Chapter 20

Praise Jesus! Finally a day to get away from the smorgasbord of fear, suspicion and escalating rounds of payback which have been plaguing Vika’s first days in Riga.

The eighteenth of November dawned cool and overcast. Irena would have loved this bleak enchanting day. Vika smiled thinking about how her mother relished this gloomy barren month—her sweet November. It must be some melancholic remembrance of love lost and regained, some secrets her mother kept from her but had hinted at. Vika herself loved the heat of July. Not in New York but in the Hamptons where Bernie owned a small villa and where people in his line of work gathered to enjoy summer.

Right from early morning Vika could tell this would be a day she’d always remember. Tiny flakes of snow sparkled in the wind as Latvia’s flags fluttered throughout the city. There was a palpable air of excitement and celebration. Vika heart soared knowing she would be a part of it.

Eggy had called her the night before and offered to accompany her to the ceremonial events which were held every year to mark Latvia’s independence. Vika’s only regret had been that she hadn’t brought sensible clothes. Usually her overseas trips didn’t last long—merely a day or two to accomplish her mission and look around a bit. Now the thought of leaving Latvia in a few days shocked her. Of course not! How could she leave? How could she go back? Then the appalling reality— her mother alone in New York with Bernie sniffing around—stopped her in her tracks. Fear certainly wasn’t about to leave her alone. Still, she was determined, if just for a few hours, to focus on this special day.

Eggy offered his arm and Vika felt honored, humbled and confused all at the same time. This was clearly a gesture of protection and companionship. She was not used to friendly gestures.  Bernie had just wanted to parade her around his rich old work buddies. To make them jealous.

As if drawn there by some enchantment, throngs of people streamed towards the Freedom Monument. Vika’s heart was tight with emotion. This was no rowdy July fourth parade with painted faces and boorish behavior. This was solemn and heartfelt.

Time seemed to stop as she stood there, doing nothing but looking.  Eggy pointed upwards to the monument of Mother Latvia holding aloft her three stars

“Shots were fired. There’s a hole in her shoulder as a reminder,” Eggy explained. “We had to fight for our country and for our freedom.”

Vika made no reply but her eyes glistened with tears. She thought about her grandmother, Anna, and fragments of remembered conversations jostled for her attention.

Then, when the national anthem was played, she could no longer hold back the tears. Memories took hold. Her grandfather sent to Siberia by the communists for putting flowers at the foot of the monument. Her grandmother once taking her to a Latvian expat church service commemorating this day. A long forgotten past, buried for so long, now claimed her.

Eggy lightly put his arm around her shoulders. He tried for levity while handing Vika a clean handkerchief.

“We could have attended a special service in the Dome Cathedral but you would have had to get up early. Impossible, right?”

“I could really do with a nice warm drink right about now,” Vika said, her voice tremulous as she wiped her eyes and returned the handkerchief. She liked Eggy but gone was the spellbinding effect he had had on her earlier.

“I know just the place. Ladies really like it. My friend, Gunita, is a regular.”

“Your friend Gunita…” Vika trailed off with a sly smile.

“No no. Just a good friend. I spent a whole year at the Art Academy and I still have friends from those long past days. Perhaps you’d like to meet them some day.”

“Some day? Don’t I wish,” Vika replied with a sigh, suddenly thinking of her mother and trying not to think of her husband.

Mingling with the flow of pedestrians, they strode along Barona Street all the way to Lacplesa Street and arrived at Osiris. Vika on Eggy’s arm. She was finally starting to feel comfortable with this style. She saw women arm in arm. Men too. This was Europe. This was how things were done in polite society.

“This place used to be so popular with foreigners. Now it’s not as interesting—as many things have become less interesting,” Eggy said with uncharacteristic nostalgia.

Today the place was packed. It was really small and nondescript but Vika could sense a certain artistic vibe. The crowd was lively, everyone celebrating. And everyone polite. They were able to squeeze themselves into two remaining seats, sharing a table for four.

Eggy ordered coffee and Balzams. “No need for food, we’re all invited to Simone’s for a dinner party.”

Vika smiled happily. “How nice!”

“Simone would have liked to be here with us but she’s been up all night helping Aunt Velga with preparations. And Arsy will be there as well. Svetlana is recovering. So, it’ll be quite a party.”

Vika was glad she wouldn’t be alone. She really needed to be with local people right now and the thought of spending the evening back at the hotel had appalled her.

“Should I bring something? Maybe—”

Momentarily distracted, Vika stared. One of the patrons they shared the table with looked strangely familiar.

She leaned towards him. “Excuse me, but haven’t we met somewhere?”

Dark eyes in a swarthy face stared back. Blank. Expressionless.

Vika persisted. “Yes. Now I remember. On the plane. You warned me not to wear my diamonds.”

A shrug and a non comprende is all she received as the man threw some coins on the table and left in a hurry.

Chapter 19

It’s autumn in New York that brings the promise of new love…

Irena never got tired of listening to Frank Sinatra sing “Autumn in New York.”

Autumn in New York is often mingled with pain…dreamers with empty hands…

One of Irena’s favourite fall traditions was to lose herself in the  velvety sensuous voice of Frank Sinatra. The song was so evocative of the nostalgia she herself felt at this time of year. … dreamers with empty hands. Not always had her hands been empty. She smiled, so grateful for her treasure trove of happy memories.

Although the blaze of fall foliage no longer crowned the trees of Central Park and it was getting cold, Irena had always enjoyed November. Strange, since almost all of her acquaintances suffered from one form or another of seasonal affective disorder. Not Irena. She found the crisp weather invigorating. She went on long walks all across Manhattan to enjoy every moment of her sweet November.

Just like her daughter Vika, Irena had two watches—one set at New York time; one set for Riga. She waited and waited for Vika to call her. She had texted several times but there had been no response. Not even Frank Sinatra could mitigate the sense of unease she now felt. She couldn’t stop worrying about the overheard conversation Bernie had with a Juris. Who was this Juris? And why was Bernie so enraged finding her at the door to his study?

The bring of her cell pulled her out of her thoughts. Hoping it would be Vika, she snatched it and answered.

“Mamma, I’m OK. I’m fine,” Vika started. But Irena immediately knew that was not true. A mother knows.

“Vika! Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing to worry about, mamma. Just please…one thing…if Bernie asks you about me, just tell him you’ve had no news.”

Irena gasped. “So, you are in trouble, aren’t you?”

“Well, it’s a bit complicated right now. I just want to enjoy Riga without Bernie bothering me. You know what I mean. I just need a holiday from him.”

Irena made a guttural noise in her throats. She often did when Bernie’s name was mentioned. They both needed a holiday from Bernie but this was not about to happen.

