Josh Stallings - Out There Bad

At the bottom landing we found a short hall lit by a single bulb. A sturdy padlock secured a door at the end of the corridor. Gregor tried the bolt cutters, but the lock must have been made of hardened steel. With a shrug, he applied his boot to the door. The wood splintered in, snapping off a ragged panel that remained attached to the lock. As the door fell open, I tossed Victor through the opening. Guns in hand, we rolled in after him, Gregor went left and I right. On one knee, I swept the room. Cots were lined in three rows, it was a cramped dormitory. The walls were unpainted concrete, beams and floorboards made up the low ceiling. It was the sort of basement you’d expect to find tools and spiders in, instead we found eight beautiful young women. They were sitting or laying on the cots. Our kicking the door in got their attention, but none screamed or showed any real panic at having two armed men burst in on them. On a paint-worn dresser, a black and white TV showed a dubbed version of Pretty Woman. Out of Julia Roberts’ mouth came the voice of a bored Russian actor.

“Moses?” I hardly recognized Marina, she looked like a child in her flannel pajamas, her makeup scrubbed off. “Why have you come here?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked her.

“You have to leave, now.”

Looking past her, I scanned for Anya. Tatyana, the tiny redhead, sat close, burning into me with her cold eyes. “They will kill you for this,” she was a broken record.

“Anya?” I called out. Victor started to try and stand up. Gregor knocked him down and whipped a lock tie around his wrists.

Moving down the rows of girls, I found Anya at the back of the basement. Crumpled up into a ball, she seemed to be hiding from me.

“Anya?” I touched her leg and she looked up at me, her eyes full of fear.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, her eyes darting to the other girls.

“You want me to leave?” I said.

“Yes.” Her face wasn’t as sure as her voice.

“I thought you were in trouble.”

“Why? Did I say I was in trouble? No, I did not. Now go.” She had gotten up and was pushing me towards the door.

“I guess I’m an idiot.”

“Yes. Now go.”

“Foolish old man, I thought you were a prisoner. No?”

“No. We are free to come and go as we wish.”

“Right, only the lock on the door says different.”

“For our protection. The lock keeps us safe.”

“From guys like me. Ok, my mistake.” I looked from her to the other girls; their fearful sullen faces told me they weren’t intending to give us a parade, or jump into our arms with gratitude.

“Alright. Gregor, let’s go,” I said and walked between the bunks to the doorway.

“How about him?” Gregor stood over Victor.

“Leave him.” We were out in the hall when Anya caught up. Grabbing my arm, she looked into my eyes. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

“You don’t understand, I can’t go with you.” She spoke in a whisper.

“Yeah, you made that clear.”

“They have my little sister. If I don’t do what they say, they will kill her.”

“Get your sister and I’ll take you both out of here.”

“No, she’s…” She let out a sad string of Russian words.

“She says,” Gregor translated, “her sister left Russia, but they will not tell her where she is now. The sister’s thirteen. She must do whatever they want.”

“You think she’s being straight?” I whispered to Gregor.

“Yeah, boss, I do. Not the first time I heard shit like this. They took my cousin to Israel, told her she’d be a hotel maid, then threatened to kill her father if she didn’t work in their brothel.”

“What happened to her?”

“She killed herself,” he said.

“Get your things,” I told Anya, “We’re leaving.”

“I can’t.” Anya’s eyes darted back to the dormitory where all the girls were watching us.

“We’ll get your sister back, I promise.”

“Oh, you promise, that makes all ok? They will kill you and me, and then who will look after Nika?”

“How are you going to take care of her? Call it what you want, but you’re a slave.”

“Everyone is owned, at least I know who owns me.” She wasn’t budging. I looked to Gregor for help.

He spoke to her in soft Russian. After a moment, she slowly nodded her head.

“Let’s go,” Gregor said.

“She coming with us?”

“Of course.”

“What’d you say?” I asked him.

“Told her the truth.”

“What truth?”

“Told her she was screwed with the men here, they wouldn’t believe she didn’t bring us. And that we were bad motherfuckers, no Russian pussies are going to take us down.”

While she went to collect her things, Gregor and I climbed the steep stairs.

Stepping onto the shale turnaround I saw movement behind us. Spinning around, guns up and ready, we found ourselves facing three AK47s. The giant and two other Russian thugs stood against the house on either side of the stairwell. Gregor flicked his eyes to me, asking if we should go for it, let rip and see how many we could take down before they shredded us. Three full auto assault rifles vs. our pea shooters, odds were a little too lopsided even for a degenerate gambler like me. Dropping the hammer on my.38, I tossed it toward the giant. Gregor let out a grunt of displeasure, then gave up his piece.

The giant told us in Russian to put our hands on our heads. I may not have understood his words, but I knew the drill. After a rough pat search, they moved us through the back door of the mansion, through a kitchen that would make Emeril Lagasse drool, through a dining room with a long oak table and into the whitest room I’ve ever been in. I guess it was a den or some such. Thick white shag ran up to glossy white baseboards. A horseshoe of white leather couches faced a huge flat panel TV monitor. The screen was showing ten smaller pictures, images from security cameras. In the lower left picture I could see the girls in the basement dormitory. Anya was freeing Victor.

In a large white club chair, facing the screen, sat a man who looked well into his seventies. A fringe of white hair circled his wrinkled bald head. He looked from the monitor to me, his eyes dull and empty. A small smile crept into his lips, but died before it could make it to his eyes.

“What?” I asked.

“You Americans, your stupidity is only matched by your arrogance,” the old man said. “Somehow in your tiny reptilian brain, you thought you could stroll onto my land and pilfer my possessions. Can you truly be that dense?”

The question seemed rhetorical, a strike to the back of my head with a rifle barrel told me I was wrong. I stumbled forward, struggling to keep my face neutral.

“Too dull to answer a simple question?” the old man asked. “Let us try one that is a bit more specific: who sent you?”

My lack of an answer was met by another rifle hit. It must have been the giant behind me, because the blow drove me to my knees. Gregor tried to get to me, but two men threw him against the wall, and pinned him there.

“A slow learner, I see,” the old man said. “Victor told me you worked for Don Gallico, but I cannot see that as being truthful. If he wanted to send me a message, he would simply pick up the phone, not send a simpleton and his Armenian serving boy. With the tip and a tap, I can turn Gallico’s power off and he knows it. So the question remains, who sent you?”

“Fuck off.” The rifle butt knocked me flat onto the floor. The middle of my spine burned like it had a hot poker on it.

“Yes, yes, you are quite the deipnosophist. Pasha, kill the Armenian,” he said to the giant. When the giant turned to look at Gregor, I rolled onto my back and kicked upward with all I had. The steel toe of my boot connected with his groin. A high pitched shriek burst out of him, along with all the air in his lungs. Rolling to the left, I grabbed the barrel of the rifle that hung loosely in his hand. I swung it like a baseball bat. I could hear the crack of the stock when it struck his head. The giant took two wobbly steps then collapsed onto the floor.