Almost Broken Up (Almost Bad Boys) (7 page)

FIVE

“Life is just one damned thing after another.”

Elbert Hubbard

A few days later, I ask Ali, “You wanna go out tonight?” I’ve been feeling restless all day, and I can’t pinpoint the reason behind it. Hell on wheels, if I won’t go somewhere… do something, anything I will explode.
 

Colin left this morning for a two-day business trip to Atlanta. I’m not sure if it’s the fact that he’s not in town, or maybe I’m still overthinking the creep incident from a few nights ago—either way, I feel way too uneasy.
 

“Sure. I can give Ashton a well-deserved break.”
 

Thank you, dearest Ali.
 

“Well-deserved?” I laugh. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I meant myself. Well-deserved for me. I’ve been spending a lot of time with him lately.” She takes a long, slow sip of her Diet Pepsi through a straw.
 

“Cool. Let’s call Jena and Caroline. No, wait, Jena texted me yesterday. Her grandma’s visiting, so Jena wants to hang out with her.”

“I talked to Caroline this morning. She has a date with some mysterious man. She wouldn’t tell me who, like it’s top secret, and I’m, fuck forbid, not privy to such information.” Ali huffs indignantly.
 

I stop typing. “Huh. It really must be some kind of a freakin’ secret, because I know nothing about it either. Our Caroline is living a double life. Anyway, let’s go to The Triple Door tonight. I’m in mood for some live music.” Maybe I should hit the gym instead. This weird energy inside me is unbearable. Or maybe I just had too much coffee today.
 

“Cool. I love their food.” Ali jumps in her seat. Any place that serves great food gets her approval. “Okay, finish up, it’s five thirty. I’m going home to change. What time should we meet up?”

“Seven thirtish? I don’t know. I will text you when I’m about to leave my place.” I continue typing another email. After that I need to check my schedule for the rest of this week and see if anything needs to be moved around.
 

“Sounds good!” Ali hollers from the hallway, heading toward her office to retrieve her purse and jacket. Soon she sticks her head back in my office and says, “I’m off. Get your ass out of here, Davenport.”
 

I smile and nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
 

Fifteen minutes later I’m in my car, leaving the parking garage. The beginning of December in the Pacific Northwest is typically damp and gray, but this year we are having oddly dry and cold weather. I’m driving toward the freeway right by Bellevue Square and Lincoln Square. The crowd of pedestrians is thick. The holiday shoppers carry large shopping bags from the various stores in both malls. I make a mental note to order all my Christmas gifts online in the next few days.
 

My parents won’t be spending the holidays in Seattle this year. They are going on another cruise and asked if I wanted to come with them. But it is a two-week cruise, and there is no way in hell that I could possibly leave Ali alone with all the Strong Connections business for that long.
 
Besides, this will be the first Christmas with a decent guy in my life and not with some low life loser.
 

I smile at my thoughts, imagining Colin in a Santa’s hat and red pants that hang low from just below his hips. He’s shirtless and bare footed. That is a yummy concept. Yep, let’s be naughty and save the real Santa a trip.
 

Around seven fifteen I’m about to call a cab. I text Ali, and she texts right back, confirming that she’s on her way too. Soon after, I arrive at The Triple Door, pay the driver, and exit the taxi. There is a short line to get in, but it’s moving fast. I’m inside in a matter of minutes and wait for a table, glad that I made a reservation before I left the office. Someone grabs my arm from behind, and I jump.
 

“Hey you!” Ali hugs me, laughing.
 

My knees buckle, and I lean heavily on Ali to stay upright. Geez, what the hell?

“Hah, I scared ya,” she squeals, and then looks at me. “You’re white like a freakin’ ghost, Nat. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.” I put a confident smile on my face.
 

The hostess takes us to our table, and the waitress arrives quickly after we sit down. We look at the menu and order beer on tap—the Triple Door Backstage Ale. Ali says it’s her favorite.
 
We ask the waitress about the band that’s going to perform tonight. It’s a jazz group from the Portland area that neither Ali or I have ever heard of. But the waitress tells us they are pretty good. Hope so. I’m not in the mood for jazz. I think of Colin and long to be in his arms.
 

 
An hour later, Ali and I agree to leave. Ali seems relieved. Maybe she just wants some peace and quiet, like me. We decide to take a short walk, since the weather is dry, and the air feels crisp and refreshing.
 

“Ali, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately. I’m so antsy all the time.”
 

She bumps her shoulder onto mine. “No worries, sweets. I didn’t care about that band anyway. They were…”

Ali stops half-sentence and points ahead of us. A young woman around our age is running in what looks like five-inch stilettos. We both stare. She trips and almost falls. A long string of, most likely, a juicy swearing in some Slavic language leaves her lips. She stomps her foot, which is impressive—those heels are not made for stomping. The girl must have had some serious training. A model maybe? She looks like one—her legs are mile-long, her hair is impeccably done, and she’s dressed in gorgeous clothes that definitely didn’t come from Walmart.
 

I look at Ali, and she looks back. We don’t have to say a word. The scene in front of us is so bizarre that one glance at each other is enough to confirm that we both think the same: time to investigate and help a fellow female in distress. We rush toward the girl. She’s standing with her long-fingered, manicured hands on her hips, looking into the distance, deep in thought.
 

“
Yehbu tvoyu mat
!” she suddenly says. I have no idea what that means, but there is no doubt it’s something nasty.
 

“Hey,” I call out, “do you need help with something?”