“Listen, Vika. I texted you what I had overheard. Bernie talking to some Juris. The name Svetlana was mentioned. What does all that mean?”

“Yes. I certainly noted that,” Vika replied hesitantly. She didn’t know what it meant but she had been worried sick. And had stopped communicating with Bernie.

There was a brief silence before Vika continued. “I’m very concerned about you, mamma. I wish you were here in Riga with me. Is there any chance—”

Vika heard a gasp from Irena. “Wait. There’s someone at the door.”

“Don’t answer the door!” Vika all but screamed.

Irena didn’t hesitate. She immediately deleted Vika’s calls, set the phone to mute and placed it on her side table. She knew it was Bernie and she’d have  to let him in. It was his condo.

The minute Irena cracked open the door Bernie barged right in, nearly shoving his mother-in-law aside. Irena had been through a great deal in her life. She knew how to hide fear. Before facing him, she forced herself to breathe normally and plastered on a phony smile of welcome.

Bernie’s face was pinched with barely contained rage. “Hey! What’s going on here? My wife won’t answer my calls.”

Irena flapped her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Oh you know Vika. She gets so carried away. She must be excited to be on her own and she—”

Bernie cut her off. “Where is she?”

Irena feigned surprise. “In Riga of course. You yourself kindly invited me to join Vika but she’d have none of it. Never liked her old mother trailing after her. She’s a free spirit.”

“Yeah sure. Free spirit with my money. How far would she go without me? Tell me that!”

Irena stared at Bernie’s red face. He looked dangerous, almost out of control. She knew she had to act quickly to appease him however she could.

“Don’t worry Bernie, she’s always put you first. You know that, don’t you? Now, can I get you a drink? I was just about to make myself a very dry martini.”

Bernie’s eyes roamed the room. Lit up when he spotted the phone.  “Turn it on!” he barked. “I want to look at your calls.”

Irena’s relief was almost palpable. Thank God she had deleted Vika’s calls. And, since there hasn’t been much activity, she hoped her bases had been covered.

Bernie snatched the phone, went through it. Everything seemed legit. But still he wasn’t satisfied.

“I’m taking it for now.”

Irena’s mind raced. She couldn’t let that happen. “Oh Bernie, no! I’m an old lady. I must have emergency access to the outside world.”

Bernie glared at her but relented.

“If Vika calls you, tell her to call me immediately.”

“Absolutely, Bernie. Absolutely. And if she calls you, please let me know.”

Irena was almost dizzy with relief. “Now, the drink?”

Bernie frowned. “Forget it.”

With that he turned and left. He was royally pissed off. Walking to his car he kept muttering under his breath, What good are these dames anyway? Got to get rid of them. Irena was too expensive and completely useless. Vika needed to be replaced by a younger fresher mule. And this Frankie Caputo? Unusable.

It was time to take matters into his own hands. He felt sure that Irena was hiding something from him. The deal with Juris wasn’t going through. What happened to Svetlana? And to Vika?

He needed to reach the guy who had put him in touch with Juris—Jurmala Juris, as they called him, or simply JJ.

What a bummer! He’d have to go down to Brighton Beach—the headquarters of Russian Mafia in the USA. He had never had anything to do with that bunch before. Oh well, there was always a first time for everything.

Chapter 18

At first Simone couldn’t believe her ears. Who? Who’s calling? Who? Simone kept repeating the words, wondering if the call was even for her. She didn’t have a cell and shared the house phone with her aunt Velga.

A minute later, her face broke out in a delighted smile. Yes, it was Arsy! It was really him! She managed to keep her voice from shaking even though the rest of her was all aflutter. She just knew her trip to the beauty salon had paid off.

Yes, of course he could come over. And Vika too? Why Vika? But never mind. She couldn’t waste time thinking about that. She had only a few minutes to tidy up a bit, make herself presentable, hide away aunt Velga. They each had their own bedroom and Aunt Velga’s had a TV. She would often be relegated to some show while Simone helped a client with English translating.

* * *

Simone threw the door wide open.

It was Arsy. Just standing there.

When she could finally speak, Simone spoke her first words. “Come in. Come in,” she simpered. Her face was a rosy blush, an embarrassed mixture of disbelief and delight.

“Would you like some coffee?”

Arsy shook his head. “No. I just need to talk to you. Please listen.”

Simone’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. Why the hurry? Was he here to borrow money? She disliked the thought but there it was. Still, tilting her head slightly she adjusted her face. Forced it to have an   understanding expression.

“I…that is, we… need your help,” Arsy stuttered. He was very fidgety. Shuffling his feet nervously, he pulled out his crumpled empty cigarette pack, crumpled it some more.

“Help? What help?” Simone gave her head a sharp little shake. She was becoming  flustered. This wasn’t just a social call. What in the world could he want?

“We left you after lunch at Sam’s. Remember?”

Simone’s face hardened. Yes, she certainly remembered. She and Eggy were left with the bill and Misha was still waiting for payment.

Nervously clicking his Zippo lighter, Arsy continued.

“We found Svetlana. She’s injured and… she’s afraid.”

Simone’s eyes narrowed. “She’s in the hospital, right?”

Arsy just stared at her. His mouth opened and closed. Opened and closed.

Simone almost shouted, “Where is she?”

Arsy found his voice, finally. “Outside. In a cab. Please help us.”

Simone swiveled her head. She heard the sound of a door opening. Her aunt had come into the living room.

Aunt Velga glared at the two of them and asked angrily, “Why are you speaking Russian in my house?”

For a fraction of a moment both Simone and Arsy looked completely lost. Frozen in time. As if they didn’t know where they were or what was going on.

Arsy was the first to snap out of it. “Sorry ….” He went on in Latvian, apologizing as best he could. Vika would kill him if he didn’t settle this quickly. He turned on Velga his finest most boyish and most appealing look. “We need your help. Please help our injured friend.”

Velga stared at nothing for a long moment. This segued perfectly with  the TV melodrama she had just been watching. Cinema verité, indeed.

She loved her fantasyland. Clasping her hands together, she replied, “Yes, yes, right away, right away,” hiding her excitement behind a worried frown. She always craved distraction. Her life could be so boring.

Simone clapped a hand over her mouth to hide her shock. “But, dear auntie, how can we…”

* * *

Adrenaline shot through Arsy like a bolt of lightning.

“Nu, davai! Let’s go!”

Luckily Simone’s apartment was on the first floor—ordinarily not a desirable location but this time it was perfect.

Hauling themselves out of the taxi, the mules herded themselves into the small apartment. Velga ran towards Svetlana who was barely able to stand.

