Josh Stallings - Out There Bad

I pulled Victor out of the car on a side street near Glendale Adventist, it wouldn’t take long for a doctor or ambulance to find him crumpled in the middle of the street. I didn’t give a rat’s ass if he died, he had brought this crap to my home and he paid the price. Maybe I should have put one in his brain pan and left him in the hills, but I knew the truth of violence. The first life I took was in Beirut. I killed a woman in a fire fight. It was a mistake, doesn’t change the fact she was dead at my hand. I learned that moment that every life you take pulls a piece of you with them into the grave.

I stay in the shadows. Work my way along the dock. There is the stink of diesel. Rotting fish. Salt brine coming off the Sea of Cortez. Bass thumps through the walls of the wharf dives. Above a strip club, a ruby neon woman bends and drops her top, over and over and over.

“You looking for to get laid, mister?” He is slick. Shiny long hair pulled back into a ponytail. Several silver and gold crosses hang from his neck. They will not protect him.

“I’m looking for a girl.” All trace of the Ukraine are gone. I speak Spanish, but to him, I speak English. My North American accent passes.

“Sure, I get you cherry pussy. What chu like, big, little, skinny schoolgirl, fat mamacita, I got ‘em all.”

“Russian, I want a Russian girl. You have any?”

The pimp stares at my face. I feel his eyes trace the scar, the jagged line from my left eye down across my cheek all the way to my chin. “Does it frighten you?”

“What, I’m no afraid, is bueno.”

“You look afraid.” His eyes dart around, looking for help that will be too late. “Do you know who I am?” Stories are told of me across Mexico and Israel. Many think they are myths made up by the Mafia to scare independent operators out of the flesh trade. He has just figured out they are true.

“It’s you.”

“Yes, it is.” I back him deeper into the alley. This pimp tries to get to the blade in his pocket only to find his arm going limp. He didn’t feel the straight razor slice through his biceps. Blood flows down, quickly soaking the sleeve of his white coat. He holds the wound. He tries to staunch the flow. There is too much blood to be stopped.

“Tell me about Russian girls.”

“Chinga tu…” He steps forward. I drop low, sweep in a circle on my heels. My arm strikes out. The blade slices cleanly through the tendons behind his right knee. Like a puppet gone slack, the pimp crumples onto cobblestone.

“If you know who I am, then you know you are going to die. Who has Russian girls in La Paz?”

“No one, nada, Gordo G had, but no more. They take them to Ensenada. Swear.” His skin grows pale. A red lake forms under him.

“Say your prayers.” Turning away, I gave him a moment to mumble his last words.

I slash his throat. Clean. I find a small roll of pesos in his blood soaked pockets. I take rings and watch off his limp hands. I leave the crucifixes on his neck. I am careful not to slip on the gore. I drop the tarot card onto his body. I wipe my hands on my jeans. I pull the collar of my jacket up, its dark fabric hides the blood splatter.

And across the Sea of Cortez, a van entered Ensenada. It was early evening, Nika knew, because the stale air around her was starting to cool off. Two days without food had left her weak and dizzy. Dreams and reality washed against each other. She lay with Anya on the bank of the Volga, sipping fruit juice and laughing at the boys showing off for the girls. A string bean with a shock of white blonde hair cannonballed into the icy water. Anya started to speak to her in Spanish. Nika tried to tell her she didn’t understand, but her sister kept rambling with ever increasing speed. The van hit a bump, and the Volga dissolved into a rolling cave. In the shadows, Nika could hear the rumbling growls and gnashing teeth of unseen beasts as they circled her.

Passing a plaza, mariachi music dulled by the van’s walls mixed with children’s laughter and male whoops. The crackle of fireworks pulled Nika back into her body. She gathered her dress against the coming chill. The sounds of the plaza faded as they drove to the outskirts of town. After another twenty minutes of rutted twisting road, they came to a stop. The driver got out, rocking the van slightly on its shocks. A chain rattled and then large pieces of metal could be heard scraping against earth. The cab’s door slammed shut and they drove up a steep incline. The girls had to hold on to the side panels to keep from sliding into the back door.

The van skidded to a stop on gravel. Iron hinges creaked, a heavy wooden gate closed behind them. The van’s back door opened, cool blue moonlight spilled in on the girls. They were tattered and worn out, like flowers the week after Valentine’s Day. Nika stumbled forward, almost falling when she stepped from the van. Without warning, a blurred beast charged Nika.

“Wolf!” a deep voice yelled. Inches before the dog’s razor teeth connected with the girl, it stopped. “Down!” the master called, and the beast dropped onto its belly. Its yellow eyes watched the girl by the van, but it dared not move.

Nika swayed on her feet, but didn’t scream or fall. They were in a large courtyard surrounded on three sides by an adobe hacienda, the final side blocked by an eight foot wooden gate. Sure that the canine threat had passed, Yumma and Zhanna crawled out behind Nika. Guzel, the mouse, stayed curled with her back pressed against the cab. Nika called for her to come out, but she didn’t look up.

The pockmarked man came around the van, looking the three girls over with unhidden disgust. “Where’s the little one?” he demanded in Russian.

Nika was the only one to meet his eyes. Her stare was met with a cuff that sent her sprawling onto the gravel. The beast lifted its snout, sniffing at her hungrily.

“You have to learn to answer when asked a question.”

“You didn’t give me time.” This time, he hit the back of her head. Instinctively, Nika reared up, ready to fight. Smashing his fist into her face, she tumbled backward. Tears ran down her face. When he stood over her, she looked up with undisguised hatred.

He pulled back his foot, readying to kick the shit out of this insolent girl.

“Zhenya!” A woman’s voice froze his foot mid-swing. A large woman in her mid-fifties, waddled across the courtyard. Shooing the man away from Nika, she leaned down. “Oh, my little flower, what has that brute done to you?” Softly, the woman brushed the hair out of Nika’s eyes. “Men can be so cruel, did he scare you?”

Nika nodded her head slowly.

“You needn’t be afraid, Svetlana is here to take care of you.” Helping Nika to her feet, Svetlana moved to inspect the other girls, stroking their hair and lifting their faces up so their eyes met hers. “Oh, what lovely girls you are. And where is your friend?”

“She won’t come out, she’s afraid,” Nika said.

“I see, very well. Who’s hungry?” All three girl’s faces lit at this. “Don’t tell me he didn’t feed you. Men! Come follow me.” As they passed the pockmarked Zhenya, Svetlana motioned slightly toward the van. The movement was so subtle that Nika thought she had imagined seeing it. As they reached the hacienda’s front door, Nika heard a squeal and turned to see Guzel being dragged from the van by her feet. She was clawing at the metal floor, fighting for purchase. With a yank, the man pulled her free. Guzel’s head hit the ground, her cry turned to a whimper. Before Nika could see more, the girls were pulled in through the door. The smell of frying meat and warm bread obliterated all feelings except hunger.

To the left of the entryway was a large open dining room, around a long plank table sat twelve heavy wooden chairs. An ornate wrought iron chandelier bathed the room in golden candlelight. Several men sat, eating and talking. Between them, the table was piled with platters of steaming sliced beef, potatoes, squashes of every color, bowls of fresh fruit, bottles of red wine and vodka.