Deadly Crossing (Tom Dugan 2) (4 page)

Dugan nodded and reached into his pocket. He peeled two fifties off his roll and passed them to Tanya. She motioned him to keep his seat and moved to the front of the club, no doubt to give the money to the man at the podium, and returned a moment later with a key in hand. She led Dugan through a curtained doorway in the back wall and down a dimly lighted hallway with doors on either side. They stopped at the last door on the right, just short of an alarmed exit door, which Dugan presumed opened onto an alley.

“This hallway could use some more light,” Dugan said, for the benefit of Anna in the van. “Does that door go outside into the alley? Maybe we could just slip out and go to my hotel.”

“
Nyet
. I told you I cannot go out. And besides” — she smiled up at him — “you have already paid for room.”

With that, she unlocked the door and led Dugan into an average-size and none-too-clean bedroom, with a door leading off it into an attached bath. She laid the key on a battered dresser and turned to Dugan, putting her arms around his neck and smiling up at him as she pressed her body against him.

“And now, Tom the American, we discuss what Tanya can do for you,
da
?”

Dugan gently disengaged the girl’s arms before he stepped back and reached into his pocket. He pulled out his roll and peeled off a dozen bills and held them out.

He was surprised at the reaction. Tanya’s eyes widened, and she looked apprehensive. Her body language telegraphed fear, and she took a half step back, her eyes on the money in his outstretched hand.

“Is a lot. Wh…what do you want me to do?”

“Nothing kinky. I just want some information.”

The girl’s face hardened.

“So you are police. I have nothing to tell you. Get out!”

“Take it easy. I’m not the police.”

“Whoever you are, I don’t want to talk to you. You must leave!”

“Okay, I’ll leave.” Dugan laid the money on the dresser and reached into his coat pocket. “But first just look at a picture and tell me if you recognize this girl.”

Tanya turned her head, but Dugan moved the picture directly in front of her face so she had no choice but to look at it.

Blood drained from her face, but she shook her head.

“I have never seen her. I do not know her. Now get out!”

“You’re getting awfully upset about a girl you don’t know. C’mon, tell me what you know and the money’s yours, and another five hundred along with it.”

The girl looked about furtively, then lowered her voice and hissed at Dugan. “You are going to get us both killed, you fool! Take your money and go!”

***

In an office several doors away, Nazarov sat up straight at his desk, staring at the monitor. It was standard procedure to watch and listen when one of the girls took a john to the rooms. It was always much better to let the girls negotiate prices, because the johns were usually more generous if they thought the girl was getting the money. However, it was only good management to listen to the bargain and make sure the little bitches turned over all the money afterward. And besides, watching the sex was often amusing — he saved the funniest videos to watch again.

“Yuri,” he said to a large man sitting on a nearby sofa perusing a girlie magazine, “Tanya is having some sort of problem with a john in room six. Bring him to me.”

“
Da
,” said the man as he stood up. He was at least six foot five and thick chested. Muscles bulged from the heavily veined arms protruding from the sleeves of his polo shirt, and he had all the telltales of steroid abuse. A tattoo on his neck peeked from beneath his shirt, barely concealed.

“Can I slap him around?”

Nazarov shrugged. “Just bring him here. Don’t hurt him too bad unless he fights you, then do whatever is necessary.”

Yuri nodded and started for the door.

“But don’t kill him,” Nazarov added. “He’s up to something, and I need to know what.”

Club Pyatnitsa
London, UK

There were heavy footfalls in the hall, and a surprised Dugan stepped back just as the door burst open to reveal a hulking Russian filling the doorway. Tanya fled to a far corner of the room and dropped to the floor, her arms wrapped above her head in a defensive position. Obviously she’d seen the man before. Dugan was rattled by the unexpected arrival, but tried to bluff it out.

“I paid for this room. Get the hell out!”

The Russian ignored Dugan and stepped into the room. “You must come with me.” His English was heavily accented.

“I’m not going anywhere, pal,” Dugan said as he took a step back, “unless it’s back to the bar to get a shot of
Stoli
.” He spoke the last sentence down at his chest, emphasizing
Stoli
.

“You come now.” The Russian moved toward Dugan.

