Tom Callaghan - A Summer Revenge

Saltanat rarely needed a weapon other than her presence, but just in case she always had a backup, either the twin-edged blade tucked into her boot or the single edge of her hands. There was also her willingness to take any fight all the way over the top into madness. Saltanat once told me that the secret of winning is not being willing to hurt someone, but not minding getting hurt while you do so.

She joined us, sitting as always with her back to the wall, watching the door, instinct tuned into survival. The barman moved with a speed and servility that he hadn’t bothered to show to lesser customers like myself. The iced water that she ordered arrived in seconds, then he scuttled back to his observation post, where he could stare at Saltanat in what he believed was safety.

The hostility Lin felt toward Saltanat was naked and honest, an attitude to which Saltanat only added with her seeming indifference. No woman likes to feel second best, and Lin was used to being the center of attention, if only for all the wrong reasons.

I made the introductions, and Lin immediately went on the offensive.

“You’re his partner? Really?”

Saltanat nodded, lit a cigarette, blew the smoke in a direction that Lin could choose to imagine was hers. Lin fanned the air, her face exaggerated disgust at such a filthy habit. Given the amount of time Lin spent in smoke-filled bars, it was a declaration of war.

“You’re Kyrgyz as well?”

“Uzbek.”

I figured this was as chatty as the two women were going to get, so cut to the chase. “The man we’re looking for, Boris, he’s the man that did this to Lin.”

“You refused to swallow?” Saltanat drawled.

I tried to bring order to the meeting.

“The important thing is to find Natasha. And Boris took Lin to the car park beneath a building, questioned her about Natasha, beat the shit out of her when she didn’t give any answers.”

Lin gave me one of those looks that don’t augur well for someone.

“Next time I’ll be ready for him,” she said and reached into her bag, took out a linoleum knife, honed to a point.

“The point is,” I said, “can you take us to the building where he took you?”

Lin thought about it, nodded. “For a price,” she said. “You must be making money out of this so, yes, I can show you. After I get the cash.”

I decided not to mention that I’d already handed over a bundle of dirhams; Saltanat would have seen agreeing to pay more as weakness, and her professional pride wouldn’t allow that. I could sense that she was keen to interrogate Lin herself. Beside that Lin’s encounter with Boris would seem like foreplay. I stepped in before trouble kicked off.

“Two hundred dirhams for showing us the building. If we can confirm that’s where Boris is staying,” I added. Saltanat nodded. Lin could just take us to any building and point to the car park entrance, so it made sense to hold back the money until we were convinced Boris was there. Not to save cash, but to avoid wasting time.

We left our drinks unfinished, caught a taxi outside the hotel. We drove around Bur Dubai for half an hour, before Lin finally pointed to a nondescript apartment block and said, “That’s the one. I think.”

I paid off the driver while Saltanat checked out the lobby of the building. A security man behind a desk, two lifts, no CCTV cameras that we could see.

“This is the place, you’re sure?” I asked. Lin looked uncertain, then nodded. I was going to need a lot more proof before handing over the two hundred dirhams. Saltanat said nothing, but headed toward the barrier at the car park entrance. She ducked under it, turned, waited for us to follow. At that time of day most of the allocated spaces were empty, with the odd Toyota to break up the concrete monotony. It felt barren, practical and slightly sinister, the sort of place where ambushes lead to murder.

Lin led us toward the far corner and pointed at the floor. There, among the oil stains, tire scuffs and dirt, I saw a spattering of blood, a spray as if someone had been punched in the face.

“So?” Saltanat said, prodding at the dirt with the toe of her boot. “What does this prove?”

I crouched down, looked closer. Something white gleamed underneath a film of dirt and drying blood. I prodded at it, dislodged it, picked it up between thumb and forefinger. A tooth. I held it up for the others to see. Lin pulled down her lower lip, showed us the recent gap. Good enough proof for me, and even for Saltanat.

“I don’t suppose you want this back?” I asked Lin. “A souvenir of your time in Dubai. More personal than a plastic model of the Burj Khalifa, wouldn’t you say?”

Lin pulled a face of disgust, and Saltanat merely sighed. I’ll never make a comedian.

I stood up, my knees protesting, and examined the tooth. Part of the pulp and root was still embedded in it. I’m always amazed that such small things can cause so much pain. A sliver of glass or a splinter of wood can make a woman scream in agony, a bucket of water can make a man spill all his secrets. The trick to torture is simplicity on the part of the torturer and anticipation on the part of the victim. And having being tortured myself, with burn scars on my hands and feet to prove it, I can testify to how effective it can be in the hands of a master.

I dropped the tooth, ground it into the dirt under my heel. If only you can erase memories as effortlessly.

Lin and I waited outside in the shade while Saltanat used all her charms on the security man. She was looking for the friend of a friend—Mr. Boris? Was he staying here? Because her friend had accidently scraped some of the paint off his car, a big black car, tinted windows, very smart, and she wanted to apologize. Maybe you noticed a car like that, perhaps yesterday lunchtime? Very little would escape your attention, right?

We both knew it was unlikely the security guard would have noticed a herd of elephants dancing a tango outside his building, but we had to ask. With no answers forthcoming apart from a sheepish smile that said, “I know nothing,” Saltanat gave up the struggle and joined us outside.

“Boris isn’t stupid,” I said. “Probably just used here as somewhere quiet to find out what Lin knew, grab himself a freebie into the bargain.”

“But why would he go out of his way?” Saltanat asked. “He’s just used his fists, he’s just had sex, he wants to get home, shower, tell his friends what fun he’s just had.”

“So you figure he’s somewhere nearby?”

Saltanat shrugged. “We don’t have any evidence. So we have to start with assumptions.”

“And how many black cars with tinted windows do you think we’re going to find around here?” I asked. “Probably no more than two or three hundred.”

It was then that Lin spoke: “But there won’t be many with a long scratch along the passenger door.”

We both turned and stared at her, and Lin gave a smile that for a swift moment disguised the wreckage that had once been her face. Saltanat raised an eyebrow, her idea of an urgent question.

“I used my heel on the car door as he was pulling away, stripped the paintwork back to the metal,” she said. “I don’t even think he noticed.”

I nodded; a woman like Lin wasn’t going to take any shit thrown at her without hitting back.

“The bastard didn’t pay me,” Lin said, “but a respray will cost more than any Vista bar hooker. Wish I’d been able to slice up the seats as well.”

“So now we look in every basement car park until we find the car?” Saltanat asked. I smiled. For once I was a step or two ahead of her.

“I think I know a quicker way,” I said, “but we’ll need to use your phone.”

“Hello?”