Finally the man pulled back, and Nick knew he was going to kill Maxsim.
Nick scrambled back a few feet as the bodyguard pulled the trigger. Maxsim’s head blew apart, bits of brain and bone flying through the room. The sheet on the bed behind Maxsim instantly turned crimson.
Nick struggled to his feet. “Shit!” he yelled.
The bodyguard looked at him calmly. “Maxsim was a madman,” he said. “We’re better off without him.” He slid Nick’s gun back to the stunned American. “You should leave now. Before the police arrive.”
“What did you say to him?”
The man inclined his head towards the door. “Go,” was all he said.
Nick didn’t need further prompting. He grabbed the gun off the floor and headed for the door. He stopped in the doorway.
“Your friend will need help quickly,” Nick said, motioning towards the Russian propped against the wall.
The man nodded. “Da,” he said. “Thank you for not killing him.”
Nick paused, started to reply, thought better of it. He ran out the door.
The stairs led straight to the basement. Nick heard commotion on the first floor as he took the stairs two at a time. He hoped he could get back to Katie, but with Maxsim gone he knew the danger to her was most likely past. Scott was the one he was worried about now.
The stairs ended three floors below, in the basement. In contrast to the main floors, the basement was one large, unfinished room. Nick found a light switch and flicked it on.
It didn’t take long to find Scott.
He was at the far end of the basement, dumped unceremoniously on a mattress. In Nick’s opinion, he had been dead for at least an hour.
In a rush, all of the adrenaline left Nick’s body and he sat down hard on the mattress, staring at the hole in Scott’s head. No blood trickled out of it. He was dead before the finishing shot.
Nick held his face and yelled into his hands, face shaking, mind numb, for a long moment.
Finally, hearing sirens, he composed himself, wiped his face, said goodbye to Scott, and left the brothel through a window in the back as the Rostov police came in through the front.
Nick looped around the block and approached the brothel from across the street. He wasn’t too concerned with anybody recognizing him. At that point he didn’t really give a damn.
He found Anya watching the brothel, sitting on cracked stone steps in front of an apartment building. She stood up when she saw him, relief on her face.
“Scott’s dead,” was all he told her.
She stepped forward and hugged him. “Oh, god, I’m so sorry.”
“I couldn’t save him,” Nick said. A tear fell from one eye but his face was rigid, keeping the emotion in. “He was dead before I got there.”
“What of Katie?”
Nick sighed. “She...went through something nobody should have to go through.”
“Oh, god,” Anya said again, and started crying.
“She’s alive, though. I had to leave her there. She’ll be OK with the police,” he said, as much to convince himself as to inform her.
“I’m sure she will be.”
“I need a place to stay. I can’t stay at the hotel.”
“Did you kill Maxsim?”
“He’s dead, but he’s not the man pulling the strings,” Nick replied. He decided not to tell her that the bodyguard plugged the madman. He still wasn’t sure what the hell happened and he wanted to process it before he talked to her.
“How can you be sure Maxsim isn’t in charge?”
“Because the guy’s a cokehead who couldn’t run a lemonade stand, let alone a business like a brothel. No, there’s somebody else.”
“But Maxsim was the one who killed your friend, no?”
Nick turned the corner and paused while he surveyed the street. Nothing unusual. “Yeah, Maxsim killed Scott and had Katie raped. He probably killed Lauren—I mean, Galina—too, but I don’t think that was his idea.” He stopped and thought. “No, I don’t think he would’ve gotten rid of one of his girls. I think he was ordered to take her out to find me.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re freaks, that’s why!” Nick said loudly. He quickly looked around but there wasn’t anybody close enough to hear him. God, he needed a drink. “I’m a thorn in their side, and they don’t like thorns.”
“So you think this other man will come after you.”
“Yes, I do,” Nick said. “At least, I can’t take the chance. If I’m wrong, then nothing bad happens. If I’m right…well, I don’t really want to think about that.”
There was a pause, then Anya said, “Well, of course if you want to stay with me you can. I’d like to help.”
“Thank you, Anya,” Nick replied. “I appreciate it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Anya laughed but it sounded strained. “You’d survive. I don’t really know you but I know you’d be OK. Do you know where I live?”
“No.”
He gave her his phone and she typed in the address. As she typed she gave him directions. Fortunately it wasn’t far from the Olymp, so he wasn’t too worried about finding it.
“You go there now,” he told her. “I’ll meet you there.”
“When will you come?” she asked.
“Soon,” Nick said. “I have a few things to do first.”
Chapter 19
The key lady on the fourth floor of the Rostov hotel paused when she saw the American come up the stairs. She had just hung up with Dmitri, a man who scared her more than anybody else had in her long life, including Stalin. He had told her to call him if she saw the large American.
He said terrible things had just occurred at the brothel, and he didn’t expect the American to show up at the hotel any time soon, if at all, but if he did she must notify him immediately.
