Chapter 6

You asked for it, sweetie, Vika muttered under her breath as she crept along behind Misha, following him to a small table next to the bathroom door. She had wanted to see the underbelly of Riga and so here they were  in a dark, dingy, hole-in-the-wall  basement somewhere in Maskachka.

“What the hell…” said, Vika as she slumped down on a rickety chair. It wasn’t really a question. There was no answer.

Gape-mouthed, she just sat there rolling her eyes as Misha pushed himself through the motley crowd to reach the bar. It was self-service.

The two of them did not go unnoticed. Especially Vika. To her dismay, she had attracted company. Bloody hell! He looks like the walking dead, she continued her inner monologue. Someone you’d meet in a nightmare.

A scruffy dude, well past his prime, plunked himself down on the chair opposite her and let out a stream of Russian sweet talk—at least she assumed that that’s what it was since the guy was leering suggestively at her. Or maybe he was asking for money. Either way, he was bad news, sizing her up through the smoke, and smelling of stale tobacco and dirty clothes.

Vika leaned back in her chair and tried to avoid his gaze. But she couldn’t help noticing him staring at her hands—staring at her manicure and at her watch. Shit! She hadn’t thought of that when she had dressed down for her “date” with Misha. She always wore her watch. Her gold Rolex.

Just then her cell sounded its little chime. For someone dressed so shabbily she sure has a snazzy phone, noted the dude. He was eager to listen in.

The call was from Eggy. She didn’t want to take it, didn’t want to speak English in this rough Russian stronghold. But she did take the call, hurriedly telling Eggy that she would call back. And just like that, the walking dead dude had slunk off into the bathroom and Misha made it back to the table with a tray. Cabbage soup, herring and beer. Vika took a whiff. She wanted to vomit.

Misha noted her expression. “You wanted some local color,” he guffawed. “There’s plenty to see. Not much like the Hotel de Rome or your quiet corner in central Riga, is it?”

Vika rose to her feet. The noise, the smell and the smoke had almost decked her. She had to get out. She had to breathe.

“Now I’ve seen it. Let’s get the hell out of here,” she snapped.

Misha shrugged. “Suit yourself, dear lady.” Next he threw back his head and  treated her to a hyena-like laugh. “I’m hungry.”

Vika couldn’t stand this one minute longer. She’d catch a cab—there had to be cabs around somewhere. Or maybe a bus. She turned away from Misha who was still laughing. She felt all eyes on her as she made her way through the largely male crowd and out the door.

Out on the pavement Vika shivered, not only from the cold but also from apprehension. It was dark. There was a dim yellow street lamp somewhere in the distance. Should she walk towards it? She wrapped her arms around her, for warmth and comfort.

The sidewalk was deserted and there was almost no traffic. She hadn’t paid much attention when they arrived. She started to berate herself for being so careless. How the bloody hell did I get into this? The sky was black and blank. No stars.

Not knowing where she was, not knowing how to get back home, Vika pulled out her phone and called Eggy.

“Please get a cab and come get me.”

There was a brief silence.

“But where are you?”

Vika looked around, searching for a street sign. “I don’t know. It looks—”

Her eyes widened. Her mouth opened. The phone dropped from her hand. She was too surprised to scream as a hand grabbed her hair and yanked her forward. The smell! Was it the zombie from the basement? That smell could have come from anyone that smoked, drank or had not washed. She didn’t have long to contemplate. A rough hand covered her mouth and everything went black.

* * *

Having stuffed his face with cabbage soup and herring and swilling down two beers, it occurred to Misha that he had better not leave Vika out on the street so late at night.

When he went outside he saw an empty sidewalk.

“Lady! Where are you?”

No reply. No Vika. Looking down, Misha spotted the bejeweled phone case and what must be Vika’s phone. “Hello? Hello?”

Misha picked it up and, though the screen was broken, the phone was still working.

He answered, “Hello? Who is this?”

The reply was almost like an echo. “Hello, who is this?”

Then louder. “Where is Vika? She just called me so what are you doing with her phone? Who are you?”

Misha recognized the voice. “Eggy, she was just here and now she disappeared. And dropped her phone on the sidewalk. If it wasn’t for the phone no one would know she had been here.”

“Where is here and who are you?”

“This is Misha from Sam’s restaurant. I’m the owner.”

“What? She disappeared from your restaurant?”

“No, no. She wanted to go to… to a dive, she called it—”

Eggy interrupted, “Since your Latvian is so bad, I’ll speak English. I never use Russian if I can help it.”

Eggy had always been convinced that Sam’s was merely a front for criminal activity. That and being a great place to sit and smoke with a cup of coffee and a newspaper. But now things were serious. He was worried as hell.

Misha continued, “Okay. Like I said she wanted to see a rougher side of life in Riga so I brought her here to an eatery in Maskachka.”

“And so?” Eggy’s voice rose in anger.

“Well, she left. She left before I did. Then, before I knew it, she was gone. Disappeared.”

Eggy could hardly contain himself. “Did you call the police?”

Misha stuttered, “But… I… I’ve not had a chance. I’m calling right now.”

The back and forth finally screeched to a halt. Misha pulled out his own phone. Thinking that Vika’s phone was turned off, he put it in his pocket.

Instead of the police, Misha called Ivars.