Merchants with Evil Intent (9 page)

      
He wondered how feisty she’d be once in
Lukov’s possession.

      
He ordered vodka straight when a harried
waitress stepped next to him, blowing a strand of black hair from her face.
“Rob, table eight needs two Corona’s and one virgin Coke.”

      
He nodded, setting about his task. Valik
reached into his pocket withdrawing two green pills. Rob placed two Corona’s on
a tray near him and poured Coke into an ice filled glass. As an afterthought,
he threw two cherries into the drink.

      
Valik cautiously dropped the pills into
the soda while the bartender had his back turned. He grabbed a red stirrer,
mixing the contents before the bartender returned.

      
When Rob reached for the tray he noticed
the red stirrer. He didn’t remember putting one in the glass. He picked up the
round tray and went around the bar to serve the drinks. Before he reached his
destination, Jake Bradford stopped him.

      
Bradford was a regular. Every night at
seven you’d find him at a table near the bar. He’d been on the force for five
years as a detective, but still a newbie to many.

      
Valik observed the shaggy haired man when
he stopped the bartender. After a few minutes of talking they ended the chat
laughing.

      
Valik shifted in his seat, eager. Soon
the man who came with her would be rendered useless. She’d have to leave the bar
alone. Valik could hardly contain his glee.

      
Rob spread the drinks out, placing a hand
over the virgin drink. He motioned his eyes towards the bar. Greg Travers
understood the vague message and winked.

      
Valik lifted his drink for a victory sip.
Lukov would be pleased with his success.

      
Jake Bradford stumbled in front of the
bar, announcing to no one in particular, that it was time to drain the main
vein.

      
Valik looked on in disgust by the man’s
herky-jerky movements. The man could barely stand.
American’s don’t know how to hold their liquor
, he thought, as he
raised his glass to his lips.

      
Instantly his face was pinned against the
bar and he felt blood seeping from his lips. He tried to lift his head and
heard, “Move motherfucker and I’ll snap your fuckin’ neck!”

*
     
*
     
*

      
Greg Travers motioned to Theresa. “Stay
with her while I check this out.” She nodded, moving closer to Camryn.

      
Travers approached the bar and heard the
perp shouting in Russian.

      
Typically a bar would’ve cleared out at
the disturbance, but since bar was frequented by cops everyone stayed and would
lend a hand, if needed.

      
Travers nodded to the cop holding a firm
grip on the perp. “Nice work. What’s your name?” he asked.

      
He struggled to contain the suspect and
raggedly replied, “Bradford.
You?”

      
“Travers.”

      
Bradford motioned towards the struggling
man. “Who’s this douche bag?”

      
“Not sure but he might be the asshole
stalking my friend,” Travers murmured, nodding towards Camryn.

      
“All right asshole, let’s go,” Bradford
barked as he hoisted the guy from the bar stool. After securing him with cuffs
he turned the guy around.

      
“I have rights, no?” questioned Valik.

      
“What’s your name?” Travers asked.

      
“Fuck you,” Valik hissed in broken
English.

      
Travers smirked and rubbed his forehead.
“Parent’s didn’t like you much to name you that, eh? Let’s see what you have in
your pockets.”

      
He rifled through the perp’s pants
pockets and came up with a cell phone, a wallet, car keys and most interesting
of all, a little clear bag filled with green pills. After he finished frisking
the guy he nodded to Bradford who pushed the guy back onto the bar stool.

      
Travers went through his wallet. “Oh-oh,
I don’t see a license, now
that’s
a
problem. And what do we have here?” he asked, dangling a bag of pills in front
of his face.

      
Valik’s smile was bloody. “Fuck you.”

      
Travers shook his head. “Wrong answer,”
and promptly punched him in the face.

*
     
*
     
*

      
When Ryan and John arrived Camryn was
sprawled across the table, clutching a Corona bottle. John removed it from her
hand and brushed the hair from her face.

      
Anger filled him. “Travers!”

      
Travers walked over, rubbing the knuckles
on his right hand. “You rang?” he asked sarcastically.

      
John pointed to Camryn. “What have you
done?”

      
Travers lifted his eyebrows. “This is more
your
work than mine.
Seriously John?
Telling her she’s your daughter on a day
when she had enough shit to deal with?”

      
John’s attention was briefly averted when
he heard someone speaking loudly in Russian. Damn, he didn’t need Smirnoff to
get in the way again. He turned and caught sight of him sitting at the bar.
“Ryan, take Camryn home. I’ll be there soon.” He shot Travers a disgusted glare
as he walked towards the bar.

      
When he got closer he realized that it
wasn’t Smirnoff.

      
Ryan reached to pick Camryn up but
Travers held out a hand to stop him.

      
“Allow me,” he rasped.

      
Carrying Camryn was like carrying a
pillow. She was so light and soft. He always wondered what it’d be like to date
her, but didn’t want to interfere with his relationship to John. She didn’t
know it, but she was special to him. He smiled when she released a snoring
sound.

