10. Nikolai
Nikolai
I haven’t seen Collins in almost two weeks. She was off for a few days after the incident with her son, then called in for her last two scheduled shifts.
I don’t realize I’m looking for her until I’ve made a full round of the floor and still haven’t seen her.
No one comments on the fact that I’m looking for her. No one asks why I’m interested in a dealer. Pasha knows, but he has the good sense not to say anything.
I find Raymond near the tables.
“Collins,” I say. “Where is she?”
Raymond looks up from his clipboard, surprised by the question. “Called in sick, sir.”
“Again?”
“Yes. If she calls in again, I’ll fire her.”
I frown. I don’t know much about the day-to-day staffing issues because I have people for that, but firing her seems wrong. People get sick. We don’t want them to puke on the table or sneeze on customers. That shouldn’t cost them their job.
“Why?” I ask.
He shifts his weight. “Policy is three, and you’re out.”
I look at him. “Is that normal?”
He takes a second before answering. “It happens a lot with people like her,” he says carefully.
“Define ‘people like her.’”
“Single moms,” he says. “Honestly, it’s why I hate hiring them. They’ve always got some crisis. Kid’s sick, babysitter bailed, some other disaster. It’s a liability. I’ve told HR to stop giving me these people, but they say they can’t ask the question. Seems wrong.”
I look at him for a long moment.
Somewhere in the middle of my silence, he realizes his mistake. The color drains from his face.
“You don’t think we should hire single mothers?” My voice is cold and flat, but the dangerous undertone is there.
“Mr. Sokolov—”
I hold up my hand. “Single mothers working odd hours to feed their children are not a liability. They are motivated. They don’t steal. They don’t cause drama. They don’t show up still drunk from the night before. Understood?”
He swallows. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
I walk away before I say something that creates more paperwork and a potential assault charge.
I find Pasha near the high-limit room, leaning against the wall with his phone in his hand, looking for all the world like a man who is simply waiting. But I know better. He’s watching three things at once. He always looks casual. I always look stressed. Yin and Yang.
“I’m going out,” I tell him.
He pockets the phone. “I’ll come.”
“You don’t need to.”
“It’s not about need.”
“It’s a quick errand,” I say. “I don’t require backup for that.”
He looks at me, raising one eyebrow. “Who is the errand?”
I’m not surprised he knows it’s a who and not an actual errand. “Collins.”
He almost smiles, which I find irritating.
“She called in sick again,” I say. “Something’s wrong.”
“How do you know something’s wrong?”
“Because she was reliable. Something might be wrong with her son.”
“And if her son has the flu? Kids get sick, Nik. Babysitters don’t watch sick kids. It’s not an emergency.”
“I’m going.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“I want to drive myself.”
“Nik.”
“I’ll be back in an hour,” I say. “Handle the call with the gaming commission while I’m gone.”
He exhales through his nose. “Fine. Call me if you need backup for your welfare check.”
I ignore the amusement in his voice and walk toward the exit.
The address on her paperwork puts her in a rougher neighborhood.
Drug dealers stand openly on the corners.
Graffiti covers most surfaces, and the corner store has bars on the windows.
It’s a different world from the suburbs, with its clay roofs and artificial turf lawns.
Tourists see the glitz and glamour of the Strip and have no idea this kind of poverty exists five miles away.
My GPS tells me to take a left.
There she is.
She’s on the sidewalk in front of a three-story building that looks like it should be condemned. Her hands are on her hips, and Luke is behind her, staring at the sidewalk. She’s talking to a man in a white tank top and shorts with an impressive beer belly.
My first thought is that I’ve arrived in the middle of something. My second is that it’s bad. Black garbage bags sit on the sidewalk. A box and a laundry basket sit next to them.
I can read the body language from fifty feet away. They’re arguing.
I slow to a stop along the curb. Gabby reaches behind her and rests a hand on her son’s head. Protecting him. She’s always protecting him. I can see her face now, and she’s pissed. Her free hand gestures wildly. The man shrugs, then laughs.
The bags. The box. The laundry basket.
She’s been evicted.
I cut the engine and get out of the SUV.
Now, the man is leaning toward her, shouting in her face. I stalk toward them, my eyes locked on him. She doesn’t see me, but he does. He reads enough into my demeanor to step away from her.
Gabby turns. Her damp hair hangs loosely around her shoulders. She’s in jeans and a plain white shirt. She looks exhausted.
“What are you doing here?” she says.
“Who’s this?” I push my sunglasses onto my head so the man can see my eyes.
“My landlord,” she says.
“Ex-landlord,” the man sneers.
I step forward. The landlord has a very punchable face. Sweat stains the fabric beneath his arms. He’s wearing a smug look that I intend to remove.
I put myself between him and Gabby, then step forward into his space. He has to look up at me.
The smug expression falters.
“You’re the landlord.” It isn’t a question.
“That’s right.” He squares his shoulders. Brave for a man his size. “And this ain’t your business.”
I look up at the building. A water stain runs down the exterior wall. One of the second-floor balconies has a support post rotted through and replaced with what looks like a two-by-four nailed in at an angle. The place is a hovel.
“Is this place legal?” I ask.
His face goes from smug to red. “That’s none of your business.”
“You evicted her. And her child. Put them out on the street like trash.”
I take another step. He takes another one back. We’ve moved maybe four feet from where we started, putting more distance between him and them.
“She’s behind on rent.” He’s trying to recover. “That’s legal cause. I followed the process.”
“Did you?”
“Who the hell are you?”
“I’m the man who’s about to make your life very painful.”
His mouth opens. Closes.
“You can’t threaten me!”
