Chapter 13 The Magic Words
The Magic Words
“…a tragedy that has shattered the New Year’s celebration for dozens of families here in Kurov. Authorities confirm twenty-two dead and forty-one wounded in a brutal attack at the famously popular Elit discoteca.”
The TV reporter in a heavy wool coat fought against the windy morning with her words cutting in and out. Behind her stood the sinister Elit, the lights gone and just as lifeless as the faces I’d seen inside. People carrying flowers and icons of saints crowded around it in the background.
“The event unfolded after two in the morning, following a speech by the club’s co-owner, Yisa Bugarin. Eyewitnesses state that a group of armed men opened fire without provocation, specifically targeting a section of the club where known criminal offenders were present.”
Mama watched it with a trembling hand over her mouth. She wept. Poor, sweet Mama.
I felt nothing.
“However, the investigation has uncovered an even more heinous detail. Forensic examinations indicate that the victims were poisoned prior to the shooting. Lethal amounts of formaldehyde were discovered in their systems, causing severe optic damage and, in some cases, organ failure and death. A consequence, experts say, of consuming vodka contaminated with methanol.”
“Never vodka…” I whispered, my vacant eyes still fixed on the TV. “Never the vodka…”
“The militia is classifying this as an act of gang warfare between rival factions of the Kurov criminal world. An official warning has been issued—if you have purchased vodka-based drinks or received unsealed bottles as a gift, do not consume them. Monitor your health closely, and report to your district’s municipal hospital if you experience any of the following symptoms… ”
“If you experience death…” I finished for her.
There must have been hundreds of people there.
Mama made some whimpering sounds, and a part of me wanted to comfort her, but there was little left in me to offer sympathy. I doubted there was anything left inside me at all.
I had to call Vitali. I had to make sure he was alive…
The thought closed up my throat for the fear of that being the only thing that made me feel anything at all.
Kra-kra-krakrakrak—the hungry machine guns, like dogs, barking.
“I have to make sure Elena is alright…” I muttered and turned away from Mama and the TV.
“Reporting from Kurov, this is Aleksandra Golkova for Vesti Odin.”
I sank down onto the stool at the kitchen table and pulled the phone to my chest where I could feel the rhythmic brRR of the rotary dial. My fingers paused before I touched the first number. I really ought to call Elena.
I dialed, and I waited.
“Allo?” the woman on the other end said.
“Irina Ivanovna, can I speak to Elena?” I asked.
“Ah, one minute.”
My eyes fluttered closed, but not in prayer. I had nothing to offer God that day.
“Allo?”
“Elena,” I said.
“Katya? Are you at home?”
“Did you see the news?”
“I did…” There it was, that note in her tone. The ‘I can’t talk about it’ that I’d only recently had to learn.
“Tragedy,” I said.
“Very tragic! Is… did Vitali get home okay?”
“I don’t know,” I said hoarsely. “I don’t know… I have to make a phone call.”
“Alright, all my love. Call me later, I will be home until five.”
I put the receiver down and stared at it, then took a deep breath and snatched it off again and dialed Misha’s number.
The line rang for a long time, then turned to rapid beeps that didn’t get answered. So I dialed again. And again.
“WHAT KOZEL—”
“Misha,” I said.
“Who?”
“Misha, it’s Katya.”
Silence. Then, “Ah. Katya. What do you want, Katya?”
“Is Vitali there?” I said the words as if through pane glass, careful not to let my tone give anything away. The pause that followed gave me ample opportunity to study the kitchen wall tile with the little symmetrical flowers. One, two, three, four, five. Five flowers on each tile.
“No, he’s home. If I see him, I’ll tell him to call. This is the only time I’m doing this, Katya. And only because I need Konstantinov to get that stick out of his ass and stop moping around over whatever happened after I left you two unsupervised. Blyad. Sucked all the fun out of everything.”
So he was alive…
…and moping about me…
God would never forgive me for which of those made my heart beat faster.
“…you alright?” Misha asked suddenly.
“Yeah,” I scratched my head, “are you alright?”
“Head hurts.”
“Were you out late?”
“What are you, my babushka? Piss off.”
“So you’ll tell Vitali to call?” I sighed, the weight tumbling off me. Elena, Vitali, and most of Misha were alright.
He snorted. “I can’t tell Vitali to do anything. But, if I see him, I might mention it.”
“Thanks, Mish.”
“Ah no—you haven’t known me long enough to call me that—”
I hung up because the man killed people last night. I shouldn’t have even called, because they both killed people last night, and that meant something…
My cold fingers tapped on the table on each side of the phone, even if I had no one else to call. But then it rang.
