Неизвестный - 6. Justice For All

Sandy’s hands shook when she pulled open the next drawer. Her knees almost gave out when she saw Dell’s T-shirts and underwear neatly folded and stacked. Turning quickly, she raced to the single narrow closet and pulled it open. A few hangers were empty, but most of the stuff Dell had brought over from her condo was still there.

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RADclY fFe

Relief left her shakier than the terror had. Tears filled her eyes and she headed for the kitchen to find a beer. A folded piece of paper sat beneath the salt shaker on the counter next to the refrigerator. Sandy stared at it as if it were a dead mouse. No way. She wasn’t touching it. Instead, she opened the refrigerator and pulled out a can of Black and Tan. She popped the top and took a long swallow while eyeing the paper. Get a grip. Geez, what a coward.

After another deep swallow, she plonked the can on the counter, knocked the plastic shaker aside, and snatched up the note. The message was short, but after reading it three times, she still couldn’t figure out what it meant.

Babe. I’m working and I might not be back tonight. I might not be back for a couple of nights. Don’t worry. If you see me anywhere, especially in the building, pretend you don’t know me. I love you, babe. D.

“Pretend you don’t know me?” Sandy shook her head angrily.

“What the fuck, Dell.”

Pissed again, but finally feeling like she might not throw up, she settled onto the sofa bed to wait.

v

Mitch pulled his motorcycle along a wooden fence behind a block of row houses in North Philadelphia. It wasn’t the kind of area where anyone, even the inhabitants, walked around unarmed after dark. Many of the houses were boarded up or had been claimed by crack addicts, drug pushers, and squatters. The Russians had kept Irina and her charges in a house in the middle of the block. No lights shone from the building now, and as Mitch and Irina crossed the cracked cement patio toward the back door, he could see that most of the windows on the first floor were broken out. Those along with the door had been hastily boarded up. “Let me go first.” Mitch leaned down and pulled a Beretta .25 from his ankle holster. “A place like this is a blinking red sign for vandals and looters. We might find company inside.”

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Justice for All

“Wait,” Irina whispered.

Mitch watched wordlessly as she ran deftly across the debris-strewn yard. Then he couldn’t see her, but he heard stones scraping. A minute later she was back at his side, a Glock in her hand.

“Christ,” he muttered. Whoever had searched the place after the raid hadn’t done a very good job. “Any more surprises inside?”

“If I told you,” Irina said, “they wouldn’t be surprises.”

Mitch grabbed her arm. “You can’t shoot anyone. If you do, you’ll end up back behind bars again.”

“I’m not going back,” Irina said with finality. “Come on.”

By unspoken agreement they avoided the door. If anyone was inside, they’d probably be smart enough to rig the door with some kind of alarm, even if it was just a row of cans strategically placed on the floor. Keeping to the shadows, Mitch skirted around to the left side of the house, keeping Irina in sight, just ahead of him. Her bedroom window was still intact.

“Let’s forget this,” Mitch said. “We can get you some more clothes tomorrow.”

“Give me a boost up. The latch is loose on purpose.”

Mitch cupped his hands and sure enough, after a minute, he heard the window slide up and Irina shimmied inside. He jumped to grasp the lower windowsill, dug his toes into the soft wood wall, and clawed his way after her. Inside, the air smelled like cordite and blood. He remembered how his own blood had smelled pooling beneath his body not that long ago. With his body too weak to move and the knife jutting from his thigh, he’d wondered if he was about to die. And then Frye had leaned over him. She’d been the one to take the knife out, to stop the bleeding, to tell him he would be all right. He’d believed her.

“Bastards,” Irina cursed. The closet door was standing open—

hangers in a jumble on the floor, and the single dresser was upended.

The drawers had been tossed into a corner and their contents strewn around the room. The mattress lay half off the bed, its stuffing erupting from a long rent down the center. Police, probably.

“Let’s make it fast.” Mitch moved to stand by the left side of the door.

If anyone tried to come in, he would be able to swing into the open doorway and take them out by cracking them on the head with his

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RADclY fFe

gun. He didn’t want to have to shoot anyone. If anyone was inside, it wouldn’t be cops. Not enough manpower to continue a stakeout. Still, he didn’t want to shoot a drugged-out teenager or a drunken prostitute.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Irina pawing through the mess on the floor. She quickly jammed items into a small bag she’d dug out from underneath the corner of the mattress. Then she hurried to the closet and stepped inside. A thud sounded on the ceiling upstairs, and Mitch tensed. They weren’t alone. When he heard footsteps shuffle over his head, he abandoned the door and jumped across the small room to the closet.

“We have to go,” he whispered urgently, wondering what she was so eager to find. He reached inside, grabbed her arm, and yanked her out. “Now.”

She jerked her arm free. “One minute.” She fumbled around the floor and came up with what looked like a knee-high leather boot.

“You’ve got be kidding me,” Mitch cursed. “What is it with girls and their shoes. Jesus.”

“Here.” Irina thrust the bottom of the boot toward him. “Hold the heel.”

Deciding that agreeing with her was likely to get them out of the room faster than anything else, Mitch grabbed the four-inch stiletto and held on tight as Irina clutched the shoe and yanked hard. The heel broke off in his hand. Irina tugged at the sole and it stripped away from the bottom of the shoe. She pulled several items from inside, shoved them into her bag, and ran to the window. She looked back, her face framed in moonlight. “Are you coming, new boy?”

Then she disappeared.

Mitch dropped through the window and onto the ground, half expecting her to be gone. But she was crouched by the gate, waiting, and in another minute they were racing down the alley to his motorcycle.

Mitch straddled the big bike and Irina jumped on behind him. They jammed helmets on and he wheeled the bike out into the street before starting the motor. If anyone in the house heard them, it would be too late to catch up with them now.

He drove fast through the empty streets until the lights of Center City appeared, and then he pulled over. He yanked off his helmet and angled around in his seat so he could see Irina. “What was that all about? And don’t tell me just clothes.”

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Justice for All

Irina smiled, her eyes gleaming in the lights from a nearby gas station. “Why should I trust you?”

“Because…” Mitch hesitated. He was about to say because he was a cop. One of the good guys. But he realized that would be a tough sell to Irina. He didn’t think she was innocent in the prostitution and porn operation. Maybe Clark was right and she hadn’t had a lot of choices, but she’d still kept those girls practically prisoners, and had sold them to the men who used their bodies like so much merchandise. “Because if you don’t work with me, you’re not going to find your sister.”

“What do you know about my sister?”

“Not enough, unless you tell me. But I’ve got a lot better chance of finding her than you do on your own.”

“They promised us a new life,” Irina said bitterly. “We would be models and hotel managers and hostesses in fancy restaurants. We would have clothes and a house with heat in the winter and running water all year round.” She shook her head. “Instead they made us slaves. Worse than slaves.”