“Now, nothing big. Don’t make that face,” he said, waving a hand to presumably shoo away my attitude. “You just happen to be a good candidate for a small delivery job. It’s at your old work in the Administrative Building. Just pick something up from the Senator’s office, then drop it off at one of my businesses. Boris will go with you, but he can’t go into a government building—or I’d have him do the damn thing.”
“Alright,” I repeated. “What is it?”
“Never mind that. You’re a shit liar so you’re better off not knowing or you’ll attract attention with your owly eyes.”
My eyes weren’t owly… were they?
He wrote down some instructions and confiscated my cellphone. For safety.
Boris and I drove to a bus stop five blocks away from my old work. There, I got on the 12A bus, taking up a spot at the front while he stood at the back past the bellows.
Nothing felt right. I didn’t trust Sergei or his nonchalant description of what could very well be a drug deal… or worse. But if this made us even, I could survive a quick bus ride and an awkward exchange with old colleagues who would see me walk through the halls in a brand new fur-lined coat.
Vitali, where are you…
I wasn’t carrying anything yet, but the sight of the militiamen still tightened my chest. All I could do when they greeted me was give a polite wave. I got some stares, but most everyone went on with their miserable day. It wasn’t long ago that I was among them.
The only one to pay attention was Ira, who apparently got a demotion from the budget department into a secretary desk outside the Senator’s personal office.
“Haven’t seen you in a long time,” she said, eyeing my clothes. “You’ve been doing well since you quit.”
That amount of venom could have killed an elephant.
“I’ve been alright,” I said, and glanced around. “Is there a package for a Boris Gagarin? I’m supposed to pick it up.”
Shehmm’dand swung some drawers open, then huffed getting out of her desk and began pulling things from the cubbies. None of this was done with any kind of urgency, but eventually she retrieved a tightly wrapped package the size of a TV remote and shoved it at me across the desk.
So small, yet so panic-inducing.
I thanked her, and when I exited the building, the rain was already pounding muddy sidewalks and colorful umbrellas floated above the crowds. Boris didn’t have one, and neither did I, so we were both fairly miserable by the time we got back to the car.
He didn’t ask to see it. Didn’t say anything at all as we drovethrough the city with nothing but the squeak of windshield wipers andtap-tap-tapson the roof.
He took us to the outskirts of the city, but stopped before we reached the factory district and turned onto a side street lined with neglected industrial dormitories.
He followed me as we entered a podyezd with crumbling concrete and exposed rebar.
I’d grown up with some questionable aromas in the stairwells, but this was far worse than that. A warm, organic smell mixed with that of sewage and sharp chemicals. It did not get better when we got to the long hallway on the third floor.
Dozens of doors lined each side, some wide open and some closed, although warped wood left a lot unable to properly seal. The floor consisted of a narrow path through swept garbage and rotting dirt. Much of it was syringes. Countless syringes.
I pulled my scarf over my nose.
No one should be living there, but as we walked, I glimpsed ghastly people sitting on mattresses and hunching over small electric stoves. The communal bathrooms couldn’t have been usable—they were completely clogged up with trash and feces from backed-up toilets, which were only holes in the floor.
He took me into a larger room at the end of the hall. There, walls had been knocked out to combine individual shared apartments into one large space—but I wouldn’t call it a home.
“Wait there,” Boris said, nodding to a ripped, oil-stained couch.
I didn’t argue, but I did not sit down either, just stood beside it with my hands clasped and stared at the fat little TV with a snapped antenna set atop a low, metal desk. It was dark except for my vivid reflection framed by the mural of peeling wallpaper at my back. Behind it, the discolored wall showed signs ofanimals scratching at what used to be the baseboards but were now just pieces of splintered wood concealing frayed wires.
A skeletal child ran by the doorway in nothing but his underpants.
I waited for a long time. Once in a while, someone would pass by the open door and peek inside with little interest. All skinny people with exposed sores. It was difficult to tell the women from men sometimes, but I could always make out the children.
The strong hospital-like smell seeped into the space behind my eyes, pounding. I fingered the small package clutched tightly in my hands and kept waiting.
And waiting.
