Was he crazy?
“Are you crazy?”
“Vitali is waiting; you really shouldn’t make him wait, Katya.”
Something was wrong.
“Alright, I can be ready,” I said after a moment of uneasy deliberation. “Why isn’t he picking me up?”
“Just be ready.”
Misha arrived exactly thirty-seven minutes later. I barely had time to rinse off, put my hairspray-stiffened hair up in a bun, and pat some makeup under my eyes to disguise the puffiness. It didn’t do an adequate job, and in the process, I discovered a previously unseen cut running from my ear, across my cheekbone, and into my hairline. The glass had carved up my arms and right thigh where they were exposed, but those could be hidden by clothing. This couldn’t. I still did my best to rearrange my hair when the buzz came from the downstairs podyezd door.
“And where are you going?” Mama fussed, her eyes wide. I already knew she had it in her head that whatever happened at Elit was an ongoing threat and would be for the next year, on every street and sidewalk and her daughter better stay indoors forever because some maniac would surely follow me home.
Funny. I didn’t know if I could call it ironic necessarily, but it did give me a humorless chuckle.
“Just going to see Elena… she knew someone there last night. She’s very upset,” I lied. Mama didn’t allow me to leave without a plastic-wrapped bundle of food to bring to ‘Elena’, as, by her reasoning, all things in life could be solved with some kind of pie or pea salad.
Misha waited in the idling Mercedes, the same one I had first seen when we met. I recognized the small bead bracelet hanging off the rearview mirror, but not the four bullet holes just abovethe back wheel well.
“What’s that?” he asked as I got in.
I handed him the leftovers. “Meat pie andvinegret.”
He held it up to his nose, nostrils flaring, and nodded his approval.
When we pulled out onto the main road, I assessed his appearance. There was nothing different about Misha. No scrapes, no bullet holes in his forehead. Just the same‘I’m waiting for life to end and I’m mad about it’resigned look of so many Russian men.
“Why you staring?” he asked without turning his head.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I like to look at people.”
“You’re a bad liar, Katya, and you need to get yourself together because no one is going to believe you where we’re going,” he said so matter-of-factly that any delusions I had of where we were headed melted away.
“We aren’t going to see Vitali, are we?”
“Technically speaking, he might be there.”
I nodded. I didn’t die at Elit, so it was only fair it happened now instead. First day of the new year and all.
“I told you to get away from the city,” Misha said, and took out his cigarettes, tapping the box against the steering wheel before popping one out. “You smoke?”
“No.”
“I have to make a stop on the way. If you’re hurt, you’d better tell me so we can get you a nice plaster.”
“Why would I be hurt?”
The lighter flicked, and he trapped the cigarette on the far side of his mouth. “You and I, Katya. We need to have some trust established, because I don’t want to go upsetting Mama, and you’re not going to get a better offer than me. I was surprised tohear you call because Mila didn’t know where you were by the time she called Sergei. Here’s the funny thing—Sergei didn’t knowwhoyou were when she said your name.” He huffed a laugh wrapped up in cancerous smoke. “Lots of details coming out all at once, and no one is happy.”
“Does Vitali know..?”
“I hadn’t seen him this morning. You know he doesn’t have a phone. Harder to find than a fat fuck’s ball sack.”
“Is Sergei the one I’m going to see?”
He nodded and rolled down the window, but only a sliver—enough to tap the cigarette. “I’ll give you the quick of it so you know what to expect. The man likes to talk, so you’ll know the gist when you eventually tune out. Sergei, he’s an asshole. But he’s a sly asshole, like a fox. Knows his numbers and knows who writes them. But he’s a reasonable enough guy if you don’t make yourself noticeable. Don’t open your mouth when you’re not supposed to—and open it wide when he asks.”
