Zero Hour (11 page)

Irina and I sat double-parked on Constitution Street, staking out Manik. Anna had gone in to check if Slobo was already at the bar. The right-hand side of the road was pulsating with life. On the left was the inky blackness of the graveyard where some of the fifteen thousand dead from the USSR’s eight-year war in Afghanistan lay. A massive billboard hung above the gates. This one featured the hard-line president, Igor Smirnov, shaking hands with Dmitry Medvedev, the president of the Federation. It looked like an ad for a sci-fi convention. With his big eyebrows and bald head, Smirnov was the spitting image of Ming the Merciless, Flash Gordon’s nemesis, and Medvedev was a ringer for Captain Kirk.

Neon lights splashed the bar’s name across the night. It was one of dozens along this stretch. Tinted-glass frontage had fucked over the ground floors of the faded ex-Soviet stucco buildings. It sounded like each bar was trying to out-music the last. The noise poured out onto the cobbled street like a demonic DJ’s mix.

BMWs and Mercs waited outside with their engines running. Each of the new Mafia elite who piled out of them had a couple of heavy-looking lads to keep an eye on them. This was where some of the millions of dollars changed hands each night that made it a dangerous town.

A lone figure moved down the road towards us, leaving a trail of smoke in her wake. The tip of her cigarette glowed with each inhalation. Her blonde helmet and long dark coat began to take shape as she got closer.

Anna opened the passenger door and jumped in. ‘I felt like a grandmother in there.’ She shivered as I powered down her window. She got the hint and threw out what was left of her cigarette. ‘He hasn’t shown yet.’

Brake lights glowed, then sidelights, in the middle of the line of cars nearer the bar. I fired up the Skoda’s engine to take the space before anyone else. I glanced at her. ‘Now we wait, yeah?’

Anna kept her eyes glued to the bar entrance. Irina leant forward. ‘I hope Mr Lover Man hasn’t stood me up.’

I pulled into the kerb and closed down the engine. ‘Maybe he had second thoughts. Maybe you’re too old for him.’

My reward was a punch in the arm.

We settled down and watched in silence.

I opened my window a few inches to cut the condensation. I could feel the bass notes pounding through the darkness. Lights flashed and bodies gyrated in the bar’s murky interior.

A group of men came past us, leather-jacketed and smoking. They made their way up the three concrete steps and through the double glass doors.

‘Don’t take any chances, Irina. This guy has a weapon.’

‘That makes two of us.’ Irina stretched her legs along the rear seat. ‘Don’t worry about me. I will do my part and we will nail him together, yes?’

A flash of red bounded up the steps. I had a glimpse of kneelength coat, fat face and a mop of frizzy hair. ‘We’ve got a possible.’

I kept focused on the entrance. ‘Where did he come from? Anyone see his car?’

Neither of them answered.

Irina was already reaching for her door handle. I leant back and gripped her arm. ‘Anything that isn’t right, just walk. OK?’

She nodded, but not convincingly enough for my liking. ‘Let’s hope our friend likes what he sees.’ She slipped out of the car, along the short stretch of sidewalk and disappeared inside.

I peered at my G-Shock. A quarter of an hour later, she was still nowhere to be seen. I unpeeled a stick of gum and popped a couple of Smarties down my neck at the same time.

‘Anna?’

We both kept eyes on the bar.

‘I’ve been thinking about what you said … You know, Moscow and St Petersburg … Sounds a good plan.’

She looked at me, waiting for the catch. ‘That would be … lovely. How long for?’

‘I don’t know - a month or so?’

I wanted to keep on talking, to tell her everything, but felt like I was standing in front of the phone in the kitchen all over again. I knew what I wanted to say, but I couldn’t get the words out.

Irina came out of the bar. Thank fuck for that. Slobo was close behind her, downing the last of a beer before tossing the bottle over the wall. He looked very happy with himself. They turned towards the Skoda. He was porkier than his pictures suggested. His baggy jeans were hardly baggy at all. But you had to hand it to him. He certainly knew how to make the best of a bad job.

They were both laughing. She slipped her arm through his as they passed us, flirting away in Russian.

They crossed the road and walked under the Flash Gordon meets Star Trek billboard, then through the gate into the Afghan graveyard. The darkness swallowed them.

