The Upside of Death

The road to Vegas. Part 28

Two deputies sat in a cruiser and watched the traffic westbound out of Flagstaff. As soon as Semyon saw them, he barked the news: "Mussor." Keera understood the Russian word for "garbage", street slang for police.

Vronsky yanked her head down and pushed her off the seat into the Caddy's expansive foot well. He lay across the seats, holding her neck in case she tried to struggle upright.

Up front, Yuri dropped his seat back to its lowest level and slid out of sight of anyone at the roadside. They held this position for a minute before Semyon said, "Dobry." Good.

Vronsky came off her, and she was able to sit up. A couple of minutes later Semyon took the ramp for I-40. They now had a free run to Vegas if the old man wasn't found quickly.

Keera hadn't expected this. Flint had warned her the Russians were too suspicious to go for Zach's story of a secret agency. She hadn't told Zach as she hadn't wanted to crush his hopes so soon. It was worth trying if only to unsettle the Russians further. But this? To be separated again? She tried to get a sense of Zach's situation but she couldn't calm herself sufficiently, couldn't get any images of him.

Bardo, she cried out silently. What do I do now? No reply. She was still on her own.

***

Vronsky sank back in his seat. A kidnap gone wrong, the payout now uncertain, these two stupid pricks arguing, and Sasha dead. He should be by his son's body, not stuck in America on a nightmare job. He couldn't even grieve properly. One thing had to be: the job completed in a day or two at the most. Whichever way it went. Then he'd go home. The money wasn't important anymore. There was more to be had in other places, other times.

The girl. How incredible the whole thing was. That she and her boyfriend knew stuff they couldn't have. Unbelievable. Some of what the guy said was bullshit, for sure. But which part?

How did they know Sasha was dead, sooner than he knew himself? Sasha could have died only hours beforehand—a day at the most. They knew last names, first names.

The boy found her twice. Once, Vronsky could almost believe. He had heard of such dreams that gave information. But twice? No chance.

And no weapons? It was crazy. What government agency operated without weapons? No budget cuts went that deep. And the glass? Vronsky tried to assemble this information into a neat solution, but none of it made logical sense.

***

Yuri scrolled through his cell screens. "You want me to book ahead for Vegas?" he asked Vronsky.

"See what's available in the small apartments," Vronsky replied. "Those places are full of lowlife. Everybody minds their own business. Nobody calls the cops in a hurry."

"Lowlife, eh," Yuri said. "Semyon will fit right in."

"Just find the right place," Semyon said. "You're the clerk, do the job you're here for."

"An operation like this isn't all muscle. Even a bonehead should see that." Yuri kept his voice controlled. "You go home early if you want. We've only a little girl to look after."

"Even a small job you would fuck up."

"Gentlemen, please," Vronsky cut in. "We have many days together ahead of us yet. Please maintain civility and order. Yuri, select a place and we go there."

Yuri stared at his screen for a few minutes, his neck rigid with tension. That farm boy fucker better be careful. A minute or two passed before he spoke again. "Here's a good one. Many complaints about it on the blog. Shall I book?"