“Nu, nu, nu,” Velga crooned as she directed Svetlana towards her room. “You need to rest. You need to rest.” The repetition of words was comforting and, for the first time in a long time, Svetlana smiled.

Vika collapsed on the couch. “Simone, I’m so very sorry. You don’t deserve to be involved in all this but there was no other way. Svetlana was in danger at the hospital. We needed a safe place. I couldn’t take her to my hotel. Questions would have been asked.”

Arsy was standing first on one foot then on the other. “Doesn’t anyone in this house have a cigarette?”

Vika jumped up from the couch. “I’ll get a cig from the cabdriver. In fact I’ll get his whole goddamned pack. Then I’ll send him on his way. I’ve had enough of his grumbling.”

Now it was Arsy’s turn to make amends with Simone. “Don’t worry. It will all work out. It looks like Mrs Zito isn’t that interested in being a tourist but she’ll certainly pay well for the trouble we’ve put you to.”

Velga bustled back into the living room, providing her version of a happy ending to this endless day. “I’ve managed to settle down Svetlana quite nicely. She doesn’t want to eat but she’s asking for cigarettes.”

Arsy laughed. He lit up his fag, blew a stream of smoke into the air and visibly relaxed. Vika had raided her minibar stash and returned to the couch.

She always wore two watches. One set for Latvian time, one for New York.

She said to no one in particular, “I must call my mother. She must be worrying.”

And not only her mother would be worrying. Vika gave a slight shudder thinking about Bernie’s rage just about now. She’d make sure that Irena didn’t breathe a word to Bernie about where she was and what was going on.

Chapter 17

A gangster from New York working with a gangster from Jurmala? And why not, for God’s sake? When it came to organized crime, here was film-noir stuff at its best, meticulously organized and with far-reaching connections. At times different factions of the organization were rivals, at times they worked  together. And they had their mules.

And the mules were now in a pickle—Svetlana hysterically gripping Vika’s arm, begging for help. Vika frozen, lost for words. Arsy pulling out his crumpled pack of cigarettes and his Zippo. Damn! The pack was empty.

It was no lucid dream; it was nightmarishly real. Vika was in real pain from  the vice-like grip and Svetlana’s long red talons digging into her flesh.

“Help me,” Svetlana gasped. Vika flinched as Svetlana shot her a pleading look straight through the heart.

Coughs and moans from other patients only added to the desperate atmosphere in the hospital room. This was no Lourdes. There would be no miracles.

“Please, let go,” Vika begged. It was actually the pain that had finally roused her out of her trance.

Svetlana’s terrified eyes communicated so much. She was helpless, fighting for her life. Truly a moment ordained by the gods. Vika held her gaze. How could she walk away from this? Go back to her nice hotel? She who had lived largely for herself. How could she? She couldn’t.

Svetlana had let go of Vika’s arm. She rubbed at it, inwardly shaking like a leaf. She was more scared than she had ever been in her life. But she couldn’t show it. She had to take action.

“Can you walk?”

“I try.”

Holding on to Vika, Svetlana slowly lifted herself to a standing position. Carefully took a step.  Arsy moved to her side and she took a few more.

Vika made her decision. “Let’s go!”

* * *

There was no one in the hallway when two people in blue lab coats ushered a patient from the ward to an exit door. Vera had mysteriously vanished. Either her shift was over or she was in hiding. They were on their own.

Once in the stairwell it took both Vika and Arsy to maneuver Svetlana down the three flights. They made their way slowly and painfully. Svetlana groaned and let out deep sighs of exhaustion but she was determined to make it out of the hospital.

At the exit, Vika grabbed their outerwear which they had discarded and left in a corner. Arsy ran ahead and flagged down one of the cabs parked at the hospital’s main entrance.

Thank God I’m rich, Vika breathed to herself. I can take care of this. At least for now.

The cab had pulled up close to the exit. No questions would be asked. A good payment would be expected. Carefully Svetlana was helped into the back seat. Vika, sitting beside her, made a shush sign with a finger on her lips. Svetlana nodded. She understood.

Meanwhile in the passenger seat Arsy was speaking to the driver in Russian. Vika hoped he was telling him something reassuring. This was not a kidnapping—at least not as far as the mules were concerned.

“Arsy, I can’t get Svetlana into the hotel in the condition she’s in. She needs time to recover a bit. Clean herself up. You know…”

It seemed that Arsy hadn’t been smoothing anything out but simply bumming a cigarette. His cheeks had turned cadaverous sucking in the nicotine. “Okay. Okay. Whatever…”

Vika’s voice was steely. “Give the driver your address.”

“No,” Arsy almost shouted. “That’s no good. Juris knows where I live.”

Bummer! What a snag! A knot took hold in Vika’s stomach. What am I to do? Not knowing what directions to give to the cab driver, Vika had to think quickly. I just need more time. Maybe…

She was in a strange country, not speaking the language, relying on people she didn’t know, getting even deeper into a situation she couldn’t control. She made her decision. She leaned towards the driver and told him in a firm voice, “Hotel de Rome.”

But no one got out of the cab as it pulled up in front of the hotel. Svetlana had slumped down in her corner of the back seat. Vika worried that she could be cold.

“Tell the driver to wait,” Vika instructed Arsy in a no-nonsense voice. “And give me your jacket.”

Covering Svetlana with the jacket, Vika racked her brain. Her old friends, (her tour guides, that is) were probably still miffed at her for the lunch at Sam’s. Sam’s! My God! Was that only a few hours ago? A lifetime had gone by. How can so much living be crammed into just a few hours? Vika flashed back to dozing on her daybed for hours on end, day after day, time stretching long and empty ahead of her. And here she was racing through time, defying it. She felt more alive than ever.

But she needed help. Who could she call on? As if an answer to a prayer Simone’s earnest round face appeared before her. Vika pulled out her phone. Eggy must have her number, she said to herself as she typed in his number.

Shit! He didn’t pick up. No answering machine. She’d have to wait and call back. There was nothing else to do.

She tried to relax but the harsh voice of the cab driver assaulted her ears. “You pay now!”

Vika rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, hold your horses.”

Dipping into her handbag, she went for the inner zippered compartment, found her cache, pulled out a fifty  and handed it to Arsy.

“Tell the driver there’s more where that came from. But he’s got to chill.”

Chapter 16

Vika felt a frisson of apprehension. Why this sneaking around? Why couldn’t they just use the front entrance of the hospital? Surely it can’t be just to cash in on blats. Surely not, she said to herself as she dismissed the thought. There was no need to be cynical.

She herself was healthy as a horse. In fact, she had never been inside a hospital. She had never had children, never broken a bone, never had a nervous breakdown. But now, feeling squeamish, she scrunched up her face. Would she encounter terminal patients, gasping for their last breath?  See open wounds or other gruesome indignities caused by illness? Would she hear screams of agony? Would she… Stop it! she ordered herself. She really had to get a grip.

