A few cars were parked along the side of the road, but to my surprise, we kept walking past them until we reached the end of the apartment complex, where a raised dirt lot served as access to the heating pipes.
The only car parked there was a shiny, brand-new black Mercedes.
Dima says he’s involved with the mafia.
I slowed, and Vitali anticipated this because he set a hand over my lower back to keep me walking forward. He went to the passenger side and opened the door for me, watching my exposed thigh as the dress slid higher when I got in.
“What, you’re not going to open the door for me?” Misha snorted. “Some gentleman.”
“You’re lucky I don’t drive away without you,” Vitali told him as he got in the driver’s seat.
“Katya, you like music?” Misha asked, fumbling with something in the backseat. I glanced at him through the mirror. He almost took up the entire back.
“I do,” I said. “Roxanne, Time Machine, or anything by Eurodance.”
“I like Nirvana,” Misha said and reached between us to slip a CD in the player. Itwzzzzjjjj’dand situated the disk, but the second the song began, Vitali turned the volume to zero.
“Where am I taking you?” he asked.
“Asshole,” the backseat said.
“Central Town,” I said. “Off street Pushkina.”
Vitali nodded. I didn’t know when he rolled up his sleeves, but as he set his arm against my headrest, I watched his forearm muscles move and my drunk heart skipped a very vital beat.
It wasn’t far once we got across the river, and the bright lights of the main road began rushing past. Vitali was quiet, and Misha muttered the lyrics toSmells Like Teen Spirit, seemingly to piss him off.
I leaned my forehead against the window. The hour was too late, and I had too much to drink. I must have nodded off, because my head embarrassingly slipped, and as I tried to right myself, my hand brushed against something in a crease of the leather. It was wet, but I was wearing his jacket and Elena’s dress, so I didn’t wipe it off; instead smelling it to make sure I hadn’t just dipped my fingers in something disgusting. The car cost more than our apartment, but I had that thought anyway.
Iron hit my nostrils, and recognition zapped the back of my skull. Unmistakable. It was blood. Old, but very real blood.
Dima says he’s involved with the mafia, the echo repeated for the second time, and I swallowed a hard gulp, sobriety rushing at me like a train.
“Everything okay?” Vitali asked, and I nodded.
“Just tired.”
When we pulled to a stop, it was right on the corner next to amini mart built into the first story of the apartments.
He opened my door. “This one, right?”
The apartments were set between a main road and a library. That’s where the communal flat was, at least. Not home.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Katya,” he rested his thumbs against his belt, tilting his head as I shifted under his stare, “give me your phone number.”
“We don’t have a phone,” I lied, and it was a valid lie because a lot of people still used a payphone, and I hoped my drunk butt didn’t make it blatantly clear how scared I was.God help me… it was blood…
I started to shrug off his jacket, but he stopped me.
“I’ll get it from you next time, Kotik,” he said, then, without trying to shake my hand or kiss me, he walked back to the car where Misha fiddled with the CDs. His words didn’t sink in until later.
He called me Kitty.
Before the door shut, EuroMachine blared‘You are, you are, you are not for me.’
* * *
