Post by vulcan13 on Jul 24, 2008 11:46:29 GMT -8
Here we go all together!
What do you do when all the questions you have are about the death of the man with all the answers? It is a question I have been asking myself everyday since my landlord Alexei died. He just died, of nothing the police could find, not a heart attack, not a stroke, not even poison; he just kicked the bucket, left the building, dropped dead. The man was only, i guess, 52. I can't understand it, that old russian was tough as old tree roots, but now he's gone.
Now admittedly, he was a little strange. He owned a boarding house, but I was the only one who rented a room, besides a few people who spent a night here and there. He also had a bunch of, shall we say, shadowy aquantances who came in the middle of the night to see him; I don't think they were overly concerned with hiding their arrival, they rang the doorbell and woke me up, but whatever they had to talk about must have been very secret; They used to lock me into my room.
I have no idea how Alexei made his money, or who these strange people were, but i have a feeling I'm about to find out. That stinker willed the whole, big mess to me. END VULCAN
When his lawyer called me this morning and told me he'd forgotten to hand me a brown envelope that he'd promised Alexei he'd give me if anything happened to him, I thought viola! Perhaps all will be revealed now. I hurried down to the Lawyer's office as soon as I finished work. I was feeling a little nervous when I left the Lawyer, clutching the brown envelope.
Back home, I poured a drink, sat on the sofa and contemplated the rather bulky envelope I'd placed on the coffee table. There was something exciting about trying to guess: Would it have the answers as to how Alexei died? Maybe its money. Perhaps...
I refilled my glass, gulped down a mouth full of whisky and picked up the envelope. I ripped at it impatiently and pulled out the contents: A magazine, with the pages folded back revealing a half finished crossword. A pen, and a picture of a beautiful young woman. End Secrets
"What is this!?," I thought to myself. The man was odd, but leaving me this stuff? What type of practical joke is this?
No, it can't be a joke. It's not in Alexei's nature to joke. He could be quite amiable, but rarely humorous. No, this is certainly not a joke. There must be some clue in here, but a clue to what? This package is creating many more questions than answers.
The crossword. In an old TIME magazine. Let's start here. I filled my shot glass, covered in old Pirate Jolly Rogers. It was a novelty glass Alexei gave me once for my birthday. Yes, the landlord was always kind to me. I can't complain about that, but did he think leaving me this mess of a boarding house was being kind?
But I digress... I sipped the strong spirits and flipped through the magazine. Nothing. The June 1984 TIME was devoid of clues of any kind. No marked words, folded pages, nothing of the sort.
That was a useless lead. How about the pen? I picked up the rather heavy writing instrument and examined it. "Albright Law Offices, 1283 Abbott Place, Suite 7. 1-439-732-8772." Apparently, my landlord had dealings with an attorney. Perhaps if I contected them, I could find out the what was up with the dealings with those shady characters...
And there still remains this picture. Wow, she is a beautiful girl. Even though this picture is an old black and white one, it's obvious that she would be the center of attention in any room. Blond hair, bright eyes, and a brilliantly white sun dress. But who was she? And what, if any, connection does she have to Alexei, and those shady visitors? I guess I should try the law firm next.
I picked up the pen once more to write down the address, but as soon as I lifted it, the bottom dropped off and a tiny slip of white paper drifted out...END ACE
Ah ha! A peice of paper, maybe it has something useful written on it, i picked the paper up, the text was tiny and barely legible, gah this doesn't make sense! It has just a bunch of random letters! Wait, I looked at it closer. No, this is too organized to not be a code. But what could help me crack it? The crossword puzzle! Of course! I picked the puzzle up, man i should have looked at this more closely, then i would have noticed that the answers filled in are slightly misspelled. Ah, I think i understand this code now, 26 answers, 26 letters in the american alphabet.
Hm, this is a very basic code, but at the same time is hard to pick up by the normal person. But, it would take a mastermind to get this just perfect, wow i didn't know Alexia had it in him. This is odd, if this paper has to deal with the murder it just adds so many more questions, did he predict his death? Did he do something that would cause him to die? My brain hurts, but i have to start decoding this puzzle. This may take awhile.
Long time later...