Trying to breathe normally, Vika followed Arsy as he led the way around the grounds and to a back door. It was pitch black. She looked up at the sky. Were there any stars? At least one—to wish on? There were none.

Only a dim light illuminated a stout figure slouching by the door. That must be Vera, Arsy’s cousin or sister (she couldn’t remember which) who had been waiting. Stepping closer Vika saw the middle-aged, grim-faced woman with arms crossed over her ample bosom. The woman nodded at Arsy when he approached but ignored Vika. There were no introductions. The two spoke briefly in Russian.

Arsy turned to Vika. She knew right away what he wanted and pulled a fifty euro note from her wad. Am I paying my way into a house of horrors, she asked herself grimly. This was no longer a film set. This was not an episode of Dr House or ER. This was real life. What the hell was she doing here anyway? Was it too late to turn around and run? But then what?

Satisfied with the payment, Vera gave a “follow me” hand signal and ushered them inside. And that’s when the smell hit her. Vika had to hold on to the wall to support herself. Disinfectant mixed with something else. She felt nauseated. Was she about to catch some infectious disease? For a brief moment, she panicked. She was really spooked. And even more spooked when Vera indicated that both Arsy and Vika were to leave their outerwear in a corner of the room. She gave each of them a blue lab coat. So now Vika was impersonating a hospital worker? The film had ended; this felt more like a dream. She was standing back, watching her dream-self creep into a hospital. Her dream-self wanted to wake up. But couldn’t.

The light was faint in the cramped entry way. To the right was a narrow staircase. As if sleepwalking, Vika felt her way along, following right on Arsy’s heels. They met no one. On the third floor landing Vera carefully opened a door. She paused a moment and looked around before signaling that Arsy and Vika should follow her to the ward.

Vika pasted a tentative half smile on her face—partly to reassure herself, partly because it was habitual. Smiling was a big thing in America; not so much here (as she had already noticed). She hadn’t brought along Svetlana’s briefcase, not having been sure that she’d come face to face with her. Clearly she hadn’t thought this through. Just winging it, without a plan. Not good on so many levels.

A door opened and just like that. Presto! Here Svetlana was! The patient was propped up in bed, very pale, bruised and battered but far from death’s door. Four other people shared the room. Curtains separated the sickbeds. Sounds of coughing and the occasional loud moan penetrated the room.

Closing the door softly behind her, Vera disappeared—only to stand guard in the hallway.

There was shocked silence at Svetlana’s bedside. Arsy stared wide-eyed. A few moments went past before he recognized her. Could it really be the gorgeous Svetlana who had delivered him a message from Juris Lapins? Arsy had always feared the aged ex-KGB officer who had amassed great wealth in real estate transactions and shady deals of all kinds.

Vika had to stop herself from pulling out the minibar bottles of booze which she had stashed in her purse. There were hardly enough to share. Just glancing at him, she could tell Arsy was dying for a cigarette.

“What are you doing here?” Svetlana croaked, raising herself to a seated position. Under her eyes were black and blue bruises. Her right arm was in a sling and her head was bandaged.

Looking at one and then at the other, she seemed not to be able to figure out what Arsy and Vika were doing together.

Vika took her courage in both hands and stepped forward. “I saw what happened to you. It was terrible. I want to help.”

A guttural sound escaped Svetlana’s throat. “Help! How can you help?”

Vika had taken the chair next to the bed. Sitting forward she asked, “ Do you have any idea who would want to hurt you? Did you see the driver?”

Svetlana let out a long sigh. Then she breathed deeply as if summoning up her strength. “I thought… maybe…I…” Again, that guttural uh. Svetlana looked exhausted. She slumped back on her pillow and closed her eyes.

“Water! You must have something to drink. Is there no fruit juice?” Vika’s voice was close to hysterical as she  looked at the bare bedside table. Arsy said he’d slip outside and try to get Vera to bring something—a cup of tea, some juice. Moments later he returned. Vera did not want to attract attention. They should be leaving. The nursing shift was about to change.

Svetlana’s eyes suddenly shot open. “Yes. I remember. I know the guy. I’ve seen him before. But where?”

Arsy had the horrible feeling that the driver could well be one of the thugs he’d seen around Juris. He knew that those guys were ruthless. Ready to get rid of anyone who had served their purpose.

Vika started to rise from her chair. Arsy stepped towards the door. Svetlana pulled herself up to a sitting position. Her eyes were wild and desperate.

She grabbed Vika by the sleeve. “Don’t leave me!”

Chapter 15

Vika felt as if she were in a film. Here she was, a damsel in distress in a melodramatic noir. She herself couldn’t believe what was going on. It seemed so unreal. She found herself outside a restaurant in Riga, with a man she didn’t know, going off to search for a woman she didn’t know. Crazy! Yes, it was really crazy of her. She thought about that a moment, but quickly banished any apprehension. Oh, but the unknown was so exciting! She felt more alive than she had been in ages. Certainly it was more thrilling than trudging through tourist sites in the company of a paid tour guide–no matter how riveting his eyes. Or lounging on her comfy daybed in Manhattan, staring aimlessly out the window at a park with a lot of  trees and bushes.

The film cut to the other lead character. Arsy was taking charge. He reached an arm out to her. “Come. Let’s sit in the park. I’ll make phone calls.” He pulled out his cell and his pack of cigs. He allowed himself an extra today. Just to calm his nerves.

“You say a Svetlana was hit by a car on Elizabetes Street yesterday?” Vika nodded, shuddering at the memory.

Arsy looked at her earnestly. “I will help you.”

She gave him an uncertain smile. She knew absolutely nothing about this guy. Could she trust him? Well, she had to. There was no one else. She listened intently as Arsy continued,

“One of my relatives could give me information. It could take a bit of time but I think we’ll be successful.”

Vika relaxed.

It was a mellow afternoon. Most of the trees were bare but a few colorful bushes still blazed in the fading gray light. How eerie and mystical to see the dark coming on this early. She pulled her pashmina tighter around herself. November had always been a grim month for her. A touch of depression, a feeling of futility. How strange that she actually felt quite exhilarated, sitting here in this pretty little park with a perfect stranger. She grinned to herself. Perfect all right. This Arsy was a hunk. And this park was so much more intimate than Central Park.

Arsy looked intense as he talked on the phone. Vika could tell it was Russian and not Latvian. She had no strong political views even though her mother had told her stories about the brutal Soviet occupation and her family’s flight from the Bolsheviks. It seemed such a long time ago to Vika. She had never been what one would call a “thinking person” but, just recently, thoughts were stirring and she loved the sense that she could learn something—something about the country of her ancestors.