He’s still moving backward. I’d like to get him around the side of the building before I break his nose. It’ll be bloody, and I don’t want Luke to see it.
“No one is threatening you.” I calmly unbutton my cuff and begin rolling the sleeve to my elbow.
“I don’t have to listen to this.” He points at Gabby. “She’s out. That’s final. I already have someone lined up for the unit.”
“And let me guess, you’re going to charge them more.”
I roll up the other sleeve. We’re about ten feet away from the privacy I’m searching for. Not out of sight of the tenants watching from their windows. Even the drug dealers on the corner have stopped doing business to watch.
“Don’t do anything!” Gabby shouts from behind me.
I don’t turn around.
The landlord squints at me, trying to figure out who I am. Whether I’m worth taking seriously.
“She owes me a thousand dollars!”
“I owe you five hundred! The rest is whatever bullshit fees you’ve decided to tack on!” Gabby shouts.
“She doesn’t owe you a penny,” I say.
“Nikolai.” Her voice is strained. “Stop. Please.”
He looks at Gabby. Then back at me.
“Don’t look at her,” I say. We’re nearing the corner of his dilapidated building.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” He puffs out his chest. “You can’t tell me how to run my business.”
“I’m not telling you how to run your business. I’m telling you she doesn’t owe you money.”
“Take your rich ass out of here and leave me alone.”
I tilt my head, genuinely curious. “You rent to single mothers, elderly people, and anyone who might be vulnerable.”
“I give people that don’t have shit a place to call home.”
I look at the building, note the broken window, then look back at him. “You take advantage of people.”
He snorts. “As if you don’t.”
He’s stopped moving. He knows I’m trying to get him out of Luke’s sight, and he’s decided not to cooperate.
Then he looks past me at Gabby again.
I’m done waiting. I shove him hard and drive my fist into his face. Cartilage crunches beneath my knuckles.
“Never fucking get in a woman’s face again, you piece of shit.”
Then, I turn and calmly walk back to where Gabby and Luke are still standing.
She stares at me with her mouth hanging open. Luke is pressed against her side, his blanket clutched to his chest, watching me with his calm blue eyes. He looks less frightened than his mother.
“You can’t do that,” she says.
“It’s done.”
“I’m calling the cops!” The landlord shouts behind me.
Gabby’s eyes widen. I look over my shoulder to make sure he isn’t pointing a gun at me. He isn’t. Blood is smeared across his face and dripping onto his distended belly.
“You hit him!”
“Just once.”
I roll my left sleeve down first, ignoring the smear of red across my right knuckles.
“You can’t do that,” she gasps.
“I already did.”
“Why?”
“He was yelling at you and standing way too close.”
She shakes her head.
Luke looks up at her, reading her. I do that, too. I read people. I used to think everyone saw them the way I did. I was probably a teenager when I realized they didn’t. Mom called it a superpower.
I wonder if Luke knows he has a superpower.
She drags a hand over her face. “You shouldn’t have done that.” She’s quieter now. “I don’t need you to fix it.”
“I haven’t fixed anything.”
The landlord is still shouting. He’s probably calling the police. I don’t care. Most of them know who I am, and when they see this place, they’ll understand.
“You shouldn’t be living in a place like this,” I say. “Neither should Luke.”
Her eyes flash. “Don’t you dare judge me.”
“I’m not judging you.”
“Not all of us can afford a penthouse. It was a roof over our heads. And now, because of you, I’ll never get another place. No one will rent to me. I have no credit, no references, and no money. Thank you for saving me. Great job.”
Her chin comes up. Her eyes are bright and glassy, and for a second, I think she might cry. But she doesn’t. She won’t. I’ve seen the fight in her. She isn’t unbreakable. No one is. But she’s damn close.
I look at Luke. He isn’t afraid of me. That feels strange. And yet, right.
“He’s calling the police,” she hisses. The anger is still there, but fear has moved in beneath it. “I don’t need that kind of drama. You can afford a lawyer. I can’t. Do you know what you’ve just cost me?”
She says the last part like I’ve taken something from her. I don’t understand it. This place is barely habitable.
“I’ll give you money for a new place.”
Just like that, her expression hardens, and she’s pissed again. “That’s right. Just throw money at it. That’s what men like you do. Money fixes everything. Your power. Your position. You never have to worry about problems.”
She’s not entirely wrong. I have problems. Money and power just make them bigger.
But I don’t say that.
Her eyes widen. “Shit. I knew it. Oh God. No, no, no.”
I turn to see what has her panicking. A police cruiser turns onto the street and rolls slowly toward us. That was fast. The window comes down, and an officer looks at the bags on the sidewalk before looking at the three of us.
“Got a call about a disturbance,” he says.
Gabby goes rigid and pushes Luke behind her. She pulls the cheap sunglasses down from the top of her head.
She’s hiding. Not from the landlord. From the police.
I step forward before she has to say a word.
The officer looks at me, and recognition settles over his face. “Mr. Sokolov.”
“Landlord-tenant dispute,” I tell him. “It’s handled.”
His gaze drops to my hand. The landlord is blubbering as he comes toward us. I turn and level a lethal stare at him, stopping him in his tracks. Then I turn back to the officer.
He nods once. “I’ll let dispatch know I checked it out and it’s all clear.”
“Good.”
"Have a nice day, Mr. Sokolov. Looking forward to seeing that hotel when it's open."
His way of letting me know I owe him. A reminder that favors are never free.
I nod once and watch as he pulls away.
When I turn back to Gabby, she’s trembling. She stood toe-to-toe with that asshole without flinching, but the police terrified her.
Interesting.