She turns to us, frowning. She’s gorgeous, with flawless skin, huge blue eyes, framed in the world’s thickest eyelashes, and a full, pouty mouth. Her long blond hair looks healthy and shiny, falling in a perfectly straight sheet over her back. “I… I… uhm, I lost my kitten,” she says in a strong accent. Russian maybe?

Her kitten? In the middle of downtown Seattle?
 

“It ran off?” Ali asks somehow dubiously. “Were you carrying it around?”

“No, no.” She shakes her head. “Someone take it… took it.”

“What do you mean?” I step closer to her.
 

She’s wringing her hands and biting her lip. More of this, and she’s going to eat up all that thickly applied lipstick. I notice a diamond ring the size of a doorknob. It is on her middle finger, so probably not an engagement ring.
 

“What’s the matter?” I gently touch her arm.

The woman looks from me to Ali, definitely distressed. “Uh…” She shakes her head and exhales loudly. “Crap.” The way she pronounces
crap
sounds more like
crrapp
.
 

“We can help you find your kitty,” I say. Or rather it is my mouth that opens again and says something before confirming it with my brain. But Ali is nodding enthusiastically, so I’m guessing it’s okay. After all, this girl seems totally at a loss. I can’t pretend that I don’t subscribe to the Female Solidarity Club.
 

Her eyes grow big. She opens her mouth and stares at me. “You would do that?”

I’m taken aback for a moment. Why in hell someone would think that offering help to find a cat is such a big deal. Eh, it must be the Eastern European way or something.
 

“Sure.” Ali nods. “So tell us what happened to the kitten. Did you carry it here… I mean, on the street? And someone just took it from you?” Ali sounds incredulous, and I can’t blame her. People usually don’t carry their cats in downtown Seattle. And people don’t usually take pets from their owners. Do they?
 

She looks away, as if trying to summon the courage to tell us what the hell is going on. When she looks back at us, there is a resolve in her eyes. “This woman… older woman took the kitty. Lenochka… that’s kitty’s name. She ate that
medalyon
.” The girl pats her copious breast.
 

Hell on wheels. What does that mean? Did she… breastfed the cat? Is that even possible? I look at Ali, and she stares at the girl openmouthed. Not many things can baffle Ali, but this apparently did.
 

“Wait a minute.” Ali puts her palm out and shakes her head in confusion. “It ate what? What happened exactly?”

“
Medalyon
,” the girl pats her chest again. “
Antichniy medalyon
.”

“Okay, okay, wait, antique? Something of an antique quality? What’s
medalyon
? Medallion? A pendant?” I gesticulate.

“Yes!” the girl exclaims. “A pendant. Old pendant.”

“Ah.” I nod and turn to Ali. “The cat ate some vintage pendant.”

She rolls her eyes. “Must have been really hungry.”

I try not to chuckle, because the girl is eyeing us uncertainly. She seems really stressed out. Well, if my cat ate a piece of antique jewelry from a mobster’s stash, I would be too. There is only one way to get it out now, and it’s not going to be pretty.
 

“What’s your name?” I ask her.
 

“Svetlana.” She smiles sweetly. She pronounces the “l” in
Svetlana
very softly.
 

I attempt to say it in the same way, but my American tongue must be way stiffer than hers. Ali does a better job. Whatever you do with that mouth of yours, girlfriend is working the linguistic magic here.
 

“I’m Natalie, and this is my friend Ali.” I point to Ali.
 

“Where are you from, Svetlana?” Ali asks.
 

“Moscow. I live here now. Three years here.” She gestures around, indicating Seattle. “You will help me find Lenochka?”
 

Ah, yes. Lenochka, the cat from hell who devoured an antique pendant. “Sure. Tell us what happened exactly. Who took your Lenochka and where did she go?” I start my investigation.
 

“And why did that woman take it?” Ali adds.
 

Svetlana sighs, her shoulders rising and falling once. She bites her lower lip, and her eyebrows form two wavy caterpillars. The hands wringing is back. She’s really freaked out about that cat. Or about that pendant. Or both. I smile encouragingly and touch her arm again. “Go on. Tell us from the beginning—who took her.”

“My boyfriend is in this gang—”
 

“Whoa! What?” Both Ali and I exclaim.
 

I start to rethink the offer of the Female Solidarity Club membership to Svetlana.

“He is a really good man…” Svetlana’s eyes dart from me to Ali and back. “He takes a good care of me.”
 

Yeah, I see that. Svetlana’s designer clothes and purse speak volumes. And are those Jimmy Choo’s she’s wearing? Ah, dammit, the curiosity is taking over, so before Ali can step in and end this rescue mission, I say, “Fine. Just tell us what happened.” For now, we’ll kinda pretend that dating a mobster is not a big deal.
 

“Andrei… my boyfriend, he runs the gang. They deal with old jewelry,” she’s having a tough time pronouncing
jewelry
, but I understand what she’s saying. “I don’t know where they get it, but there are nice things. Old, very old.”

“Probably steal it all from some poor senior citizens.” Ali frowns.
 

“I took the
medalyon
… pendant?” she’s testing the word, and when Ali and I nod, she goes on, “If he finds out the pendant is gone, he will figure out I took it. Nobody else has a key to his house and knows the combination to the safe. I’m in big trouble.” Her eyes fill with tears. I feel sorry for her. Poor girl, she got mixed up with the wrong guy. Seems so freakin’ familiar. Although my long list of loser ex-boyfriends does not include a gangster, I know all too well how it is to be in a fucked up relationship.