She pulled out her phone. She should text her mother–but didn’t get to do that as Arsy had finished his conversation and was turning to her.

“Now we must wait. They will call back.”

Vika frowned. “How long will we have to wait?”

“Fifteen minutes. Half an hour,” Arsy replied with a shrug

“But it’s so cold!” Vika shivered and rubbed her hands together. She certainly wasn’t dressed for the weather.

“Oh sorry,” Arsy grimaced sympathetically. He began to take off his jacket. “Put this on.”

Vika waved him away. “No, no. I have a better idea. Please come back to the hotel with me. I need to put on warmer clothes.”

“Nice to have a cup of coffee too.” Arsy gave a half smile. He had been on duty at Sam’s since early morning.

“You bet!” Vika smiled. “And with a nice shot of liquor,” she added companionably.

* * *

Coffee with a jigger of whiskey was just what the doctor ordered. Vika, wearing soft faded jeans and a quilted jacket, had joined Arsy in the café of the Hotel de Rome.

Arsy was wide-eyed at what to him seemed like splendor and opulence. It was a palace There must be lots of rich people here, he said to himself. It would be great to get a job at this hotel. Job? He didn’t really want to think about that. He really wanted nothing more than to get back to his painting.

The whiskey had done him good and he thought of the fake Rozentals. And he thought of this nice rich American who could be talked into investing in a Latvian masterwork. He hoped to get to know her better. This was an excellent beginning.

For her part, Vika had raided the well-stocked mini bar. Just some extras for the road. She wasn’t going to do the driving and she had already enjoyed a mini bottle of a new wonderful brew. Balzams.

Now, let the adventure begin! She hugged herself, almost giddy at the thought of the escapade which lay ahead. Not for a moment did she think of any real danger. Once she was in, she would have no way of getting out. Real life was not a movie. Oddly enough, she had no inner voice warning her to be careful.

Earlier she had examined the contents of Svetlana’s briefcase and, aside from the package destined for Bernie, had found her personal belongings. A packet of cigarettes, a cosmetics bag, keys, and an appointment diary. Where was her money and her ID? Perhaps in a pocket.

Sipping her coffee, Vika wondered if this place was the the famous Otto Schwarz café her grandmother had spoken so much about. That’s where the beautiful people had once congregated, shared romances and intrigues. The thirties were indeed the golden age of Latvian society and Vika had listened spellbound. Elegant ladies, spiffy gents, artists, and poets and what were then called gay Paris types. Looking around, she sighed. All that had seemingly vanished. What remained were a bored waiter, a barman aimlessly polishing glasses, and a few remarkably inelegant  patrons, apparently killing time.

Vika’s reverie was interrupted by Arsy’s cell phone’s brring. He spoke a few words, then eagerly gave Vika a thumbs up.

“We have located a Svetlana in the Trauma Hospital. It’s quite far from here. We can’t walk.”

“No worries,” Vika said cheerfully. She mentally reviewed the wad of euros in her handbag. “We’ll get the porter to call a cab.”

Vika was enthralled by the dark that had crept up on them. It surprised her as it was only a little after four. Yet, it was a pleasant surprise. And only added to the delicious anticipation. She couldn’t wait.

Fortified by their spiked coffee, the two of them headed to the exit. And as fate would have it, something significant happened. Striding through the door, Arsy collided with a man coming the opposite way and almost knocking him to the ground. “Ah ti sukin sin!” Arsy spat in annoyance.

Even though he didn’t understand Russian, the short Italian understood being cussed at. But he swallowed his anger. He had to stay focused. Brushing himself off, he wondered, Who’s the dude? The Rolodex in his mind took a whirl. Nothing there. Maybe the bruiser’s a gigolo. The thought made him give out a brief snort.  Good for Mrs Z. And, by the way, what’s she doing here?

The Italian was left to watch in annoyance and puzzlement as the couple got into a taxi and were whisked away. He didn’t even get a chance to catch the cab number

Trying to compose himself, he looked around. What to do? He approached reception and inquired as nonchalantly as he could if Mrs Zito was a guest at the hotel. He was met with an icy stare.

“I can’t give you any information. There is no Mrs Zito staying here.”

Anyone passing nearby could hear his angry muttering. “Damn! I’m tired of this. Bernie should have planted some sort of electronic bug on her so he could track her movements himself.”

The next time Frankie Caputo would talk to Bernie Zito he would tell his boss to track his lovely wife from her phone. A lot easier than sending Frankie on these harebrained missions.

He hated being here. The people were four times his size and he couldn’t even carry a piece. He had no connections. Frankie was more at home in New York or even in Napoli where he understood the language. And they understood him.

* * *

The cab dropped them off at the hospital entrance. Vika paid the fare, delighting the driver with a generous tip. She was busy counting out the euros and hadn’t seen Arsy glancing covertly at her,  noticing the tip. She was bracing herself, hoping that Svetlana would not be severely injured.

A hospital visit seemed straightforward to her. They’d both be going into the main entrance and checking in with the staff on duty.

But Arsy had other plans.

“My cousin, Vera, wants us to meet her at the service door. It’s better that way,” Arsy explained. “And we’ll have to give her something for her trouble.”

Vika was puzzled. What trouble?

“You know the word blats?”

She shook her head.

“Here you find nothing without blats. Nobody knows anything unless you pay them. And sometimes you have to pay people so that they don’t know anything.”

Vika threw back her head and laughed.

“Oh! Just like New York!”

Chapter 14

The cab let Irena out on Fifth Avenue. As usual a doorman rushed over to usher the elegant older lady into the prestigious Art Deco building. Irena was able to bypass the concierge when he offered to call  Bernie, explaining that she had the key to the twelfth floor apartment.

Vika had given her the key and she often used it since Bernie was rarely at home during the day and she wanted to sit in Vika’s boudoir — as Vika called the small sunlit room off her bedroom where she felt the most at ease. Vika, as well as Irena, often lounged on the cushioned day bed that faced the window that faced Central Park. Beside her was an antique side table with just enough room for her favorite gardenia plant and her cocktail. The only other furniture was a small French desk where Vika would arrange her appointments and write in her journal.

Irena was worried. A mother knows. She feels it in her bones. Sure Irena had received short texts from Vika saying she was enjoying Riga, but this did not satisfy her. What was she enjoying? Vika had not described any of the beauty spots—had not mentioned the Opera House nor historic Old Riga with its cobblestones and architectural splendor. Now she regretted that she had not gone along with Vika. Leaving her to her own devices could be dangerous. Vika was foolhardy. Had been since birth. Just throwing herself into every adventure which came her way. For someone like her daughter there would be so many ways to get into trouble. She wondered if she should tell Bernie that she had changed her mind about going to Latvia.