Either Vitali was next to him when I called, or Misha had an Olympic Godliness to his hamstrings.
“Allo?”
“Katya.” It wasn’t Vitali, and Misha’s voice had taken on a strange tone. “Vitali wants me to pick you up.”
“What? When?”
“I can be there in forty-five. Thirty if the roads are clear.”
Was he crazy?
“Are you crazy?”
“Vitali is waiting; you really shouldn’t make him wait, Katya.”
Something was wrong.
“Alright, I can be ready,” I said after a moment of uneasy deliberation. “Why isn’t he picking me up?”
“Just be ready.”
Misha arrived exactly thirty-seven minutes later.
I barely had time to rinse off, put my hairspray-stiffened hair up in a bun, and pat some makeup under my eyes to disguise the puffiness.
It didn’t do an adequate job, and in the process, I discovered a previously unseen cut running from my ear, across my cheekbone, and into my hairline.
The glass had carved up my arms and right thigh where they were exposed, but those could be hidden by clothing.
This couldn’t. I still did my best to rearrange my hair when the buzz came from the downstairs podyezd door.
“And where are you going?” Mama fussed, her eyes wide.
I already knew she had it in her head that whatever happened at Elit was an ongoing threat and would be for the next year, on every street and sidewalk and her daughter better stay indoors forever because some maniac would surely follow me home.
Funny. I didn’t know if I could call it ironic necessarily, but it did give me a humorless chuckle.
“Just going to see Elena… she knew someone there last night. She’s very upset,” I lied. Mama didn’t allow me to leave without a plastic-wrapped bundle of food to bring to ‘Elena’, as, by her reasoning, all things in life could be solved with some kind of pie or pea salad.
Misha waited in the idling Mercedes, the same one I had first seen when we met. I recognized the small bead bracelet hanging off the rearview mirror, but not the four bullet holes just above the back wheel well.
“What’s that?” he asked as I got in.
I handed him the leftovers. “Meat pie and vinegret.”
He held it up to his nose, nostrils flaring, and nodded his approval.
When we pulled out onto the main road, I assessed his appearance. There was nothing different about Misha. No scrapes, no bullet holes in his forehead. Just the same ‘I’m waiting for life to end and I’m mad about it’ resigned look of so many Russian men.
“Why you staring?” he asked without turning his head.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I like to look at people.”
“You’re a bad liar, Katya, and you need to get yourself together because no one is going to believe you where we’re going,” he said so matter-of-factly that any delusions I had of where we were headed melted away.
“We aren’t going to see Vitali, are we?”
“Technically speaking, he might be there.”
I nodded. I didn’t die at Elit, so it was only fair it happened now instead. First day of the new year and all.
“I told you to get away from the city,” Misha said, and took out his cigarettes, tapping the box against the steering wheel before popping one out. “You smoke?”
“No.”
“I have to make a stop on the way. If you’re hurt, you’d better tell me so we can get you a nice plaster.”
“Why would I be hurt?”
The lighter flicked, and he trapped the cigarette on the far side of his mouth.
“You and I, Katya. We need to have some trust established, because I don’t want to go upsetting Mama, and you’re not going to get a better offer than me.
I was surprised to hear you call because Mila didn’t know where you were by the time she called Sergei.
Here’s the funny thing—Sergei didn’t know who you were when she said your name.
” He huffed a laugh wrapped up in cancerous smoke.
“Lots of details coming out all at once, and no one is happy.”
“Does Vitali know..?”
“I hadn’t seen him this morning. You know he doesn’t have a phone. Harder to find than a fat fuck’s ball sack.”
“Is Sergei the one I’m going to see?”
He nodded and rolled down the window, but only a sliver—enough to tap the cigarette.
“I’ll give you the quick of it so you know what to expect.
The man likes to talk, so you’ll know the gist when you eventually tune out.
Sergei, he’s an asshole. But he’s a sly asshole, like a fox.
Knows his numbers and knows who writes them.
But he’s a reasonable enough guy if you don’t make yourself noticeable.
Don’t open your mouth when you’re not supposed to—and open it wide when he asks. ”
He grinned, and I abruptly shuddered.
“Don’t worry, he has his girls. We’re not animals, even decent guys, I’d say. Ivan coaches a youth hockey league, and Roman drives his elderly neighbor to her doctor’s appointments twice a week. You know Roman?”
I shook my head.
“Ah, well, you know Roman. You just don’t know it’s Roman. You’re his job security. Big guy.”