David Duffy - Last to Fold

“I’ll be sure to bear that in mind—but this ain’t Moscow. You’re just another two-bit hood here.”

She was pushing too hard. Color climbed up his pale neck.

“Our reach is as long as it needs to be. London, Zurich, New York…” He spat again.

“Y’all threatening me?”

“Sergei! We have no reason to detain Miss Victoria further. Have Dmitri take her back to Manhattan.”

“I’m in no hurry. I’ll wait and go back with Turbo.”

“Turbo could be here quite a while.”

“That’s okay. I’m trying to learn to enjoy your company. It’s a slow process.”

I was watching Victoria and Lachko. I didn’t see it coming and didn’t hear it until too late. The thunderclouds twitched. Sergei moved behind the stool I was sitting on and hit me full force in the left kidney. Sledgehammer fist, freight-train arm. The vodka glass went flying; the force knocked me to the floor. Pain shot through my torso, one searing explosion after another. I fought the overriding urge to vomit mushroom pasta on Lachko’s white carpet, although in a fleeting lucid moment, I wondered why I bothered. The white room spun. I thought I heard Victoria shout and Lachko laugh.

I have no idea how long it lasted, but after a while the pain started to recede, in both intensity and frequency. The room turned more slowly. I could feel the bile in my throat. I was covered with sweat.

“Pick him up,” Lachko said.

Strong hands lifted me back onto the stool. That set off more explosions. I held my head between sweaty palms until they passed.

Victoria said from somewhere, “Are you all right?” A stupid question if there ever was one, but I suppose she needed to say something. I tried to smile, but I’m not sure I managed. My voice came out as a croak.

“Cheka… entertainment.”

Victoria went over to Lachko, who was lighting another Belomorkanal. “Those men across the street. I can have them over here anytime I want.”

“Turbo, you are a lucky man. I think she likes you, although I can’t imagine why. They will find nothing, Miss Victoria, except a sick old man looking after an injured friend. Tell her we’re old friends, Turbo.”

“We’re… old… friends,” I repeated. I had no idea what he intended for me, but the first thing was to get Victoria out of here.

“I think you’re full of shit. Both of you.”

“I hear you’ve been creeping around Polina, Turbo. You didn’t mention that either.”

Uh-oh. How…

“Did Turbo tell you about his ex-wife, Miss Victoria? He was a big disappointment to her. She used to get sick to her stomach if I mentioned his name. You humiliated her, Turbo, rubbed her nose in the human waste of life. But you couldn’t tell her the truth, could you? Too cowardly, too scared.”

“What are y’all talking about?” Victoria said.

“Zek,” I managed to spit out. Even the one word hurt.

“She despised him so much she married me,” Lachko said. “That should tell you something, Miss Victoria.”

What the hell was he doing? Victoria was hanging on every word.

“Vengeance is a poor basis for a lasting union. We had a few good years and went our separate ways. Now I understand Polina’s living here, Turbo. On Fifth Avenue, no less. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Assumed you—”

“Bullshit,” he said. “You could easily have said something Wednesday. You chose not to.”

“Sounds to me like something else you didn’t know,” Victoria said to him.

“There’s very little I don’t know, Miss Victoria, when it concerns me. Even less I can’t find out if I care to. Would you like to know who you called from your hotel on Tverskaya? Or what you said? For such an attractive woman, you don’t seem to have much of a social life. All business, twenty-four/seven, as they say. Too bad. You should have a husband—or at least someone better suited than our retching friend here.”

I was listening to him but watching her. She kept a straight face, but he’d found a soft spot in the tough veneer she wore.

“Sergei, tell Dmitri to take Miss Victoria home,” Lachko said.

“Goddammit, you can’t make me leave.”

The thunderclouds twitched. Sergei maneuvered Victoria to the door. She objected loudly the entire way.

“Wait!” Lachko called. “I almost forgot. Did Turbo tell you where our mutual ex-wife fetched up?”

“Lachko, I…” I croaked.

“She goes by the name Felicity now, Felix for short, I understand. Married to a rich banker. Man named Mulholland.”

Victoria shouted and Lachko laughed as Sergei all but pushed her out the door. Again I tried to figure out what game he was playing. At least Victoria was on her way home. That was something.

Sergei came back and nodded at his boss. The thunderclouds twitched again. This time there was only one explosion as the hammer slammed into the left side of my face. A blast of pain, a burst of light as I fell through the air.

I don’t remember hitting the rug.

When I came back to wherever I was, I was lying on the floor staring at the chrome leg of a desk. Lachko’s desk. The finish was marred by a big scratch, which made me feel a tiny bit better. I stayed there a while, trying to find some part of me that didn’t hurt, hoping to collect whatever wits Sergei hadn’t knocked to Vladivostok. Didn’t feel like I had any. It dawned on me there was no sound in the room. That’s right—Victoria was gone. Where was Lachko?

I pushed myself to a sitting position, which got everything spinning. I waited until the room righted. A sponge-sized splotch of red on the white carpet. Good. I made a stab at standing up. Big mistake. I coughed and spat brownish green bile on top of the blood.

A clock chimed. One o’clock. Maybe everybody had gone to bed. Definitely time to go. I tried standing again and this time got to my knees.

Motion to my left. A wheeze, air sucked through a tube.

“Feel better now that you’ve had some rest?”

Sergei wheeled Lachko toward the desk. He fired a papirosa and blew smoke in my direction.

“You lied to me, Turbo. Multiple times.” He shook his head. “You should know better.”

“No,” I croaked.

“Don’t make it worse. You didn’t tell me about Polina.”

“Like I said…”

“Like I said—bullshit. You were going to stay away from Rislyakov, but you went straight back there. You told me this was about kidnapping. Bullshit. What the fuck ever made you dream I wouldn’t find out about your childish games? Do you think I’m senile as well as sick? You’ve always been enamored of your brain, but honestly, it’s your most feeble organ. More useless than your dick. I’m tempted to do you a favor and have Sergei sever both, but I need information first. Don’t even think about not telling me what I want to know.”

Lying—or telling the truth, for that matter—when you’re mentally impaired and have no idea what’s going on is just plain stupid. I wasn’t too enfeebled to recognize that. The sight of Sergei clenching and unclenching his fist made the logic irrelevant. First thing was to buy time, get some wits back. That meant telling Lachko at least some of what he thought he wanted to hear.

“I told you… truth as I knew it,” I said. Each word felt like a knife slicing into my guts. “Polina’s husband hired me. He got a ransom note. Turns out, Polina herself sent it. She… needed money to pay off Ratko. He blackmailed her.”

“Turbo, what is this fucking fairy tale? You are more moronic than even I thought possible. What the fuck? Polina was fleecing her husband because Ratko was blackmailing her?”

“That’s… right. I don’t know why.”