* * *

The soundless elevator opened directly into a foyer up high on the twelfth floor. Irena paused before going further, startled by the sound of Bernie’s voice. It was unusual for him to be home at this time of the day. She wondered if she should just turn around and leave. But some instinct told her that something was going on that she should know about. Bernie’s voice was rough and very loud. He sounded like a gangster, his speech clipped and fast like a wise guy. She had only heard his smooth talk—false and ingratiating as it was. She had never trusted that voice. Never trusted him.

Bernie was raging—shouting at someone about a Svetlana. It seemed that he was on the phone with a Juris – clearly a Latvian name. She was baffled. And intrigued. Could he be talking to someone in Latvia?

Something must have alerted Bernie of her presence. He pulled open the door of his study and gave Irena a menacing stare.

“What?”

How crude and unwelcoming! Irena felt a chill. She lowered her head in a submissive posture. “I just wanted to sit in Vika’s sunroom. I miss her. It gets lonely for me and I haven’t heard from her today.”

The look Bernie gave her could have stopped a bullet. A fleeting thought crossed her mind. Has he ever killed anyone? She hated the thought but couldn’t help wondering. Still, Irena knew what worked best with Bernie: she had to appear docile and subservient.

“I’m sorry, Bernie. I know I should have phoned. But I was so worried…”

Bernie’s lips stretched in a half smile. He didn’t want to antagonize the old lady. But he had to get rid of her. He needed to call Juris back. What a fuckup!

“Irena, there is nothing to worry about. Our Vika is having herself a grand time. She’s booked into one of Riga’s best hotels and she has Latvian friends.”

“Latvian friends? You mean strangers she met on Facebook?”

“Vika’s a smart cookie,” he humored Irena. “No way would she friend some Charles Manson types. Just stop worrying. Please!”

The “please” from this stocky bully sounded like an order. It quivered in the air like a threat. And Irena couldn’t quell the panicky feeling gnawing at the pit of her stomach. For the first time ever, she was  afraid of her son-in-law.

Irena turned to leave. And Bernie, like an aggressive bulldog, was at her heels, ushering her to the front door.

* * *

Irena lived in a brownstone on a quiet street lined with trees and garbage cans.  New York was chaotic.  An old city. But she felt peaceful and safe in her condo.

Back home again, Irena drew a deep breath. She just had to reach Vika. She’d call and text until there was a response – if that’s all she’d do that day. Maybe Vika knows a Juris or a Svetlana. What else could Irena do? Contact the American Embassy? She really had no one to advise her.

She had never approved of Bernie. There had never been an ounce of romance in him. She knew he had come from humble beginnings. From owning a Chick’nKing franchise in the Bronx to working his way up to taxi medallions in Manhattan. Then the money poured in. His businesses became secretive and international. At around this time he met Vika.

Vika had never been in love with the crude businessman but she loved what he could give her. She loved their fabulous apartment overlooking the most prestigious neighborhood in New York and Central Park. She loved decorating. She had the large apartment decorated tastefully. It was contemporary with some exquisite antiques and a few art pieces.  The color scheme was a mix of white, ivory and soft rose.  She had some friends, but Bernie was controlling and warned her not to get too close to anyone. People are not to be trusted.

So, little by little, her active and popular daughter had become a recluse. Spending hours in her boudoir. Only going out when she had to be on Bernie’s arm during one of his business functions. Irena didn’t know that her daughter had something to hold over Bernie’s head. Vika had never told her mother about her secret international missions. Nor about her private bank account.

By now it was evening and she still hadn’t heard from Vika. She thought back to Bernie talking to a Juris. They had no Latvian friends in New York. Was he talking to someone in Latvia? And could this somehow have something to do with not being able to reach Vika. Was Vika in danger? And had she herself overheard too much? Was she in danger as well — a sitting duck in her own apartment?

She went back to her front door to double check that the deadbolt was locked.

CHAPTER 13

“Play it again, Sam,” were Ingrid Bergman’s famous words to the piano player in Casablanca. Who in the world would ever forget them? Certainly not the owner of Sam’s, a trendy cafe/restaurant in Riga.  Misha was too subtle to plaster the place with old posters advertising the film. Nor did he have a tinkling piano in one corner of the cozy restaurant. But the vibe was there. Nostalgia reigned. And, for some reason, a happy mix of expats and local Latvians chose to assemble there. The entire place was a smoking section, even though this was against regulations. Bogie would have liked that. And, besides, the food was good and not too expensive.

Sitting at the bar, one could spin yarns as long as forever and no one would ever care. Somehow the place made patrons remember things that weren’t there and talk about things that had never happened. The ambiance fostered fantasies and was comfortable with half-truths, tall tales and even outright lies.

For a number of these reasons, Sam’s had become the go-to place for Eggie. He could sit with his cigs and coffee for hours, just staring into space and no one would bother him. But this noon time he was expecting two ladies to join him. It was quite brilliant of him to use Simone as a go-between—simple Simone, as he often thought of her, but also useful Simone.

And here she was, standing momentarily at the entrance of the restaurant as if to herald a celebrity. No one would be disappointed. Vika was resplendent. She had not held back. Her diamonds were meant to be worn and not locked up in a safe. Even if just for lunch.

Bernie had liked her to be showy and showy she was. It wasn’t vanity as much as habit—always pandering to Bernie’s preference. She hadn’t adjusted yet to modest yet elegant Riga.

Sequins all over her bright blue t shirt, and an enormous, multi colored, cashmere pashmina (banned in the USA) draped over her shoulders, form fitting black leggings and stiletto booties. Here in Latvia there were no PETA advocates to lecture her about cruelty to Pashmina goats.

All eyes turned to her as she followed Simone to Eggie’s table. Some eyes were more focused than others. Arseniy happened to be on duty, having postponed his retirement due to lack of money. Star struck, he stared at her like an eagle about to swoop down on colorful prey. The flash of diamonds on her fingers, her ears, her wrist dazzled him. Without hesitation, he made a beeline for Simone who was ushering the diamond-studded princess to a nearby table.

“So good to see you again, Simone (it took a few moments to come up with her name).”

Seated between Eggy and Vika, Simone blushed with pleasure. She turned coy, looking up at Arsy from under lowered eyes. Eggy exhaled a stream of smoke and Vika gave the waiter a quick appraising look.

“We’d like to see a menu, please,” she said in English, ignoring Arsy’s million-watt smile.

He bowed slightly. “Yes, lady.”

