed his elbow into the man's throat. As the man staggered back, Nick jabbed his elbow the other way, straight into the bridge of the second man's nose.
The first man staggered back and fell to his knees, clutching his throat. Nick grabbed his gun, now forgotten as it clanged noisily to the floor. He reversed the grip in one fluid motion and smashed the butt against the man's temple. The Russian’s head slammed into the floor and bounced. After that he didn't move.
The second man also staggered backwards, his movement sending him crashing into a shelf of CDs. Man, blood, and CDs cascaded to the floor with a loud crash.
Nick kicked several CDs away as he waded in. Right hand still firmly on the barrel of the Glock, Nick sent the butt end into the temple of the second enforcer. Like his partner, he went down hard and didn't move.
Anya ran in the store and saw the two men on the floor. “Is this how you ask nicely?” she said. Nick thought he saw a hint of a smile on her face.
“They were mean first,” he replied.
"I don’t think I’d want you mad at me," she said.
Nick checked the magazine on the first Glock, then reached for the second gun. "No, you wouldn’t," he said.
He found Boris crouched down behind the counter, cowering with his arms over his head.
“Get up,” Nick ordered, casually flicking one of the Glocks in Boris’s direction.
Boris stood up hastily, eyes on the gun.
“I assume you’ll need to call this in,” Nick said.
Boris didn’t move and didn’t tear his eyes from the gun.
“Tell you what,” Nick said. “Give me fifteen minutes, then call. In return, I’ll move the bodies out the back door. You can tell Maxsim that his goons chased me out the back door and you haven’t seen us since.”
Boris gulped and showed no comprehension to what Nick had just said.
Nick reached out with his other hand and lightly slapped the Russian’s face. “Yo, you got that?”
The slap brought Boris around. “Wh-what?” he asked.
Nick sighed and tried again, in simple English. This time Boris seemed to grasp the concept. He nodded, but looked worried.
“What?” Nick asked.
“I still can’t say where your friends are,” he said.
“You don’t have to,” Nick answered. “I’ll ask them.” He motioned with his Glock towards the two goons on the ground.
Boris finally tore his gaze from the gun and looked at Nick. “I can’t give you fifteen minutes.”
“Why not?”
“They’ll know. Then they’ll kill me.”
“In a few hours they’ll be dead.”
Boris shook his head. “I’d like to believe that. If you lose, I die.”
Nick nodded. “OK, then what?”
“Hit me.”
Nick stared at the man for a long moment, then sighed and nodded. “In the head?”
Boris pointed to his temple. “Yes, here.”
Nick sighed. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Yes. Then do me favor.”
“What?”
“Never come in my store again.”
Chapter 15
Nick stepped up to the first would-be abductor, the man who had done the talking. A dribble of blood ran from the guy’s temple, his fac
e was ashen, but he was starting to come to.
Nick slapped his cheek to speed the process up. The man opened his eyes, saw Nick, closed them again, and opened. Unfortunately for him, Nick was still there.
“Where are the Americans?” Nick asked without preamble. Anya moved in behind him.
“Fuck you,” the man said, and coughed.
Nick slapped him again. “Wrong answer, asshole. I’m done playing. Where are they?”
The man shook his head to clear it. Nick knew he had a horrendous headache, but then, surprisingly, the man grinned weakly and whispered something.
Nick leaned in, as did Anya. “What?” he asked.
The man whispered, “Your friend is dead. And his woman is Maxsim’s whore now. So who’s the asshole?”
It took a second for the words to process, a second that seemed much longer. When they finally got it, Anya stumbled back and fell hard on her butt. She put her hand to her mouth to stifle a scream.
The roaring started in Nick’s left ear again. He knew it wouldn’t go away this time. He let it take over. They crossed the line.
He swung the gun at the man’s head with all his force.
Chapter 16
The entryway of the brothel took up the front half of the ground floor of the three-story building. Nick was surprised at how nice it looked, given the crumbling façade of the outside. He was expecting something more along the lines of a hotel that rented rooms by the hour.
Several couches ringed the sides of the room. Gaudy art ordained the walls, mostly watercolor nudes. Sunlight streamed in through outsized windows, highlighting dust floating through the air. Women lounged on the couches, not moving much, smoking.
A large desk occupied the space to Nick’s right. A receptionist sat behind it. She was dark haired, cute, and wore a black business suit at an attempt at class. Nick had to admit it almost worked. At least it offset the art a bit.
Nick scanned for male faces first. They would be the threats. He only saw one, a large bulk sitting on the edge of the desk, chatting up the receptionist. Nick quickly thought back to the night at the club, and couldn’t remember the face. Good. Hopefully the man was not aware of him. The man on the edge didn’t register any emotion at Nick’s appearance except annoyance that his conversation with the receptionist had been interrupted. He gave Nick a professional once over and then stood up with a sigh. His time to impress the woman would have to wait.
Nick stood in the entrance for several seconds, not moving, taking it all in. The roaring in his head had subsided somewhat, but it was replaced with an all-consuming desire to find Scott and Katie and get them the hell out of there.
Back at the CD shop, he and Anya had moved the bodies of the two Russians out the back of the store. The first man was dead but the second would be fine, eventually. They dumped both men in the alley behind the store, and Nick liberated their Glocks and spare ammo. He told Anya to stand guard across the street from the brothel. He knew Katie, at least, was in the brothel, and perhaps Scott was as well. But he didn’t want to have to keep an eye out for Anya. And he needed her to alert him if the police showed up, anyway.
She wasn’t happy about not going in after them with Nick, but the look on his face told her it would be futile to argue.
The look on her face said she felt sorry for whoever tried to stop him.