Dugan had circled around the bed now, to the opposite side, and the big Russian was at its foot, blocking the path to the door. Dugan wasn’t a small guy himself, but there was no way he could stand toe to toe and trade punches with this guy. Where the hell were Borgdanov and Ilya?

“I sure could use some fucking
Stoli
!” he said again, almost shouting the last word.

The big Russian regarded him quizzically. “What is this talk of
Stoli
? Are you idiot? Now come before I hurt you.” He punctuated the sentence by circling the bed, moving much faster than Dugan had thought possible.

Dugan leaped up on the bed, intent on crossing to the open door, but he felt the Russian’s arms closing on his legs. Frantic, he turned in the man’s grasp and hammered his right hand down hard on the top of the thug’s bony skull, using the side of his fist to keep from breaking his knuckles. The Russian released Dugan and fell across the bed, and Dugan bolted.

But the Russian had other plans and managed to get a hand up, snagging a foot and pulling Dugan off balance. He fell off the bed and landed hard, flat on his back on the floor, the air rushing from his lungs. Then the Russian was towering above him with clenched fists — and an evil smile.

***

Anna sat in the driver’s seat of the van and listened to Dugan’s exchange through the speakers, privately amused at his imagined discomfort. The Russians were impassive and pointedly avoided Anna’s gaze when the girl offered to perform oral sex on Dugan.

“He’s letting us know he’s on the move,” she said, when Dugan mentioned the hallway lighting. “Sounds like he’s near the rear exit. I’m going to pull around the corner to the entrance to the back alley, just in case.”

The Russians nodded as she pulled the van away from the curve. Over the speakers, they heard Dugan cut to the chase and offer the girl money.

“A bit ham-handed,” Ann muttered as she moved into light traffic. “He should have worked into that a bit more gradually.”

She was pulling into a new parking place when through the speakers came the loud bang of the opening door, followed by Dugan’s strange exchange with a male Russian.

“
Stoli
? … Bloody hell! He’s in trouble,” she said, tires squealing as she jack-rabbited from the curb and rocketed the fifty feet to the alley entrance. She slammed on the brakes and then threw the van in reverse and cut the wheel, rushing backwards down the narrow alley to come to a screeching stop near the rear entrance to the club. All three bolted from the van. Ilya reached the door first and tugged at the handle.

“Locked!” he said.

“Stand back.” Anna drew her Glock from a belt holster and fired several rounds into the metal door by the lock.

Ilya jumped forward again and grabbed the handle with both hands. After a moment’s resistance, the door opened with a metallic shriek followed immediately by the raucous clanging of an alarm.

Anna started in, but Borgdanov put a hand on her arm. “We will get
Dyed
. Better you have van ready to go immediately, so we waste no time.”

She started to argue, thought better of it, and nodded. “Take this.” She handed Borgdanov the Glock before rushing back to the driver’s seat.

Borgdanov and Ilya rushed inside and found the open bedroom door only a few steps down the dimly lit hallway. Through the door they saw a big man crouched over Dugan, his fist drawn back as he prepared to land a blow.

“Stop!” Borgdanov yelled in Russian, and the big man’s head snapped around just in time to receive a vicious front kick from Ilya that drove him over Dugan to land in a heap. Ilya was on the man in seconds, hammering his face with two more vicious haymakers.

“Enough, Ilya!” Borgdanov shouted in Russian. “He is finished. Help me get
Dyed
up.”

Ilya turned back to see Borgdanov stuff the Glock in his belt and reach down to help Dugan. Dugan brushed off Borgdanov’s hand and rose unsteadily on his own.

“I’m okay. I just got the wind knocked out of me.”

“We must go!” Borgdanov said.

“Wait,” Dugan said, looking at Tanya cowering in the corner. “She recognized the picture of Karina. She knows something. We have to question her.”

Borgdanov stepped to the door and glanced down the long hallway. “There is no time,
Dyed
. I think we have company very soon.”

Dugan looked from Borgdanov to the girl and back again, then motioned Ilya towards Tanya.

“Take her, and let’s get out of here!” Dugan said, and Ilya rushed to the corner to scoop the girl up and flee the building on Dugan’s and Borgdanov’s heels.