“But wait. We’ll have our drinks right now.” Vika turned to Eggy and Simone who were momentarily puzzled. “I’m having a mint julep. How about you?” She smiled to herself. She was the guest. Those two will pick up the tab. “And then the wine menu, please.”

Eggy wanted coffee. Simone chose orange juice.

“How are you enjoying Riga so far?” Eggy asked inanely, hoping to break the ice.

Vika felt like rolling her eyes. Instead she simpered, “It’s marvelous! So beautiful! So… um… European and–”

Her words were interrupted by Arsy who was approaching with an obsequious expression on his brazenly handsome face. “Bartender said no mint—how you say?”

“No mint juleps. What kind of a joint is this?” Vika flapped her hand in  exasperation. “Okay bring me gin and tonic. And make it a double.”

How to get the conversation to hospitals—to hospital visits? She hadn’t  stopped thinking of Svetlana. She decided to be direct.

“Yesterday I had a real shock. I met a lady at the Radisson and we became quite friendly. She was hit by a car on Elizabetes Street. An ambulance came. I want to visit this lady. Can you help me?”

Simone’s face was expressionless. Eggy pulled out his crumpled pack and lit another cigarette. No one spoke for a full minute. This was not going as planned. The silence was broken by Arsy who gave a slight bow, deposited the drinks and presented the menus.

Vika frowned. Her voice took on a lofty tone. “Lemon, or better still, lime, please.”

Arsy’s shoulders slumped. He had some choice words for this sukha. Still, one look at the dazzling tennis bracelet on her wrist and he again offered his slight bow and ingratiating smile.

“Yes, lady.”

Vika turned to her companions who were sipping their coffee and juice.

“I was hoping you could help me. I have no one else to turn to.”

Vika didn’t do pathetic very well. She had never had to cajole or sweet talk to get her way. She looked at Eggy and Simone expectantly. Strange that Eggy’s eyes had lost their power over her. She knew how to take control of a situation. Living with Bernie had taught her a thing or two.

“If it’s a question of money…” She let the words trail off.

Arsy was back with a wedge of lemon and ready to take orders.

“I’ll have your best fish dish and a salad,” she said. Then seeing the puzzled expression on the waiter’s face she relented. “Alright. Fine. I’ll have the chicken. She looked around. Yes, chicken it was for the three of them.

“And a bottle of… um… ,” She consulted the wine menu. “Burgundy.”

Eggy and Simone exchanged worried glances. They had invited her for lunch. This meal would ruin them.

Speech lapsed into silence as the meal was presented and the wine poured. Over coffee Vika again tried to glean information about hospitals but didn’t learn much. There was shoulder shrugging and lighting up of cigarettes but nothing else.

Misha, the owner of Sam’s had observed their table Wreathed in smiles, he approached.

“How was everything?” To which Vika replied, her tone icy, “It was alright.” She was getting tired of the sycophantic attention she had attracted.

Once coffee and dessert were over, she allowed Eggy to pick up the tab. It was just a little test to see what these folks were really up to. She could just imagine them regrouping. How much more money were they prepared to lose?

Misha was still standing there, with Arsy hovering close by. Vika decided to pose her question.

“Tell me. I’ve been trying to find out.” She shot a disparaging look at her table companions. “If a person is hit by a car on Elizabetes Street which hospital would the person be taken to?”

Misha gave her a startled look. “When did this happen? Who was hit?” Vika waved this away. “Just tell me.”

“Let me see. You said Elizabetes Street. I think there are two possibilities. Trauma Center Vidzemes priekspilseta and the Second Rigas hospital Zemgales priekspilseta.”

This didn’t mean anything to Vika. She gave Misha a sort of smiling frown. “I don’t quite understand…”

Arsy saw his big chance. Ignoring his boss, he pushed himself forward.

“I’m off in an hour. I can help you find… I have sister working in one hospital and  cousin working in other. Then we can go.”

Misha spread his arms magnanimously. “That’s good, Arseniy. But you can go right now. Lunch is almost over and I can help out myself.”

CHAPTER 12

Vika was transfixed. It was like everything seemed to have stopped,  then started ticking again, but all in slow motion. The ambulance had arrived. A crowd had gathered. How long could she just stand there with people jostling around? She shook herself and realized that she’d have to somehow put one foot in front of the other and go to her new hotel. How lucky for her that everything had been moved out of the Radisson. She just couldn’t have stayed. She had to be as far away as possible from the sight of a car gunning towards Svetlana. Was she still alive? Was she badly injured? Vika was sure it was no accident.

Her phone had kept pinging and she turned it off. She didn’t want to hear from anybody. She wanted to cocoon herself and remain in the semi trance which had enveloped her. And which was protecting her.

Once safely in her room Vika stripped down and pulled the soft white dressing gown around herself. She raided the minibar. Of course you can handle this. Of course you can… she crooned to herself as she wrapped the duvet around herself and huddled on the bed with drink in hand. For the time being she felt safe. But for how long? Bernie would be trying to reach her, wanting to know about the transaction. The thought of Bernie made her shudder. It wasn’t a good idea to think about life with Bernie. Whenever she did she felt stuck, sucked down, defeated. Best not to think about him at all. He was far away.

Just then a thought occurred to her: she would text Bernie and tell him that Svetlana hadn’t turned up. Would she be protecting both herself and Svetlana? There was really no one that she could talk to. No one she could trust.

The gin and tonic had relaxed her. She opened her phone and saw the messages. Egmonds. Oh God! Him! Her interest in the man had evaporated—vanished like the morning dew with the sun’s first caress. Sightseeing with a tour guide was the last thing which interested her now. What a fiasco! She’d simply pay him off and take her time visiting Riga on her own. The one call she did make was to her mother, Irena, just to quickly assure her that all was well. She didn’t dare tell her the truth. She ignored all the messages from Bernie. She’d deal with that later.

When was the last time she’d eaten? She thought back to her first full day in Riga. Nothing but orange juice and coffee. The drink had made her dizzy. Perhaps she just needed to sleep. But first she placed the contents of Svetlana’s briefcase into the safe.

* * *

The next morning the phone on her bedside table rang. Vika interrupted her breakfast-in-bed to answer. Then she made a grimace. What the hell! A lady was at reception looking for her. Who? Vika struggled to remember the name of the woman who had greeted her with flowers at the airport. That seemed like another lifetime ago.

“Hello, hello. It’s me. Simone. Remember we met at the airport. I’d like to see you.”

With a groan Vika fell back against the cushions piled up on the headboard. She had to get this over with.

“Okay. Come up.”

She immediately called room service for fresh coffee. Looking around, she sighed with relief that the room was reasonably tidy. She hadn’t had time to unpack or make herself completely at home.

