Chapter 7

Ivars was a good listener. He had to be with Misha’s hysterical rant sounding in his ear. He was also a good liar.

His tone was hostile, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You turn up at a fancy restaurant with your cleaning lady and you expect sympathy from me? I spent big bucks on the escort and the restaurant and here you are whining about something.”

Misha couldn’t believe his ears. He was fuming.  “About something? You’re crazy! The American is missing—you know the one? The rich one. The one you were interested in.”

Ivars honked out a laugh. “Nonsense. Are you trying to dupe me? You bring a baboushka to the restaurant and tell me she’s rich. Show me what’s rich about her. That old cloth coat? You are the crazy one if you want me to believe that.”

The tirade was followed by stunned silence for almost three seconds. Ivars could hear the wheels turning in Misha’s brain as a new thought crept into his confusion.

“Well… you might be right. She comes to my place with all those diamonds and flashy outfits. But then she does a dirty trick on me, turning up dressed like a pauper. And then, I don’t know what…”

Misha voice faltered. He felt uneasy standing out there in the pitch blackness of the very late night. Every sound unnerved him. He thought he heard footsteps,  quickly looked around and saw no imminent danger. He wiped his forehead and  and continued,

“We couldn’t get into the restaurant because of the way she was dressed. Then she wants to go to a dive and just disappears. I was being played. But I can’t figure out why. She had—”

A thud. A dead phone. Ivars flinched. He  could just imagine what was happening—Misha standing there in his good suit and using an expensive phone. What were the chances he’d walk away unharmed?

* * *

Eggy also heard the thud. And he too could imagine what was happening. Not only that, he could hear it. He could hear that there were at least a couple of Russians carrying on their banter while probably stripping Misha of his  possessions as he lay unconscious on the pavement. Eggy was mute with horror as his ears witnessed the ongoing assault and robbery. He clutched at the phone, his knuckles whitening

Vika’s phone must have been pulled out of Misha’s pocket as the Russians argued about it. It seemed to them that the phone was broken because of its shattered screen. One of them wondered if the gemstone-studded case had any value. The other one decided to take it anyway. But the worthless phone itself with the shattered screen was put back in Misha’s pocket. They figured they would take the good phone and laughed that at least their victim would have one, however worthless, phone on him. Why would he need two? Although, if he stopped to think about it, mob bosses sometimes have three or more.

Eggy’s mind was racing. Where was this happening? He had no idea where the “dive” could be that Vika and Misha had gone to. He could just imagine Misha lying on the pavement, passersby walking around him, taking him for just another drunk. No one would call an ambulance and no ambulance would come. Why would anyone pollute their vehicle with just another drunk?

Eggy paced and smoked. He couldn’t pull himself away from his phone, feeling he had to stand guard even though he couldn’t think of what to do. Still, he might hear something else, get a clue of where this place was and who was involved.

But couldn’t he do something? Somehow contact the police, bringing along the phone to see if they could locate the place it was being used from. But he couldn’t hang up. Couldn’t call anyone else. And, oh God!, more important than anything, where is Vika?  

Eggy fired up cigarette after cigarette, his smoke-filled room starting to look as if it was on fire. He listened attentively but heard no more conversation coming from Vika’s phone. Just some scuffling around. He guessed that the owner of the booze can could be locking up for the night and a body lying in front of his place was not a good look. Eggy could just picture Misha being relocated to some dark alleyway on a side street. Luckily the phone was still working. But how long before the battery died?

Eggy’s patience was rewarded. A minute later, he was able to make out a muffled conversation. There seemed to be two men discussing what to do with Misha. The men thought that Misha was too well dressed to be any old drunk. Besides, he didn’t stink of booze.

Eggy squeezed his eyes shut in a silent prayer for Vika’s phone to keep working. His prayer was not answered as, moments later, there was nothing at all on the other end. No murmuring, no rustling. The phone had died. And so had his hope for learning more. Where was Vika?

* * *

It appeared that there were good Samaritans after all—even in this skuzzy crime-ridden neighborhood. Dimitri, the owner of the no-name dive in Maskachka, called the police. But was it indeed the act of a good Samaritan or just fear of retribution?

Dimitri carried on a lengthy inner discourse, weighing different scenarios and likely outcomes. He had to be smart to survive in this decrepit part of town where a full cast of shady characters assembled and liked to hang out till all hours. He had a reputation to maintain. His entire living (as well as his life itself) depended on him doing the wise thing at the right moment. And this was one of those moments.

If this guy, dressed up in an expensive suit as he was, happened to be someone important, Dimitri could end up paying for it if he were to just dump him in an alley. Word would get around. Dimitri had noticed that the guy had spoken in good cultured Russian when he was ordering his drink and food. This was no ordinary prolo from the neighborhood.

But who was he? Why had he chosen this place? Dimitri did not want to incur the wrath of any overseers from Russia. After all, they were still the movers and shakers in this former colony. He had worked it out in his mind. There was unlikely to be any harm in calling the police. The guy obviously needed medical attention and the police would look after him whether he was a big time criminal or not. Better than letting him croak in the alley.

As he mulled over his options a stray cat slunk out of the nearby alley. Dimitri smiled. He liked cats and often put out a bowl of milk at the back door. He guessed the cat was heading that way.

Dimitri lit up a fresh cigarette. He was exhausted from the day’s work and the long hours. Sure he could just take off and go home but again, he had a reputation. He had to act like a good citizen and take care of a fallen comrade.

His phone trilled. It was his wife wanting to know if he was coming home. No matter the hour she would always wait up for him.

“Yes, yes soon. I have a small problem to take care of,” he assured her.

Dimitri looked down at his small problem. The guy was coming to. Who was he? It could pay off to know more about him. Could there be a reward for turning him in? Or for helping him out?

Which way would it go?