They were nearly to the van before Tanya realized what was happening. She twisted in Ilya’s arms and screamed curses in Russian as she struggled to escape. He clamped a hand across her mouth to silence her and got bitten for his efforts. At the van, Dugan waved the two Russians and their struggling captive through the cargo door and slid it shut behind them, then jumped into the front passenger seat.

“Go,” Dugan said to Anna, as she looked back to see Borgdanov and Ilya struggling to restrain a half-naked girl who was fighting like a wildcat.

“Bloody hell!” Anna said.

“Go,” Dugan repeated and was rewarded by the squeal of tires as Anna slammed the accelerator pedal to the floor.

Kairouz Residence
London, UK

Anna paced the expensive oriental carpet and muttered under her breath, pausing occasionally to glare at Dugan and the two Russians seated on the sofa. Alex watched her from a chair across from the subdued trio.

“Bloody unbelievable,” she said out loud at last, directing her ire at Dugan. “You’ve really topped yourself this time, Tom. How could you?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. Besides, we rescued her.”

“Let’s just recap, shall we. It’s a ‘rescue’ when the person wants to come with you. When you take them against their will, it’s called kidnapping. Do you see the difference?”

“She’ll thank us when she understands,” Dugan said.

“And how’s that working out so far?”

“Anna, I know you’re upset,” Alex said, “and there’s no doubt Thomas’s action was impulsive, but what’s done is done. And if anyone can reach the girl, it’s Gillian.”

“And what’s the plan if Gillian can’t ‘reach’ her? Do we drag her down to the basement and water-board her until she tells us what we want to know?”

“Please, Anna. Do not be angry at
Dyed
,” Ilya said. “Is my fault. You are trying to help me, so problem is my responsibility, and I took the girl, not
Dyed
.”

“After he told you to,” Anna persisted.

“You’re right,” Dugan said. “I didn’t think it through, but as Alex says, what’s done is done. Let’s just hope Gillian can get through to her. For sure she’s not likely to trust any of us otherwise.”

***

Gillian sat at the kitchen table across from Tanya. The girl still wore the scanty black bikini, but it was covered by an old bathrobe Gillian had scrounged from Cassie’s closet. Tanya was trembling but no longer crying — her eye makeup ran in dark streaks down her cheeks. She stared down in silence at her hands folded on the table in front of her. She hadn’t said a word since Gillian had shooed the others from the room and sat down with the girl, thirty minutes earlier.

“Would you like something to eat, dear, or a nice cup of tea?” Gillian asked.

Tanya shook her head, eyes downcast.

Gillian let the silence drag on a few minutes more and then reached across the table and took the girl’s hand, holding it tight when she tried to pull it away.

“I know what you’re going through,” Gillian said softly.

Tanya’s head flew up, and there was fire in her eyes. “You know nothing. You are fine lady in big house, probably with many servants. You go where you want and do what you want. You think world is safe and beautiful place and bad things only happen on TV. You think you can fix everything with ‘nice cup of tea,’
da
? Well, you know nothing of MY life, fine English lady, so please, do not tell me you know ANYTHING.”

She tried to pull her hand away again, but Gillian held on, gently but firmly. Finally Tanya gave up and resumed staring down at the table. Gillian said nothing for a long while and then began to speak, her voice low and gentle, completely at odds with the raw story behind the words.

“My mother was a drug addict and street prostitute, and my father was her pimp. She delivered me in a charity hospital after my ‘dad’ attempted to induce a late-term abortion by means of a savage beating.” Gillian paused. “But I survived, so I guess you could say I was tough from the start.”

Tanya raised her head, shocked.

“I never knew my mother,” Gillian continued, “as she died a short time later from a drug overdose. I suppose I was born addicted, but no one would waste drugs on an infant, so fortunately I have no memories of that first withdrawal. I was passed around among the other girls of my father’s stable, but my memories of that time are fairly dim.” Gillian shuddered and seemed to steel herself before she continued.

“I do remember my eighth birthday, when my father told me we were going to have a party with a new friend. He stripped me naked and tied me to a dirty mattress, then proceeded to sell my virginity to a fat old man with rotten teeth and stinking breath.” She paused, as if bracing herself to continue. “He bragged to me later that he made five hundred pounds off the transaction, and he bought me a bag of Jelly Babies as a reward. I’ve hated the vile things to this day.