She hung up and had just opened the newspaper again when the large American appeared at the top of the stairs. Her breathing increased and she sensed her face reddening, but she knew enough not to act suspicious. She smiled at the man as she handed him his room key. When he disappeared around the corner she quickly dialed Dmitri’s number. This was sure to earn her a big bonus.
Nick turned the corner in the hallway and stopped. The key lady had obviously heard about the brothel because she smiled at him. If there was one thing the key ladies never did, it was smile. He gave her to the count of three to make the call.
Dmitri didn’t answer directly. When you’re that important, you never answer your own phone. A female voice answered.
“Yes?” she asked.
“I need to speak with Dmitri,” the key lady said softly, a bit breathlessly.
“Regarding what?”
“Never you mind, just put him on!” The key lady was not about to share her bonus with any young tart who answered the phone.
She heard a sigh, then dead air as the woman walked the phone to Dmitri.
Before Dmitri could pick up, a large hand snaked in front of the key lady and grabbed the phone. She was too startled to react, then too afraid. She looked up into the American’s face and saw an expression that told her to back off.
Nick put the phone to his ear and his finger over his lips, silencing the old woman. He said “Hello?” into the phone and was greeted with dead air. So he waited.
Within seconds he heard a click on the other end of the line and a man’s voice said, “Da?”
“Who is this?” Nick asked.
A pause, then the voice, louder now, said in English, “Ahh, my American friend! So you are back at the Hotel Rostov.” Nick could sense him waving to his subordinates to get their butts to the Rostov as soon as they could.
He looked at his watch and gave himself one minute to talk.
“For now,” Nick answered. “But by the time your friends get here I’ll be gone, so we’ll make this quick.”
Dmitri laughed. “ Good luck, my friend. So, what would you like to talk about?”
“
A truce.”
There was another pause and Nick knew he had surprised the man. “A truce? You put several of my men in the hospital and you expect a truce?”
“Don’t bullshit me, Ivan,” Nick answered. “Maxsim’s dead, not in the hospital. He got lazy and lost his head. Well, most of it, anyway.”
“Even more reason for no truce.”
“Listen, buddy. Your men keep coming after me, and they keep getting hurt. Your man Maxsim had one of my friends raped, and killed the other one. Not to mention killing his own girl. So I took him out, like a rabid dog. Now we’re even.” Not even close, Nick thought to himself, but the madness needed to end now.
“One dead American is not equal to one dead Russian,” Dmitri answered.
“Trust me, Ivan, in this case it is. I may have even done you a favor.”
“Perhaps, but no truce. You’ll die here without ever seeing your beloved America again.”
Nick felt a chill, then anger. He fought it down. “I hope you change your mind. I want no more bloodshed.”
“You will have it, my friend.”
Nick looked at his watch. The minute was up. Before he turned off the phone he glanced at the name at the top of the screen. The name of the person she had speed-dialed.
Dmitri.
Two minutes was all it took to clear out his things. First he wrote a note to Tom and Michelle, explaining as little as possible about why he wouldn’t be around for a while. He paused, and then wrote his cell phone number at the bottom of the paper, after his name.
He left his suitcase with the CDs in his room, and jammed his clothes into a large shopping bag he had folded up and stuffed in the suitcase for dirty laundry. He grabbed the blue backpack lying on his bed and slung it over his shoulder, then ran into the bathroom to get his ditty bag from the vanity. He tossed it on top of his clothes and left the room with the shopping bag in one hand, not looking back. He slid the note under Tom and Michelle’s door as he passed.
Nick passed the key lady without stopping. She just looked at him blankly, not even asking for the key. He wasn’t about to give it to her anyway. He planned to use it later, when his new friends were all dead.
He took the stairs down two at a time. At the bottom he moved to the side of the lobby so he could watch the door from a better angle as he left the hotel. He was fairly certain Maxsim’s cohorts wouldn’t be there just yet, but he took no chances. It seemed quiet, so he walked out of the hotel as casually but as quickly as he could.
Anya’s apartment was behind a nondescript door in the middle of a grimy hallway on the third floor of one of several huge Stalin-era apartment blocks. The anonymity suited Nick perfectly.
“Thank you, Anya,” he told his host as he set his bag and backpack down inside the doorway. “Nobody will look here.”
To contrast the depressing exterior, Anya had decorated her apartment in bright colors and unique art, both in paintings on the walls and small sculptures on her tables. Nick had to admit it made a nice oasis in a dismal apartment complex.
“Do you sculpt?” he asked, pointing to what looked like two hands grasping each other on a coffee table.
Anya laughed. “Oh, no, that’s not me. I’m not one for creativity. I buy things from an old woman down by the river. Her granddaughter makes them.” She paused. “I think that’s the only way they have to make money, and they seem very nice.”
Nick nodded. “Well, I’m sure they appreciate your taste in fine art.”
Anya smiled and pointed to the kitchen. “Would you like some tea? And I have cake if you’re hungry.”
“That’d be great, Anya, thank you,” Nick said. What he really wanted was a stiff drink, but he knew that wasn’t a good idea under the circumstances. “I’ll cut the cake.”
