Chapter 34

As in every well-run household, there was a certain pecking order in the mule sanctuary. The eldest of the trio, Aunt Velga, called the shots. Simone, the rightful resident, seconded them. And Svetlana, who had transformed herself from a gangster’s moll to a grateful guest, was good with everything that went on. She felt safe and accepted.

Like birds-of-paradise in their tiny cage they preened and polished as they prepared for Christmas. Two Advent candles had already been lit, the apartment smelled sweetly of pine and gingerbread. Yet, the big task still lay ahead—pīrāgi. It was a well-known fact that the only one who could make better pīrāgi than Aunt Velga was God.

“You chop up the onions really fine,” Aunt Velga said to Svetlana who was looking a bit pale. There was certainly no left over glitz and glamor from her former life. Wearing one of Simone’s hand-me-downs, she looked like an ordinary Russian girl. Who would have recognized her? Not her former boss, Juris Lapins. But life wasn’t that kind. Juris had ways and means to track down the most sophisticated disguise.

“Oi!” Svetlana suddenly exclaimed, throwing down her paring knife. She clasped a hand over her mouth and rushed to the bathroom.

Aunt Velga gave her a worried look. Despite having recovered from her injuries Svetlana was still throwing up. Aunt Velga had tried traditional homemade remedies but nothing was working.

“Simone! Stop moping around and come help.”

Aunt Velga was in her prime. Svetlana had breathed new life into the old lady. The routine as caregiver had given her a purpose and had renewed her energy. And Vika had saved the day for the household, insisting on paying Svetlana’s room and board. After all, it was she who had unwittingly involved them all in this mess.

“Here I am!” Simone sang out cheerfully. Fed up with unrequited love, Simone was now mooning less over Arsy. She had to be realistic. Young men were unpredictable. As she chopped the onions, Simone hummed under her breath. There was an older gent in her advanced English class who had caught her eye. You never know, she thought to herself as she kept on humming. You never know.

“One day my pīrāgi will be just as good as yours, Auntie.”

Aunt Velga threw back her head in a mighty bust of laughter. “You have a long way to go!”

Simone giggled and lifted her glass. “To you, Hestia, Goddess of Goodies!”

This friendly exchange at Christmastime was a well-loved tradition, and always accompanied by shot glasses of schnapps.

Simone kept up the onion chopping, hummed some more, lifted her glass again and began to sing. As the delicious aroma of pīrāgi wafted through the hallways of this run-down apartment building there would be knocks on the door. Aunt Velga had easily won the National Pīrāgi Competition and she liked to share. Still in her big wraparound apron and cheerful scarf covering her hair she’d rush to the door with a newly baked pan.

This looked like happiness but it wasn’t entirely. None of them had forgotten the danger they were in. Svetlana was still a wanted woman—especially wanted by Juris Lapins who had given her the precious cargo destined for Bernie. And both she and Simone had witnessed Eggy save all of them from being killed by a gunman. Who knew anything about this gunman? Who was he working for? He must have been from a rival gang. Why would Juris Lapins have sent a killer to stop someone delivering his package? And, more importantly, was the gunman dead or alive?

* * *

For some reason Svetlana saw the ghost of Vika standing over her and saying, “Play your cards right.”

Whatever Vika had to say Svetlana would listen. Vika had been smart. She had squirreled away a small fortune while doing as little as she could for Bernie. Svetlana herself had been foolish. She had dropped out of school without even a high school diploma. Since childhood people had been praising her looks—that’s all she needed, she then thought. She could make it on looks alone. Would she become a movie star? A super model? A beauty queen of some sort? There were plenty of options for this very beautiful girl—tall, slender, high cheek bones, luminous aquamarine eyes with long lashes, a full mouth, perfect teeth. What could go wrong?

Successful beauties have brains—or their relatives have brains, or some mentor takes over. But Svetlana was on her own. She had been raised by her grandmother who had never liked how men looked at Svetlana. She feared for her granddaughter but had no way of controlling her. After leaving school, Svetlana had several low paying jobs.

There was a sharp knock on the bathroom door. She couldn’t stay here forever.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes. I’m coming.”

She still felt nauseous. Especially when it came to the cooking smells. Bacon disgusted her. She’d have to pretend.

“Pīrāgi!” She trumpeted. She’d take one and then hide it in a paper napkin. No way could she eat anything so… so fat and greasy. She knew it was a sacrilege to shun Aunt Velga’s cooking but she just couldn’t keep very much down.

She’d have to tell Dima what was going on. But could she trust him?  He was one of Juris Lapins’ lieutenants. Now that she had something important to tell him, should she contact him? She wondered if Dima knew the gangster who had tried to kill her with his car.

What would Vika do, she asked herself. She would play her cards right. But what cards was Svetlana holding? A couple of jokers?

“I’ll just lie down for a bit,” she told Aunt Velga and proceeded to her makeshift bed. She had even stopped smoking and didn’t feel like sharing the glasses of schnapps which were being passed around in Aunt Velga’s kitchen.

When was the first time she had noticed Dima? Svetlana thought back to her childhood in the derelict apartment block in Purvciems. The kids all looked up to this older youngster. He was so brash, so handsome, so full of life and ambition. But Dima had eyes only for her. Her grandmother had warned her to stay away from older boys like Dima but she was drawn to this energetic bad-boy with his aura of danger and adventure. It was exciting to be admired. At sixteen she became his steady girlfriend. There had been no one else.

How did she get entangled in the dark world of international crime? She did it for love. She’d do anything to please Dima. Dima had pulled her out of abject poverty and Juris Lapins aka “the Godfather” had, in turn, made Dima a rich man.

She still had Dima’s cell phone number. She’d have to think carefully how to proceed.

What would Vika do in her place?