There are only 20 answers! Dangit! The code is so close to being able to read it, it's almost frustrating. What else could i be missing? Hidden message on the picture? I held it up to my flashlight, seeing the missing letters decoding itself, A = G H = E Y = S J = C N = I B = A. Why would someone go through all this trouble to tell me something a sentence long? Could this be that big of a deal? I hope i'm not getting into something that will get me killled too. I shuddered the thought. No matter, i have to decode the paper now.....END SABRE
I snatched the tiny piece of paper from the table where i had just finished decoding it. It was in Russian, of coarse. Alexei obviously wasn't going to make this easy for me. I jotted down the address for the law firm on another piece of paper and headed for the door. I grabbed my coat and hat from the rack and bolted out the door.
The cold air against my face immediately canceled any effect left by the liquor. My breath billowed out in from of me in white clouds as I walked down toward the library. I was almost to the end of the block when i heard a loud male voice calling me from near the door to the house.
"Hey wait!" he called down the street. I would have ignored him if not for the extremely thick Russian accent that muddled all his words.
"What do you want?" I called as i turned and walked back toward him.
"Are you Dasha?" The man asked.
I stood and gaped at him for a moment. He was my age, in his 20's, tall and lean in torn, blue jeans with a thick leather belt around his narrow hips and brown leather ankle boots. He wore a thin t-shirt through which the muscles in his chest were visible and a thick leather band around his right wrist. His black curly hair was graying with frost. He must have been freezing!
"Who?" I asked. "Aren't you cold?"
He ignored my second question. "Dasha? umm..." He ran his left hand through his hair revealing a small golden loop earing. "...Danielle?" His Russian accent altered the pronunciation of my name a lot, but i recognized it. "You own this house?"
"Yes," I answered quickly. "Do you want it?"
"No," he answered. He looked at me with a confused expression. "Why?"
"Don't worry about it," I responded. "What can I do for you?"
"No," he said, "I am here to help you."
"With what?" I asked. "Never mind, can you read this?" I held out the tiny piece of paper to him.
"I looks like a law firm in Abbot Place to me" He said as he gave me the paper and a very strange look. I looked down at the paper, it was the wrong one.
"Not that one." I said. "this one." I handed him the other paper.
He stared at it for a long moment before looking back at me. "It says, 'follow you magic and let it sing, for if it leaves there will be no spring. That rhymes very well in English. It doesn't rhyme in Russian. Maybe he wrote it to rhyme in English but not in Russian. Then why write it in Russian?" He was thinking very hard about it.
"Maybe so i would have to have you read it to me?" I suggested, feeling very smart.
"Not for me to read to you, he wouldn't have known i was coming."
"Who are you?" I asked realizing that i didn't know.
"Mikhail," He answered. "Just Mikhail." The name sounded so wonderful in his Russian accent.
"So was Alexei like Russian mob or something, Mikhail?" I asked him weighing the name as I spoke it.
"No, nothing like that," He answered. "Well, nothing so mundane." END VULCAN
"So just what is the deal with this mysterious note; those late-night meetings? What was Alexei a part of?"
"My friend, Danielle, I would like to come inside. It is too cold to discuss these things outside."
We walked back inside the boarding house, into my rooms. I let him in without thinking; I hope he can be trusted. I shut the door and locked it. Too late to worry about that now. I steadied my nerves to hide my apprehension and walked over to the table.
"Would you like some coffee?" I asked him.
"Please, if you do not mind. It would help to warm my chilled bones."
I set the steaming mug in front of him and took a seat. After a long sip, he looked up.
"Danielle, I know you probably have many questions about Alexei's death, but they will all be answered in due time."
"Tell me, what was he involved in?"
"Ah, that's the most important bit. That will come to light in a few minutes. Alexei never told you about his past before the boarding house, did he?"
"No, he never was very talkative. He liked me well enough, but he tended to keep to himself most of the time."
"That is evident from what he left you. He may not have spoken much, but he thought a lot of you to leave you such responsibility. You see, Alexei never was really sociable, and he became even more quiet after his escape."
"Escape?!"
"He really never told you anything, did he? The escape I refer to wasn't from prison, or asylum, but from an even greater oppressor. The iron grip of the Soviet Union."
END ACE
"I always figured he was a defector. I couldn't make him out as a villain." I responded warily.