A few minutes later there was a commotion at her door. Vika had posted a DO NOT DISTURB sign and now here were two people who were holding a conversation. Vika crawled out of her bed and put on her dressing gown.

“Enter!” she called through the door.

Simone entered first, followed by a waiter with a tray.

“Sorry, sorry…” Simone began. She was flustered but Vika waved her aside.

Turning to the waiter she indicated that the tray was to be placed on a side table. Next she pulled out a bill from her wad of fivers which she had at ready for tipping.

“Paldies,” she said with a self-satisfied smile. See. She could speak Latvian quite well.

She turned to Simone. “Excuse my dishabille. I’m just resting from the excitement of being in Riga. But do have some coffee. How do you take it?”

Simone stared blankly. She was at a loss. Dishabille? How does she take her coffee? She wished Eggy were here. He’d have Vika in bed in a heartbeat but she, Simone, had to soldier on alone. All she could think of saying was “thank you—or paldies.”

“Have you had breakfast? It’s so easy to send for some eggs, an omelet maybe?”

Simone was tempted. But better not. Eggy had given her instructions.

She sat down next to Vika, crossed her legs at her ankles, pulled down her skirt to cover her knees and took the coffee cup.

“Now, how in the world did you find me?”

Simone was taken aback. “Well, Egmonds told me.”

Vika looked at her skeptically. “How did he know?”

“I don’t know. He just told me you would be here.”

Vika frowned. That was strange. She hadn’t told anyone where she was going. Still, she decided to let it go for now. Simone had that blank, clueless look.

“Perhaps you’d prefer some nice orange juice? Freshly squeezed. Too much coffee gives me acid,” Vika said companionably. She wanted to put Simone at ease. And put herself at ease as well.

“No, no. Paldies. But I have an invitation for you. Egmonds and I would like to take you for lunch at one of our favorite restaurants. It’s not far from here. Many people like it. Will you come?”

Vika softened. This woman was so earnest. She had no doubt that Simone was wearing her finest again. A wool skirt, a heavy grey jacket over a pink blouse and sensible shoes.

The terrifying sight of watching the car crash into Svetlana had sent Vika in a different direction. She now had a mission. Maybe these people will help me find out where Svetlana is, she thought to herself. I need someone to help me. But will they help? The glimmer of doubt suddenly became a glare. Could these people have anything to do with what happened to Svetlana? She shrugged the troubling thought away. They looked too naïve and simple to be involved in anything like that. Still, all the more reason to get to know them better.

She smiled at Simone. “I’d be delighted to accept your invitation.”

Chapter 11

Eggy frowned in exasperation. Vika was not answering his telephone calls. He had tried texting but again no response. The only thing left was to show up at the Radisson and see how she was doing. It could be more serious than just jet lag. Maybe she was ill.

He still had the old Toyota Yaris which he’d rented to show Vika around. But better to walk. He needed to burn off his anxiety and besides, it wasn’t that far. He had strong, long legs which had served him well for his fifty plus years.

It was now barely daylight and rain had started, making the damp penetrate through his light jacket. He shivered as he hunched his shoulders. Not great weather for sightseeing. He once again asked himself why the American had chosen November for her trip. Was there some special reason she had chosen this time of year?

Head down, he strode purposely along Barona Street until he reached Elizabetes Street where he turned right. Before passing through the hotel’s revolving doors he rehearsed what he’d say. He had to find a diplomatic way to let Vika  know that she should stay in touch. After all, it was she who had requested his services.

Eggy was completely unprepared for what came next. He was in for a huge surprise. He stood stock still at the reception counter, his mouth almost open in astonishment. He couldn’t understand it. The clerk had just told him Mrs Zito was no longer at the hotel.

“She checked out earlier and left no forwarding information,” the pretty young woman at the counter said with a regretful expression on her face.

Whoa! She’s gone! Eggy clamped his lips tight. His hands made fists. He badly needed a cigarette. But even more badly he needed details.

Eggy faked an easy smile. “Surely there must be a way to find Mrs Zito. She asked me to meet her here…”

He glanced at her nametag. Linda. Time for some strategic romancing.  Effortlessly he activated his secret weapon. It was all in the eyes. Eggy was a tall, handsome man but his eyes seemed to have a special power over women. He used this tactic carefully and only under the most dire circumstances. This was dire enough.

Linda blushed slightly and smiled sweetly. Eggy could tell that she was ready to make a special effort.

“Please wait just a moment,” she murmured, her smile deepening.

Looking around quickly to make sure her supervisor was not around, she summoned the porter who had just loaded baggage into a waiting taxi. He approached the counter and they had a short discussion.

Beaming, Linda turned back to Eggy.

“It appears that Mrs Zito’s luggage had been picked up earlier this morning.”

Eggy turned up the voltage on his smile.

“Who picked it up?”

“Well… I— ” she stopped. Confused and uncertain.

Eggy kept up the pressure. “You see, Linda. I’m a very good friend.”

Befuddled, she drew in a nervous shuddering breath. “Yes, yes. But I’m not sure I should tell you. We have a policy…”

Eggy was not used to this withholding. Is she playing with me? Linda  was an attractive woman somewhere in her thirties. Eggy just stood there. Looking her in the eyes.

“Well, maybe you can give me a hint,” he said softly.

His voice was also an asset. Linda had no recourse. She hesitated but then, with a sudden conspiratorial grin, she winked and said, “You’ve heard the expression ‘All roads lead to Rome.’”

Gotcha! Eggy didn’t bother winking back. Abruptly he turned away and was out the door in a flash. Hastily fingering a cigarette out from his pack, he lit it and sucked on it so hard his cheeks hollowed out.

Now he had to figure out what to say to Simone. She had bought herself a new outfit had spent money at the beauty parlor. She’d kill him if they lost Vika.

He too had spent money on car rental, had taken time off his job working at Gunas Gramatas, a used books store on Barona Street. He wasn’t paid much but, with the occasional English lesson and his father’s pension, he could make ends meet. But that was no way to live. He wanted to move to a decent apartment, buy a car, travel a bit. He had hoped that with Vika’s contributions he could see his way to living a little better.

Eggy dropped the cigarette, ground it with heel and reached for another. He had to think. It was raining hard now and completely dark. He couldn’t just storm over to the Hotel de Rome and confront Vika. Not in the shape he was in. By the time he’d make it over to the hotel he’d look like a soaked rat and the doorman probably wouldn’t let him in. Besides, he couldn’t behave like a stalker. He needed Simone to make the move.

This godforsaken weather… Eggy kept muttering to himself as he hotfooted it back to his apartment on Bruninieka Street. Damn! He had one more errand to do: stop at the grocery store to buy supplies. He had promised his father that he’d make milk soup with dumplings for dinner.