Anna and I jumped out of the car. I locked both doors the old-fashioned way and handed her the keys.

We fell in behind the two of them, close enough to hear their murmurs and giggles, but far enough back not to breathe down their necks.

16

They carried on past a row of slate slabs surrounded by gravel, then slowed and stopped. It looked as if Slobo had picked the spot for his big moment.

Anna was still a few steps behind me. I moved just near enough to make out their silhouettes. I wasn’t going to jump in and fuck things up. Irina knew what she was doing. All I hoped was that she’d know when to call for help.

Slobo turned to face her. I watched his hands reach inside her coat. He grabbed her arse, pulling her towards him. Irina put her hands on his waist. They kissed briefly, and then she pulled back, toying with him. I could hear her murmuring gently as Slobo’s hands moved up inside her coat and fondled her breasts. She kissed him again. She was holding him static, waiting for me.

This was as good place as any to grip him and get it over with. We could be heading back across the border within the hour.

I took a few paces towards them. They had stopped kissing and Slobo was now almost dragging her along the path. The tone was still playful but it was starting not to look like much fun. I checked behind. Anna was with me.

They moved beneath a dim light suspended over another gate. Beyond it was a narrower street than the one we’d parked in. It, too, was lined with cars. There were no neon invitations on this one, just grey apartment blocks that looked even greyer in the drizzle. A lot of the rendering had given up the struggle, exposing the blockwork beneath. TVs flickered behind net curtains and watery light seeped from windows steamed-up from another night of cabbage-boiling.

We watched from the shadows as they left the graveyard and crossed the road. Slobo kept a hand on Irina’s arse. He seemed to be steering her towards the cars. One of them was the old-style silver Merc convertible.

‘Fuck it - I’m going to have to take him now. Let’s go.’

As they neared the car I broke into a run.

Not straight towards them, but diagonally across the street.

He was more concerned with her arse than his own security. I couldn’t see him getting any keys out and there was no flashing of indicators.

I reached the pavement as they slid between the front of the Merc and a knackered van. The entrance to the apartment block was less than three strides away. She stalled him some more with a kiss. I didn’t know if she could see me or not. He fumbled around with some keys, trying to get one of them into the lock while still copping a feel.

They tumbled into the hallway. I ran forward as soon as they were out of sight and jammed my foot in the closing door. I waited for Anna to catch up and then followed.

We eased past a rusty old pram, a bike and a pile of bulging bin bags. The stench caught in the back of my throat. Maybe it was garbage day. Or maybe it was just a hangover from the bad old days: the belief that though anything inside your four walls was your responsibility, everything else was the state’s.

The clatter of footsteps, punctuated by the occasional giggle, echoed down the dank stairwell - Irina’s way of letting us know where she was. There were about twelve steps up to a landing where the flight turned back on itself. We hit a set of fire doors that had long since come off their hinges. TVs blared and families screamed at each other somewhere down the corridor.

I heard the jangle of keys as I reached the next landing. I took the stairs two at a time and ducked my head quickly around the corner. She had him pinned against the wall, trying to kiss him again, but Slobo had done with foreplay: he wanted her inside.

He shoved her away so hard she banged against the opposite wall. He pushed open the door to his apartment and gripped her by the arms. The laugh wasn’t friendly any more. He had her where he wanted her. He twisted her around and pushed her through the entrance. Fuck that. Playtime was over. I ran towards them. He still had his back to me as I crossed the threshold. He was totally focused on the prize. She stood to my right by a small table and a couple of plastic chairs. Her hand reached into her handbag as he advanced on her.

I barged into the room.

I grabbed his shoulder, spun him round and swung my open palm across his face. The sound of the blow was as loud as his scream.

He crumpled, both hands on his cheeks. I pushed him down onto his arse on the dark blue carpet with my boot. He looked up, wide-eyed with shock. A good slap can be far more effective than a punch. It takes you straight back to your childhood, to the time your dad let you know who was top dog. Most kids don’t step up to the plate and risk any more. They withdraw, feel sorry for themselves. They take the pain and never want it to happen again. That was the way it was for Slobo. From the look of anguish on his face, I reckoned his childhood must have been much the same as mine. No fighting back, no retaliation, just withdrawal. But I knew that wouldn’t last for long.