"He isn't!" Mikhail. assured me waving his hands in front of him, "Wasn't. We are the good guys."
I stared at him for a long moment. He began looking worried and muttering in Russian under his breath, no doubt checking his translation. "And who are the bad guys?" Asked sarcastically.
"The soviets!" He exclaimed. There was a surprising passion in he Russian accented voice. "There are thousands of people starving in cities and countrysides alike, and they do nothing to aid them!"
"What does this have to do with Alexi?" I asked slightly shocked by his passion.
"Alexi gave aid. All of us give aid."
"How?" i asked wondering if he was going to hit me up for money.
"We make supplies available where none were available before." He answered in a calm voice. The speech was obviously rehearsed.
"Like the black market?" I asked shocked. "You people are smugglers?"
"Smugglers, yes. Black market, no. We don't charge for our goods. They are free to those in need." He was talking very fast now and difficult to understand, but his eyes pleaded with me not to judge so quickly.
"How do you cross the iron curtain?" I asked.
"We have ways." He responded. "I am not at liberty to tell you, but we do."
"And you are not the black market?"
"No, we are a... white market. A team of good guys, with good intentions. Who also happen to be criminals, but not... bad guys." He looked pained by his inability to further elaborate. His English wasn't as good as I had thought.
"OK and what does this have to do with me?" I asked, I could see the tension build in his face as i asked it.
"Alexi has left you this..." He struggled for a moment to find the word. "...base. This base of operations on the United States side of the world. He has left you to run it."
"Why would he do that?" I asked; this was beginning to sound like a practical joke.
Mikhail studied me for a moment before responding, "It isn't clear to me, but Alexi, I'm sure, had his reasons. I personally wouldn't have left a woman in charge, but..."
"Why not?" I interrupted. "A woman can do anything a man can do! This is 1985!"
"Yes," He answered quietly, "and in America women have been liberated, but not so much in Russia. Excuse my old world thinking." He stood up and walked to stand in front of me where he took a knee and bowed his head. "My apologies."
"Stand up!" I demanded. He did and then sat back in his chair. "SO now that I'm running a base," I said playfully."What do i have to do?"
"It's mostly a safe house until a boat leaves, but you will also have to collect and send out letters of various descriptions. No one will expect you to be Alexi, but he was very important to our operation in the west."
I nodded my head. I was sure this was all a game. What did I have to loss? "Sure, OK, anything else?"
"Do you own a gun?" Mikhail asked me. His face had grown serious, far away from the playfulness that had been there when he knelt in apology.
"No." I responded slowly. I began to think that maybe this wasn't a game.
"Then here," He reached into the waist of his jeans and pulled out a small revolver. He held it out for me to take. "I don't think you will need it, but better to be safe."
I recoiled at the sight of the weapon. He was serious. He was dead serious, and i had just agreed to join a Russian smuggling ring. "I can't. This can't be real. I have to go." I grabbed my jacket and bolted for the door. He followed me.
"What about the house? What about the base?" He called out to me.
"You run it!" I shouted back to him as I ran out the door.
"I can't!" he yelled back at me from the stoop in front of the boarding house. "They know me!"
Those words froze me in my tracks. I turned slowly back around; he had already caught up to me. "Who knows you Mikhail? Who Do you come to this house to be safe from? Mikhail This is America. Everyone is scared to death of Russians, and if the CIA thinks I'm a spy..."
"Not the CIA. " He said taking me by the shoulders and trying to calm me down. "The KGB."
"Oh like that's better!" I screamed. He covered my mouth with his hand.
"Not the whole KGB, just these two agents. They were humiliated by Alexi's defection, and have been tracking us all down, but they can't move with American witnesses near by. You are what made that house safe, Dasha."
He stared into my eyes, and slowly dropped his hand. As he did I saw two men dressed in black suits approach they door to the house. He glanced over his shoulder and saw them too. He pushed me into the ally, out of sight, and whispered to me, "Wait here for 10 minutes then go back to the house. Do not open the door for anyone, who isn't one of us."
"How will i know who's safe, idiot?" I asked resorting to sarcasm only out of sheer terror.
"Alexi called you Dasha. It isn't quite proper Russian, but is shows he cared. Don't open the door for anyone who calls you Danielle!"
