David Nickle - Rasputin's Bastards

“I’m not getting fucked up,” said Shadak. “Tell me about Montassini.”

“Yeah. Montassini. Complicated story. But I was gonna tell you about it. ’Cause I value your opinion on the tapes.”

Shadak raised his eyebrow in a question.

“Leo Montassini’s a solid guy. Not too much up here, you know what I mean. But yeah — he led the team in to bring you your people. Took ’em to the landing strip — put ’em on the plane. Just like he agreed. Only thing was, when that was done, he tells Jack and Nino — the boys what were with him — he’s going to take a leak. Fine. Happens to the best of us. While they’re waiting, he fucks off in the van. Leaves ’em at the airfield, nowhere to go. I gotta send out a fuckin’ car to pick them up, same time as I’m sendin’ more people out to this place. All the time, I’m wondering what the fuck’s with Leo? I’m getting concerned, you understand — that Leo’s workin’ some kind of racket. Tryin’ to fuck me over. I don’t take kindly to that kind of thing.”

“Understandable,” said Shadak. “I don’t take kindly to that sort of thing either.”

“Fuckin’ right. So I put out the word that Leo Montassini should be brought straight to me should he turn up. Word comes to me just about right away, from a business associate of my son’s who runs a sandwich thing in the Port Authority Bus Terminal. That he sold Leo a pastrami eggplant deal just an hour ago. That Leo looked kind of messed up. And that he looked like he was on his way somewhere. Fuck, I think. Bastard’s leavin’ town on me. I’m just about ready to put out the word on him — when I get another call, from the Co-op — about a message on the Complaints Line.”

“The Complaints Line?”

“It’s a line we got in there in the, what do you call it?”

“The Collective Office,” said the guy in the red Trekker’s Outfitting Co-Op T-shirt.

“Fuckin’ Commies,” said Bucci. “Couldn’t just call it the Assistant Manager’s office, like every other camping store.”

“You were saying about the Complaints Line? What exactly is it?”

“Just what it sounds like,” continued Bucci. “Whenever a customer gets pissed that the Pel-flex on his coat leaks in rainwater or his Maglite let him down in a fuckin’ spelunkin’ trip, he calls that line. Gets a message where he leaves a number and says why he’s so pissed about our products. We got a guy who checks out those complaints regularly — makes ’em go away. He also checks for other messages, which me or one of mine sometimes leave. Who’s gonna tap a fuckin’ complaint line, right? It’s like that old rule — what is it?”

“Hide in plain sight,” said a card-player. “Right. Hide in plain sight . Get it?”

“Sure,” said Shadak.

“All the same, messages on that line intended for me or my associates shouldn’t go into too much detail. Short and vague. That’s supposed to be the rule.”

“And Leo Montassini, I take it, left you a message that was neither.”

“Fuckin’ mind reader,” said Bucci, looking levelly at Shadak.

“No.” Shadak folded his hands. “No mind reading.”

“Whatever. Yeah, he left me a message. A whole series of messages, all of them way too specific — went on for the length of the tape. I tell you something, if I didn’t see this place—” Bucci waved his hand over his head to indicate the hotel “—I’d have thought Leo just went off the deep end.”

“Do you have the tapes?”

Bucci nodded. “Yeah, we got some of the tapes here — the first tape. There’s more at the store.”

“What is on the tapes, please?”

Bucci made a small smile. “Nothing about that guy in the picture, that Alexei Kilodo-fuck, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I assumed that,” said Shadak, “because you would have said something earlier. But what was so strange on these tapes, that you think your trusted Captain went off, as you say, ‘the deep end’?”

Bucci snorted. “What wasn’t strange about them?”

One of the card players looked up. “Like a fuckin’ horror movie,” he said.

“What the fuck do you know?” said his opponent. “Deal.”

Bucci shrugged.

“I’d like to hear the tapes, please,” said Shadak.

“Yeah,” said Bucci, “I thought you might.” He turned back to the card players. “Hey! Get the fuckin’ tape deck out here. You heard our friend here! He wants the show!”

“I am calling,” said the disembodied voice of Leo Montassini, “to complain about these fuckin’ boots you sold me. They leak and shit, and they aren’t warm like you said they would be, and they don’t fit like they did in the store. You send this complaint straight to the fuckin’ top. You got that? Straight to the fuckin’ top . Top . You know what I mean, right?

“Okay. Now you listening, Mr. B? It’s Leo here. First off, let me say I’m sorry I had to leave Nino and Jack like that at the plane. Can’t fuckin’ explain it. Hope they got home okay. I couldn’t stay with those guys any longer. Like something’s callin’ me. Someone’s callin’ me. From the sea…

“Look. Main thing is, I think I’m on to something. I think I know where Kolyokov is. You want to pay attention to this, boss. Those guys — Nino and Jack — even you, B. — I don’t think any of you would understand. It comes from listening to the sea — inside that tank they got at the hotel, in that Russian fuck’s room. I stuck my head inside that tank, and it was like sticking my head outside the tank. Like it went on forever… And I heard him, boss. I heard him.

“I’m usin’ up space on your tape. I’m callin’ you from the Port Authority Bus Terminal. Just want to let you know where I am. Now I’m gonna tell you how I got here.

“Like I was telling you, I went back to the Emissary. It was dark by the time I got back there. Lights were still on in the hotel. Nobody was at the desk when I looked in, but you never know, right? So I took the truck around to the loading dock at the back. Tried to get in through there. Door was locked. So you know… I do this and that… And I’m inside. Fuckin’ scary place, Mr. B. Like it’s got an echo in it, only the echo’s not in your ears it’s in your fuckin’ head. I can’t explain it. Just take my word. Fuckin’ scary place. So I make my way through the back, checkin’ things out. And everything’s, like, neat and tidy. But it’s like that movie your kid keeps watchin’: Marathon Man , right? Omega Man . I don’t fuckin’ know. Somethin’ like that. It’s the one with Charlton Heston, where the whole world’s like normal — but nobody’s there… . Well, it makes me feel like I’m Chuck in there, and it’s night, and the place is empty and nothin’s getting’ any better, so what the fuck? I pull out my piece.

“I make my way out through the back office. And there I am in the lobby, standin’ behind the fuckin’ front desk. The place is fuckin’ huge or that’s what it looks like. So I make my way into the lobby itself. Then I went back up to the fifth floor, where that guy Alexei Kilodovich slept.

“Didn’t feel right — just leavin’ that alone. Kilodovich was an important one, right? Right. So I went into his room and sat down on the bed. Closed my fuckin’ eyes and thought — where’d I hide shit. Under the mattress? So I pull up the mattress — start searchin’. Nothin’ there. So I think — if I was Alexei Kilodovich, what would I do?

“Right about then, there’s footsteps in the hall. So I get down behind the bed, hold my gun up — wait for the door to open — which it does. And just for a second, I’m feelin’ like an asshole. Because there I am, waitin’ to shoot this little cleaner, comin’ into the room. She’s got her cart with the laundry bag and a big fuckin’ mop handle stickin’ out. She can’t weigh more than a hundred pounds soakin’ wet. Stupid fuckin’ Leo, right? Jumpin’ at shadows.