I kicked into his back. I wanted to keep his jaw in one piece. He keeled over completely. I searched him as Anna handed the car keys to Irina and signalled that it was time for her to leave. She’d wait for us in the car.

Irina stopped for a moment and stared down at Mr Lover Man with a look of the purest hatred. She patted her handbag. He might not have known what it contained, but he got the message loud and clear.

A split second later, as the door closed behind her, the subservience had gone. He gave it full revs with the Russian abuse. I didn’t have to be a UN interpreter to understand his I’m-going-to-kill-you-you-will-pay-for-this shit.

I kicked into his chest to shut him up and put my boot firmly on his neck. I powered up his mobile. Scrolling down the list of contacts, I found ‘Lilian E’. I pressed dial. There was nothing. No ring tone; no message service. I memorized the number and checked the call log. Only a handful of local numbers and one international. I memorized that too.

I leant down to make sure we had eye-to-eye. If he spoke English I’d soon know.

‘Tell him if he stays still and answers my questions I won’t hurt him.’

His eyes were fixed on mine. I could see what he was thinking. What the fuck was an American, Brit, Australian or whatever doing here? I moved behind him, out of his direct sight. I hoped it would make him flap a whole lot more.

17

Anna spoke gently to him. She sounded almost motherly. The only word I could make out was ‘Lilian’.

I got the impression she was casting me as the bad guy. She was the good one, the one he could trust and confide in, the one who wouldn’t rip his head off his shoulders. But his shoulders still tensed as she reached into her coat pocket. They relaxed again as she pulled out her cigarettes and lighter. She tapped out a couple and offered him one.

As she lit hers, I saw the reflection of the flame glisten on her cheek. She was crying. As she talked to him now, there was a sadness in her voice that almost made me reach for a Kleenex.

Slobo sucked down a lungful of smoke.

I turned away and started ripping the place apart. The flat might have been small, but he had an expensive iPod dock and flat-screen TV. The stack of well-thumbed DVDs next to it would have taken a month to work through. Mr Lover Man must have kept them for a quiet night in. I didn’t think German farmyard stuff and hard-core bondage was the way to a girl’s heart.

The wardrobe was stuffed with clothes that reeked of tobacco and cheap cologne. I glanced round. He was listening intently to Anna, but looked more interested in her cigarettes than in keeping us up to speed on Lilian’s travel plans.

‘How’s it going?’ I tipped out a shelf full of rip-off Armani underwear.

‘He’s telling me nothing.’ She said it matter-of-factly, as if we were discussing the weather. ‘He just keeps saying that he saw her a couple of weeks ago and hasn’t heard from her since.’

I opened the bedside cabinet nearest the bathroom door. The drawer was stuffed with packets of condoms and lubricants, four or five chunky square watches and a pair of handcuffs that Irina would no doubt have been treated to if he’d had his way.

I found his Desert Eagle in the cupboard on the other side of the bed. I lifted it out and pulled back the top slide to check if there was a round in the chamber. There wasn’t. I hit the magazine release catch with my thumb. The empty mag fell into my hand. The weapon was a bit of a metaphor for this dickhead. All bling, no substance.

He’d probably bought the Israeli-made pistol before he discovered he couldn’t get hold of the ammunition. Or maybe he thought it went nicely with the handcuffs. Perhaps it was a sex thing, the closest he could get to a hard-on.

I showed Anna the weapon. He turned and looked at me. He was worried, but not yet fearful. He knew it wasn’t loaded. He said something, but it sounded like he was still trying to weasel his way out.

‘Anything?’

‘Still the same story.’ Her tone was starting to change.

I dropped the weapon onto the black, imitation-satin sheets. I knelt down and pulled a large clear plastic storage box from under the bed. Inside it was a small digital camera, Kodak printer, and a carton of photographic paper. I picked out six or seven five-by-eight pictures. The face had been cut neatly out of every one, but I could see that they were all of the same girl. I recognized her shape and the pale, almost translucent tone of her skin. I also recognized the background. Lilian had been posing against the battleship grey wall of the room we were in. I stood up with the pictures in my hand. ‘Anna …’