Nick wasn’t much for tea, he was more of a coffee drinker, but he had to admit Anya made a good cup of tea. She served it in cups that were well used but looked like they had been fairly expensive originally. Perhaps handed down through the family.
She grew somber as they worked their way through the cake and had a chance to think and talk. “I’m so sorry to hear about Scott and Katie,” she said.
“Thank you,” Nick said. “I’m not really sure how this all escalated. I mean, I turned Galina down, but that has to happen at least some of the time. The girls shouldn’t get beat up every time they come home empty-handed.”
“I don’t know much about prostitutes,” Anya replied, “but I do know about Russian men, and they can be real bastards. They need to be in charge of their women, and many don’t mind hitting them if the girls get out of line.”
Nick sighed. “I just can’t imagine hitting a woman.”
Anya smiled sadly. “You’re a bit naïve, Nick. And that’s why you’re here, with me. You thought Russian men were more like you. You’re not ruthless enough.”
I doubt that very much, Nick thought as he sipped his tea. I’m just a slow starter.
“So now what will you do?” Anya asked.
“Well, I have about a week left before I can leave with Nonna,” Nick replied. “I figure I’ll just lie low.”
“You said you talked to Maxsim’s boss?”
“Yes. I told him we were even and asked for a truce.”
“What did he say?”
Nick sighed. “He said no.”
Anya picked at her cake. She had eaten half and didn’t appear to want to finish it. “I’m not surprised,” she said. “You fought back, and need to be punished.”
“As you say, that’s why I’m here.”
Anya got up and poured them both more tea. She sat down and gave him a hopeful smile. “Well, perhaps he will not find you, and in a week you can leave with your daughter and forget all about us.”
“I’ll forget about him,” Nick said, “but I won’t forget about you and your kindness.”
Anya blushed and changed the subject. “So, will your wife stay home with Nonna?”
“No, actually I will.”
Anya looked surprised. “You? You don’t seem like a man to stay home with his daughter.” She flushed slightly. “No offense.”
Nick smiled. “None taken,” he said. “I’m looking forward to it, actually. I just want to stay home and play with her for a while.”
“You don’t think you’ll be bored?”
“I hope so. I need some boredom.”
Anya took another sip of tea and stared at him over the top of the cup. “You don’t look like a man who’s been bored much.”
Nick paused. She was obviously fishing. How much to tell her? He didn’t like to talk about his past, and there were some aspects of it that would make a few government agencies nervous if they got out. On the other hand, she was a young Russian girl who he’d probably never see again.
“No,” he finally said. “I haven’t been bored.”
“You were in the military, no?”
“Yes, many years ago.”
“Were you in wars?”
He nodded. “I was in the middle east,” he told her. He didn’t want to go into too many details about where or when. “I was with a group of men who would go into towns to make sure the bad guys had left.”
“And had the bad guys usually left?”
“Sometimes yes, sometimes no. If not, we persuaded them to leave.”
She put the cup down carefully. “That sounds dangerous.”
“It could be. Although, to be honest, we preferred to watch and take notes rather than fight.”
“How long did you do that?”
“Several years,” he said. Her eyes widened. “Yeah, it was a while. I had always wanted to be a Marine. My father had been a soldier and that was what I knew growing up.”
“Was your father happy that you followed him?”
“I think he was, but he never said much about it. He’s not one for talking.”
Anya nodded. “Mine, neither.”
Nick took the opening. “So, what does your father do? You said he has some…
troubles in England.”
Anya looked nervous, and Nick instantly regretted bringing it up. “You don’t need to tell me, Anya. It’s really none of my business.”
“No, that’s OK,” she said hesitantly. She looked down, and he knew it was her turn to decide how much to tell him. “He, well, he’s in the import-export business.”
Nick had a good idea what he was importing and exporting, especially if he had to leave England on a moment’s notice. But he didn’t want to press it. Instead he said, “But you didn’t want to do that, so you’re working at the Olymp instead?”
“Yes,” she said. “I worked with him a little, but didn’t like it. I have more fun at the restaurant and get to meet interesting people.” She winked at him and Nick smiled.
“But your cousin is working with your father,” Nick said.
“He is. Andrei likes money. He likes power, too. I’m sure he’ll take over for papa one day.”
“Are you OK with that?”
Anya shrugged. “Sure. He’s a good guy, really. Sometimes he doesn’t think through things, but he’s better than most men with power around here.”
“But you don’t want any part of it.”
She looked at him strangely. “Nick, I’m not some little angel, you know. What they’re doing, I don’t really have a problem with it. I just don’t want to do it myself. But I support my father and cousin and will help them when they need it.”
Nick finished off his tea and sat back in his chair. The afternoon was turning into evening and he knew Anya had to get to work soon. “I know you’re not a little angel, Anya. Most people aren’t. We do what we need to do, even if we don’t enjoy it.”
Anya sighed and leaned back as well. “But sometimes papa and Andrei seem to enjoy it.”
“Yeah, the old eighty-twenty rule,” Nick said.
Worth The Risk Page 12