Jeff Carson - Foreign Deceit

He reached his right hand between her thighs and shifted himself closer.

Suddenly she ripped free and pushed his hand away. “No, sorry. Sorry, I…we cannot do this!” she said, straightening and putting her hands on the steering wheel. “Sorry.” She sat, looking down at the steering wheel.

Wolf looked at her with wide eyes. “Okay, uhhhh…okay. What’s the problem?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I will pick you up first thing tomorrow, okay?” She looked at him with pleading eyes.

“Yeah, sure.” He shifted himself upright, then struggled with the seat reclining lever. “See you tomorrow at eight?”

“Okay then.” She turned with a smile.

“Bye.”

He got out and stood up, suddenly lightheaded, with absolutely no clue where he was. He looked forward and craned his head back looking at the strange building in front of him. He couldn’t remember ever seeing it before. Turning quickly, he reached to knock on the window to stop her, to tell her she’d dropped him off at the wrong place. Then he saw his brother’s apartment building across the street.

Jesus. Goodnight.

“Piano Terzo” the elevator told him while his watch showed him 10:25 pm. Surprisingly, or not surprisingly, he felt wide awake, full of wired energy.

Stepping out on the balcony, he took a look below at the piazza. It was filled with chatter, billowing smoke, food smells and clusters of young people. Thursday night.

“Hi,” a voice startled him from above. Cristina was looking down, exhaling smoke from a cigarette.

“Hi,” he said. “Do you mind if I come up and have one of those?” He was not feeling like being alone all of a sudden.

“Sure, come on up.”

The cigarette was lighter and a little bit thicker in his fingers than he remembered. He brought it up to his mouth, catching a brief scent of Lia’s hair, and lit it with a well practiced move.

The second drag hit him with a harder buzz than he was expecting, a dizzy wave shifting his balance off, so he reached for the balcony railing and looked over the edge. Fighting through the lightheadedness, he enjoyed the first half of the first cigarette he’d had in years, then had a sudden overwhelming urge to put it out.

She leaned next to him and looked over the railing, “So did you find anything out today?”

“Maybe. We went to the pub my brother was at on Saturday night, the Albastru Pub . You ever been there? It’s Romanian.”

“Yes, I’ve been there.” She shifted upright. “John used to go there a lot. I went once. I do not like the place.”

“Why?”

“The guys that work there. I know their type from home. A few of them have tattoos that are the symbol of gangs from where I come from.” She looked at Wolf then took a drag. “Bad gangs.”

“Yeah, I saw tattoos. What kind of gangs? What do they do?”

“They would beat up people at home that owned small shops and make them pay them. They would sell drugs. Sometimes they would kill people. I think even policemen were scared of them. I learned to stay away from those types of men. There were many disappearances of girls my age growing up. Not where I lived, but close by. In the city. They were made to be prostitutes and often shipped off to other countries.” She took a long drag. “I told John that he needed to be careful there, and to not mess with anyone. He laughed and said he wouldn’t, but I told him I was serious. That they weren’t the types of guys you wanted to mess with. At least not at home, in Romania.” She took another drag. “He liked the beer I guess.”

“Did you ever meet the Romanian guy from the observatory that Matthew works with? His name is Vlad. That’s his last name.”

She shook her head. “No, I haven’t met anyone but Matthew from the observatory.”

Wolf furrowed his brow. “Did John ever say anything about the bar? Like, he suspected anything else going on there? Like any crime? Drugs?”

She opened her eyes wide then squinted and shook her head slow, “No, not that I can remember. No.”

“You holding up all right?”

She exhaled and her bottom lip quivered, eyes watering. He gave her a hug and let his emotions run free for a few seconds, blurring his vision.

He pulled away and wiped his eyes. “Can I use your scooter?”

She laughed. “Well, I kind of need it to get to work. Do you need a ride somewhere tomorrow?”

“No, I mean, right now.”

“Uh, sure. I guess. What are you going to do?”

“I have to go check on something.”

Wolf cut the engine of the scooter, coasting to a stop well past the gate on the main road. He turned on a dirt road that lined the south side of the property and pushed the scooter to a dark pocket underneath a tree.

The fifty cubic centimeter engine Italian scooter ticked and hissed underneath him, still hot from the twenty minute screaming loud strain on the way there. He had quickly learned he was ridiculously large for that model of scooter.

The observatory hunkered in the dark, the dome peeking over the top of a pine tree in the near distance from Wolf’s view through the wrought iron security fence. The rear of the building was faintly lit, a bright light from within the back of the property shining up on the damp air and surrounding trees. Cornfields chalk-filled with singing crickets surrounded the rear of the property.

He reached in the pack and dug out two leather jackets, a heavy hooded sweatshirt, a pair of pants, and a pair of jeans. He folded one of the leather jackets like an accordian, then hauled up and draped it length-wise across the spikes on the fenc, pulling it down hard on each individual spike to seat it. The process was repeated with each article of clothing. There was no sense in taking chances.

He pulled, sagging down with extended arms, then propelled himself over with silent fluid move. A squish pierced the air as he landed on the damp interior lawn.

Running low and fast, he reached the edge of the southernmost building. He crept to the rear, peaking around the corner behind a broad leaved bush. Vivid white light poured out onto the rear lawn from above two propped doors.

A heated argument was ensuing between two men, in a language that wasn’t Italian. It was more Germanic, harsh sounding.

The first man was tall and lanky, with a mohawk. Cezar from the Albastru pub. His face was in and out of deep shadow, but the body was unmistakeable. The second man was unmistakeable as well — Vlad.

Suddenly a loud slap pierced the silence, and Wolf raised his eyebrows. Vlad was pleading in a crouch, and Cezar seemed to be contemplating whether or not to kill him on the spot, shuffling towards him with raised hand.

Wolf’s pulse accelerated at the unmistakable site of a pistol in Cezar’s hand, pointed straight at Vlad’s head. Any idea of confronting the two immediately left Wolf’s mind. Avoiding detection had just become a high priority.

Both men froze in their theatrical poses for five full seconds. Cezar shuffled his feet closer, apparently seriously considering the repercussions of shooting Vlad in the head. Vlad hunched down further.

Cezar suddenly relaxed his posture, put the pistol in the back of his pants, then turned and walked away. He stopped a few feet away and stooped over.

Wolf narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t noticed until now that a box-shaped moving truck was parked, rear facing and wide open. The interior was pitch black due to the angle of the lights.

Cezar was rummaging through things, speaking in a nonchalant tone. A few seconds later they both walked swiftly into the building. Two loud clacks and the doors began swinging shut slowly.