David Duffy - In for a Ruble

She was sitting in the farthest corner, where I expected her to be. Her eyes were wide open and focused on me. Her face showed no surprise. A shotgun rested in her lap, the raised barrel pointed at my chest.

“This is a twelve-gauge pump. I know how to use it. My father taught me. One more step and I will.”

“Put down the bat.”

I did.

“He couldn’t keep it shut, could he?”

“Who?” I asked.

“I’m not stupid, Cheka Pig. Don’t treat me like I am.”

“He’s trying to help.”

She laughed. More of a bray—full of meanness, void of humor.

“He’s always trying to help. A fool, but he’s served his purpose.”

“What was that?”

“You’re so smart, what do you think?”

“Hacking the BEC?”

She grinned.

“Stealing the eight million?”

The grin widened.

“Placing the worm?”

“That’s the best of all. That’s what really got…” The grin disappeared and she shifted in her chair. The shotgun didn’t move.

“Enough, Cheka Pig. I don’t have to talk to you.”

“No, you don’t. But I’m curious. That’s what really got—what?”

She didn’t answer.

She’d chosen her location with care. Tucked in the corner, she was out of the line of sight—and fire—from every window, unless someone leaned far in the big bay to her left, in which case she had him. She had a clear view of the front door. Anyone using the back would end up entering the room as I did—an easy target. She was wearing black jeans and a turtleneck. The gun in her hand didn’t shake or waver. She had a box of shells in her lap.

“Waiting for your uncle?”

Her eyes stayed fixed on me.

“Who then?”

Nothing.

“He give you your scar?”

She seemed to jump in her chair, then settled back down. The impassive mask returned. “What scar?” A touch of something new in her voice—surprise? Fear?

“On your neck. I noticed it the other night, when we stopped at Burger King. I saw it on your WildeTime videos too—but only the recent ones.”

“ You’ve seen my videos?! ” A possibility she hadn’t considered—and didn’t like.

“Not voluntarily.”

“Pervert.”

“You don’t believe that. What about the scar?”

“You’re not just a Cheka pig, you’re a Cheka pervert.”

“Want to know what I think?”

“NO! I don’t care what a Cheka pervert thinks.”

Her voice said she did. But continuing this while she pointed a shotgun at my chest was foolish.

“Why don’t you put the gun aside? I’ll sit right here. We can talk about it. I’m on your side, even if you don’t think so.”

I eased myself onto an ottoman by the fireplace. It brought me a few feet closer, not that a few feet in the face of a twelve-gauge made much difference.

“I told you, don’t treat me like I’m stupid. You are not on my side.”

I kept an eye on the trigger finger. So long as it stayed outside the guard, I was okay. Maybe.

“When did you last talk to your father?” I asked quietly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just a question.”

She didn’t respond. The eyes clouded or seemed to. The light was bad, hard to tell for sure.

“You and Andras riled up that nest of vipers—the BEC, I mean. Was that your intention—set father against stepfather against uncle? Or did you have a particular target in mind?”

She shook her head again. She was smiling this time though.

“Come on, enlighten me. You’ve got the gun. I’d like to understand. We’ve got time, nobody’s here yet.”

“I’ve got nothing to say to a Cheka pervert.”

“You’re going to have to say something to someone, sooner or later.”

That got me a quizzical look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We all have to answer, even if it’s only to ourselves in a mirror. That’s the way life works.”

“Don’t give me any heaven and hell bullshit. They tried that at Gibbet. Chapel every morning. I’m way past that.”

“I’m talking about right here, right now.”

“It’s over for me.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s over.”

She said it like she meant it. The finger stayed where it was.

“You sound like Andras.”

“He doesn’t have a clue.”

“Don’t sell him short, Irina. He’s confused, but he’s not stupid. Or evil. Bad breaks, sure. Like you’ve had.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You know as well as I do. Things happen, not your fault, but they send you down a whole different road. It’s not too late to turn off. It never is.”

“What the fuck do you know about it?”

“I know because before I was a Chekist, I was a zek .”

She put a pitchfork through that admission. “Big fucking deal. So was my stepfather—Vyatlag, Gorlag, wherever. He’s still a pig. So are you.”

So much for the conversational approach. Time was working against me. Two could play the pitchfork game.

“How old were you when he put his hand up your skirt?”

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

“Don’t play innocent, Irina. Uncle Efim. Thirteen, twelve?”

“NO! YOU DON’T GET IT! YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!”

The finger wrapped the trigger. That, I did understand. But I kept at it.

“The Players. Andras and his uncle. Kevin. Andras told me about him, the others. That was the bond, right?”

“NO! It’s between me and him. You have no… I don’t even know what you’re doing here!”

I let that go and looked out the window—with one eye. After a minute or two, her eyes followed mine and the trigger finger loosened. I let my breathing come back to normal.

“How many men outside?”

That made her start—and the finger move.

“What the fuck are you talking about now?”

I put an edge of anger in my voice. Not that she’d care, but she was still a kid, twelve-gauge or no twelve-gauge. “Christ, Irina. You’re not stupid, as you keep telling me. I’m not either. You’re waiting for Uncle Efim. He called right after you turned your phone on. You told him where to find you, told him you’d be waiting. Then you called Uncle Oleg in Moscow. He gave you the number for a man in Brooklyn. He’s got men outside now.”

“SHUT UP! I DON’T HAVE TO TALK TO YOU.”

She was shouting but the finger stayed in place. I pressed on.

“Your cousin—Tamara Konycheva. She’s been seen a lot with Uncle Efim. Even I know that.”

I was looking for a button, and I’d pressed it. She closed her eyes. I got ready to lunge for the gun. She opened here eyes again. Even in the dark, they were filled with fire.

“How long has he been sleeping with her?” I asked.

“NO! NOTHING YOU SAY IS TRUE!”

The denial came fast and angry.

“Was he still sleeping with you when he started screwing her? Is that why you decided to go after the BEC?”

She switched to Russian. “You fucking son of a whore and a diseased dog…”

I went with Russian too. I wouldn’t get another chance at this interrogation. I put my best Cheka steel in my voice.

“Here’s what I think happened. If I’m wrong on anything, say so. I think your uncle dumped you for your cousin. Last summer sometime. You were too old, used up. He decided to move on to prettier hunting grounds.”

“Fuck your mother, you rotten bastard…”

“You were pissed. You’re used to getting your own way. You and Andras and the other kids had been running the playhouse for a year or two. You knew about his computer skills. You also knew he had a crush on you. You were already bent on revenge when he told you about ConnectPay. So much the better. Frankyfun had been all over you since last spring. Did you know he was his uncle Walter or did that come later?”