Nick was ready to leave if he sensed any danger, but it appeared safe. People were either curious or not interested in him. He didn’t rush anything; silence unnerved most people, and caused them to say and do things they wouldn’t normally say or do.
But it was quiet. The large man disappeared and the receptionist looked at him expectantly, a smile on her face. Nick started to walk towards her.
A movement to his left made him pause. A woman stood up abruptly, and he could tell she was watching him intently. He tensed, ready for trouble, and turned towards her.
It was Lauren’s friend. He didn’t know her, had never talked to her, but he remembered seeing her near Lauren at the club. He remembered her eyes, silver and flashing angrily at him even in the dark light of the Dolphin. Perhaps friend was too strong of a word, but she was at least Lauren’s acquaintance.
She had dark hair, appeared worn out in a pink robe. Her feet were bare. She was smoking and looked as if she had been crying.
Her eyes never left Nick and he knew she recognized him as well. She bent over, quickly stubbed her cigarette out in an ashtray on a small table next to the sofa, and crossed over to Nick, forcing a smile.
“Come back to see me so soon, baby?” she asked in a husky Russian accent. She reached up and gave Nick a quick smoky kiss on his cheek, then pulled back, looking at him intently, warily, her hand on his arm.
Nick wasn’t expecting a welcome and didn’t move for a long moment. She kept looking at him expectantly, eyes on his.
His training took over. When in doubt, just go with it. He smiled at her, making sure the receptionist saw it, and said, “Of course, honey. I missed you.”
She squeezed his arm slightly and turned to the receptionist. She said something to the woman behind the desk and both laughed. The receptionist replied and marked something in her book.
“Fifty dollars, please,” the receptionist said to Nick. Nick was tempted to protest when he felt another squeeze on his arm. Sighing slightly, he pulled out his wallet and handed over fifty dollars American. He knew by now they didn’t like rubles.
Transaction completed, the receptionist turned away and the prostitute led Nick back to her room by the hand. She didn’t look at him and walked fast.
An opening out the back of the lobby led to a short hallway with three doors on either side. More, but smaller, paintings of nudes and couples engaged in all sorts of sexual activities adorned the walls. They were probably there to inspire the customers, Nick thought, so they popped their corks sooner and got out faster. Capitalism in action.
Stairs at the end of the hall led up to the next floor, but the woman stopped at the last door on the right. She opened it and led Nick in.
The room was small and sparsely decorated. A medium-sized bed dominated the room, with a dresser and mirror at the foot of the bed. A large window took up most of the far wall. It was open, which was good because the room had a distinctive odor of sex. Nick tried to take shallow breaths. If this woman expected action from him, she was going to be disappointed. He wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to get it up at this point.
But sex wasn’t on her mind. She closed the door and leaned against it. “You were at the club,” she said. It was a statement, not a question.
Nick nodded, didn’t say anything. She looked him up and down. “Galina is dead,” she said, and tears welled up in her eyes again.
Nick was confused. “Who?” he asked.
“Galina. Your…friend.”
“You mean Lauren?”
She smiled through her tears. “That’s the name she used with you? She loved Lauren Bacall, from old movies we used to watch. She always said it was a pretty name, and it would be hers when she went to America.”
Now tears formed in Nick’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said.
She sniffed and rubbed a sleeve across her nose. “Maxsim killed her,” she said simply.
“How do you know it was Maxsim?”
“Because he’s a bastard!” she shot back. “Anyone crosses him, he kills them.”
Nick sighed. He wasn’t surprised. “What’s your name?”
“Alenka.”
“Alenka, he’s taken two of my friends,” Nick said. “I’m afraid he’s going to kill them as well.”
“The Americans,” she said. “I’ve heard them. They’re here.”
Nick’s ears perked up. “Do you know where?”
“Is this why you’re here?”
“Yes.”
“OK,” Alenka said. “I thought so. This is why I came to you. You want to help them.”
Yes, Nick thought. For Galina.
“I
heard them upstairs. I heard shouting and screaming.”
Nick froze. “Male or female?”
Alenka shrugged. “Sometimes it is difficult to tell.”
Nick shook his head and said, “Shit,” under his breath. Time for Plan B, which didn’t involve tip-toeing around.
“There’s more,” Alenka said. She took a step forward and placed her hand on his shoulder. He could smell the smoke and sweat on her. It reminded him of Galina. As did her red, dulled eyes.
“There is a story among the girls that we have new…how do you say it…new competition. American competition.”
Nick stared at her. He shook his head. “No, no way. Maxsim’s nuts, and maybe he kept her for himself, but I don’t believe he’d kidnap an American and put her to work in his brothel. If the police found out about that, he’d end up in the gulag!”
Alenka smiled sadly. “They pay the police to look elsewhere. He can do what he wants.”
“No, he can’t,” Nick replied. He checked his pockets. He had the Glocks and his knife, plenty of firepower. “Do you know where she is?” he asked.
Alenka pointed skyward. “Upstairs,” she said. “He has a few, what do you call them, ‘VIP rooms’ on the top floor. She would be there.”
“Have you heard anything about the American man with her?” Nick asked.
Alenka shook her head, black hair curling over her eyes. “Not much, but he must be there near her. He’s not down here.”
Nick nodded and crossed to the door. He opened it slightly and peeked out. Nobody around.
“Galina’s room is there,” Alenka said sadly as she pointed to the wall next to the head of her bed. “We used to knock on the wall when we were alone. It made me feel less alone.”
Nick nodded and sighed.
“We were together since the orphanage,” Alenka said. Her voice was low, miserable, her mind back to her childhood. “We had beds next to each other in the baby home.”
Worth The Risk Page 10