Chapter 21

Frankie let out a gigantic sigh of relief. “Whew! That was close.”

But, on second thought, maybe he should have hung around, talked to her, tried to find out where she lived. He needed more to tell Bernie. A whew wouldn’t cut it. Bernie would want to know who she was with and what was going on. This was the second time Frankie had seen Vika with a man. This latest one was not as young and handsome as the goon who had knocked him down at the Hotel de Rome. Either way, he knew Bernie wouldn’t like it.

Making his way back to the Radisson he kept kicking himself. What was he? Some kind of chicken running away like that? He wasn’t thinking on his feet. All he wanted to do was get out of this cold wet Nordic country. He didn’t have the language and he couldn’t even read other people’s body language. He was lost. He thought he could drink but there he had been—one drink in a restaurant and his mind had shut down. All he wanted to do was to lie down.

But first he had to call Bernie, something which he always dreaded. He had his own bottle of lousy vodka—everything was lousy here—the coffee, the drinks, the women… the women. That’s how the hell he had landed in that crowded restaurant after all. Following a blonde. Strange thing was, the blonde disappeared. Into the washroom. Frankie guessed it was the washroom but maybe not. Maybe there was a back door and the blonde didn’t like him trailing her.

He had decided to wait for the blonde to reappear. But then those two took a seat right next to him. He didn’t like to think about it. Had he missed a chance to get news for Bernie? Well, he could make something up. Hell, he’d have to make something up. Starting with  Vika’s romances. That would drive Bernie crazy but it also meant that Frankie didn’t have to offer anything else. He could claim he had been trailing these two all day as they walked hand in hand, stopping for a kiss… But he couldn’t get too carried away.

Frankie took off his shoes, poured a good measure of vodka into a tumbler and sat down on his bed. He could get Bernie any time on his special personal cell. Drawing a deep calming breath, Frankie punched in the numbers.

“Good news. I finally caught up with Vika. She’s got a guy.”

There was silence on the other end.

“Hello? Bernie are you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here. I don’t give a fuck about her love life. Does she still have the stuff? Who has it? This Svetlana?”

Frankie was at a loss. He had hoped to drive Bernie crazy but here he was, wanting information Frankie didn’t have.

“I’m working on it, Bernie.”

“What do you mean working on it? I need answers now. You gotta tell me if this Juris is double crossing me. He’s telling me he can’t find Svetlana so you better find her. And fast.”

Bernie didn’t wait for a reply. Frankie was left with nothing—with nothing but fear, that is. How the hell was he going to find some Svetlana?

He searched his memory. Yes, he did remember seeing Vika and some tall blonde (weren’t they all tall blondes?) on Elizabetes Street. Right before an accident which had virtually shut the area down. It certainly wasn’t Vika who had been hit. Could this be the Svetlana Bernie was looking for? No way could Frankie get a hold of any information about the accident. He didn’t speak the language. Knew nothing about how things worked around here. He’d simply have to make something up to tell Bernie. Like, maybe… Svetlana was killed in an accident. End of story.

This didn’t make Frankie feel any better. He felt all alone as if he were in a cold dark ocean in a small boat that was sinking—sinking fast and he didn’t even have a life preserver.

Shit! And his bottle was almost empty. He’d get more. And besides, he needed some fresh air. Then, as if the gods looked down for a good laugh, he said out loud, “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

* * *

There would be no jiffy.

Striding along Barona Street Frankie was still grinding his teeth. Unable to relax. Maybe if he walked faster, or if he ran, he could get rid of his mounting anxiety. It was colder now, wind blowing wet snow in his frowning face. Frankie shivered, not only because it was freezing but also because of the waves of near panic flooding his brain. What was he so afraid of? Bernie couldn’t send a goon all the way from New York, could he?

The streets had emptied, people celebrating at home or in restaurants. Frankie felt vulnerable. He didn’t even have a switch blade or his brass knuckles. Trying to get those on the plane at JFK could have been a felony charge. He had kept his nose clean these last years so he wouldn’t be on the Department of Homeland Security’s “no fly” list.

He had tried to steer his kids away from the kind of life he had led so that they wouldn’t always have to look over their shoulder to see if someone was about to take them down.

These last years Frankie had tried to tap dance around those “heavy” jobs. He had taken this job with Bernie thinking there’d be nothing to it. A trip with all expenses paid just to follow a dame around. What could be dangerous about that?

Ever since his wife had died of breast cancer, Frankie had lost all drive for adventure. There was nobody at home to bring “the goods” back to. The kids were grown. Had their own jobs but were not married yet. No grandkids.

Now here Frankie was on the dark streets of Riga. There was nothing flashy about him. Nothing to attract a mugger. Still, he didn’t want to stop even to light a cigarette. He’d quickly pick up a bottle of booze and head back to the hotel. Booze was everywhere in this town. There had to be a store coming up soon.

From the corner of his eye Frankie noticed a car pull up. He started to walk even faster. Until he froze. He heard a gruff voice just behind him. “You Frankie Caputo?”

Frankie supposed that the terrified sound deep in his throat was a yes.

The next second an arm gripped his shoulder. God! There were two of them!

“We’re going for a ride. Ever been to Jurmala?”

The guttural sound coming from Frankie’s mouth could have meant anything.