I lean back in the chair. "Everything.”
"There's a girl down there,” she whispers. “Nobody's supposed to talk about her. If we see her, we have to pretend we didn’t. Belova loses her mind if anyone mentions it."
"What girl?"
"I don't know her name. I’ve never seen her myself, but I heard Belova talking once. She said your father keeps someone down there. Someone who tells him things."
"What kind of things?"
Olga glances around like the walls might be listening. "Secrets."
She drains her glass and I pour more. "Some of the girls think it’s a witch he’s keeping down there. That she can see the future or read minds or something."
"Do you believe that?"
She shrugs. "I don't know what to believe. All I know is, your father comes every Tuesday like clockwork. He stays about an hour. Always goes straight to the basement. Never touches any of us.”
"Have you ever seen the girl?"
"No. Belova only forgot to lock it a couple of times. She’s the only one with a key.”
“Where’s the door?”
"Back hallway, all the way past the laundry room. It looks like it’s a closet.”
Olga’s drunk now, slurring her words. "Belova slapped a new girl for opening it. Threatened to choke her."
"What about guards? Any inside at night?”
"One outside. One inside by the desk.”
Olga just confirmed everything I’ve seen. "You’re very helpful," I tell her, moving over to a table. I open the duffel bag I’d placed earlier on it, slipping on a pair of gloves. I pull out a small plastic bag with Olga’s reward.
Heroin. I hold it up. Her eyes glaze over, locking onto it, wild with pure need and hunger.
"Is this what you want?"
"Yes."
"It's yours. All of it."
She reaches for it, but I pull it back. "Answer me this, Is there a way out through the basement? A door to the outside?”
"I don’t think so. Never seen anything when we throw out the garbage.”
“How many side doors? Back doors on the main floor?”
She frowns, thinking through the vodka haze and itch. "Two. A back alley for delivery. Side door for customers.”
I think for a minute, then hand her the bag. "That’s good enough.”
Her hands shake as she grabs it from me, clutching it to her chest. "Thank you, Ivanov. Thank you so much."
"You're welcome."
I watch her pull out the syringe I prepared. I need this to go fast. "Let me help you,” I offer.
She smiles at me, holding out her arm for my special mixture. Heroin laced with fentanyl. It’s enough to make sure she never wakes up.