      
He carefully slid her into the passenger
seat and buckled her seat belt. He watched them pull safely away.

*
     
*
     
*

      
Bradford and John were talking when
Travers reentered the bar. “I’m not sure why the guy put the drug into the soda
if he was after your daughter.”

      
“He followed us from another bar.
Probably thought I was her boyfriend. Get me dopey so he could snatch her,”
offered Travers and he continued to fill them in on the events of the night. He
ended it by saying that he didn’t know what the drug was in the bag.

      
“That’s right up my alley. It looks like
Rohypnol. A roofie,” offered Bradford.

      
“The date rape drug?”
Travers frowned.

      
Bradford took one from the bag as he
pulled out a pocket knife. He carefully sliced the pill in half, exposing a
blue core.
“Yep.
It’s a roofie.”

*
     
*
     
*

      
Vague images flashed in front of Camryn;
black roses, Viktor and the missing women. Positive there was a connection she
tried to piece it all together. She rolled onto her back and brought her arm up
to shield her eyes from the light.

      
She sat up quickly and put her hands on
either side of her head. Her stomach made an unpleasant gurgling sound causing
her to move her hands from her head to her mouth. She ran from the room into
the hall bathroom. She gripped the porcelain throne swearing she’d never let
tequila pass over her lips again.

*
     
*
     
*

      
Declan traipsed down the stairs ready for
the day. He had no plans other than to spend his remaining time in Chicago
enjoying the company of his sister and the two boyo’s.

      
Nearing the kitchen he heard Colleen
gasp, “Oh me God, no’ her!”

      
He found her hunched over the newspaper.
Over her shoulder he saw a picture of an attractive woman with auburn hair and
a headline that read, ‘Fifth Missing Woman!’

      
Colleen looked up at him with watery
eyes.
“Dec, ‘tis her.
Your lass from
the ceilidh.
Cam.”

      
He eyed her hesitantly, grabbing the
paper from the table. He studied the photo closely for several minutes before
reading the article. The gel’s name was, or is, depending on one’s pessimism,
Camille Mayden. Friends called her Cam. She was last seen at the concert a few
nights ago.

      
He carefully sat lest his knees give out
on him.

      
He shook his head side to side studying
the photo again and reread her description. He didn’t realize he’d been holding
his breath until he released it, causing the paper to tremble in its wake. “
It’s
no’ her,” he proclaimed quietly.

      
Colleen gripped his wrist. “Are you
sure?”

      
“Aye.
This
lass
has green eyes. My Cam has brown eyes.”

*
     
*
     
*

      
After Camryn finished pulling herself
together she sat on the bed in her old bedroom.

      
She glanced around the room noting
nothing had changed since she’d moved out. Mom wanted the awards she won from
her years in Track and Camryn happily left them. She smiled when she spotted
the picture of her favorite hockey player on the back of the bedroom door.

      
So much changed and so much hadn’t.

      
The clock on the white nightstand read
eleven o’clock. She rummaged through her purse and found her phone. Three
missed calls from Viktor. After deleting them she put the phone into her
short’s pocket.

      
She spread the pink curtains open. It
looked to be another scorcher outside, a perfect day to run in the park. She
did her best thinking when she ran.

      
She didn’t wear the typical running
outfit so many people wore. She preferred cut-off blue jeans and a tank top.
Well, she did wear a sports bra. She wasn’t a total nonconformist.

*
     
*
     
*

      
Camille Mayden awoke and tried to sit up,
groaning when she couldn’t. The last thing she remembered was getting hit on by
a great looking guy who offered her a beer. He wanted her to go to his car to
talk since it was hard to hear over the music. She hesitated at first, but
Geoff, her bestie, urged her to go.

      
Lifting her head proved to be a
challenge. She felt as if she had a massive hangover.

      
A muffled
cry
nearby diverted her attention. She tried again to sit up and screamed.

      
Her hands were bound to the sides of the
bed.

Chapter
5

      
Viktor canvassed the neighborhood where
Camille Mayden lived when Valik was brought into the station.

      
It was uncanny how much she looked like
Camryn.

      
Calls came into the office of Missing Person’s
after the story in the newspaper. Several witnesses had come forward saying
they’d seen Camille leave the concert with a man. They were asked to come in
with their descriptions and to view a line-up.

      
Three out of four witnesses fingered
Andre Valik as the man they saw leaving with Camille Mayden.

*
     
*
     
*

A quiet hush filled the living room as Camryn
descended the stairs.

      
She wore a tense smile when she landed on
the last step. Taking a deep breath, she walked into living room.

      
Her mom and dad were seated on the couch
holding hands. Ryan sat on the love seat and Claire lay on the floor with a
book. It looked somewhat normal and not as foreboding as she feared.

      
She glanced around the room. “He’s not
here,” her dad said huskily.