He handed me the gun, and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. He walked out of the ally as he fumbled to light it. After a moment of shouting in Russian he ran past the mouth of the ally with the two men in suits a few seconds behind. I glanced at my watch and began counting ten minutes. END VULCAN
I waited the entire ten minutes, my eyes fixated on the opening of the alley. My fingers had become numb from grasping the gun Mikhail gave me so tightly. Every slight sound made the hair on the back of my kneck stand up. I regained my composure and walked slowly out of the alley. I grasped my keys for a quick entry into the boarding house. When i reached the front steps I dashed to the door unlocked it and jumped inside. I quickly slammed the door and locked it. "I might want to invest in some more locks," I thought as I rested against the door. I proceeded throught every room of the house inspecting every square inch of the building, gun in hand. After rechecking the doors and windows, I made my way to my bed, locking the door behind me.
The next day Mikhail came back. His T-shirt was tattered and dirty. He had cuts and bruises all over his body accompanied by the occasional burn mark. "Who are you supposed to be, Rambo?," I asked trying to break the tension in the room. "Do you have any coffee?" he asked as he went to the fireplace to warm his frozen limbs. "Sure, how do you like it?" I inquired even though since he seemed the typical tough guy I figured he would want it black. "Black," he responded, his thick Russian accent coming out quite forcefully. "So, what do we do now?" I asked him as he sipped the piping hot coffee. "You don't need to know yet," he answere gruffly. Irritated by the lack of answers, I shrewdly asked, "Why not? I have just as much reason to know as you do!" He jumped up from his seat, towering over me with his deep blue eyes staring into mine. I stepped back as he advanced towards me. "STOP!!" I yelled as I tripped over the coffee table and landed square on my back. "Curious woman, I knew it was foolish of Alexei to hand everything over to you!" Suddenly I heard the sound of hinges being rent fromt the door facing. Slow footsteps resounded down the hallway, it was too late to douse the fire or shut the door. A man eeriely similar to Mikhail stepped into the room. Wait, that is Mikhail!!! "What the heck is going on?" I thought as I rapidly looked from one Mikhail to the other. "You!" both Mikhails said simultaneously. They then started yelling in Russian. I slowly crept away and hid under the bed in my room. They realized I had gone and stopped yelling. I heard a silenced gunshot and a body hit the floor. Footsteps came right to my bed and big, heavy, black boots stood mere inches from my face. The dust ruffle was jerked up and the pistol jammed under the bed. "Don't shoot!! Don't shoot!!," I screamed and shut my eyes bracing for what was to come.
I opened my eyes when nothing happened. I was in my bed dripping with sweat. I looked at the clock, it was three in the morning. "Phew, just a dream," I said. I jumped a little bit as my voice came louder than I expected. I was alive! END GREEN
I jumped at a sharp rap on the front door. I drew the gun from my nightstand and went to investigate. As i reached the end of the front hall I could hear Mikhail calling, "Dasha, Dasha, It's me! let me in Dasha!" I opened the door slowly and poked the end of the gun through the opening. A cold hand pushed the gun down toward the floor and Mikhail slid cautiously into the hall.
He was wearing the same t-shirt and jeans as before, this time accompanied by a nicely tailored black coat from the waist up, which then tapered slightly at the hips and fell loosely around his shins. As he moved I could see his own handgun, a black official looking number sorta like the one a police man would carry. He turned quickly around and locked the doors.
He didn't say anything as we walked into the living room. He ushered me in and hung his coat on my coat rack. As I turned around to talk to him I Gasped in horror at his appearance. His shirt was torn nearly to shreds beneath it i could see scrapes, busies even burns. A huge patch of blood was growing from the front of his right shoulder.
"You look..." I began.
"I know," He cut me off. "Good news though," he said turning around to reveal an equally big path of blood on the back of his shoulder. "It's through and through. No bullet to remove."
"You think that's good news?" I said examining his equally torn up back. The back of his jeans was worn nearly white, probably from sliding on pavement.
"It is better than some," he groaned in an exceptionally heavy Russian accent as he eased himself into a worn leather chair. "Do you have a first aid kit?" He looked expectantly up at me as he pressed his palm against the bullet wound on his chest. I turned to go and look in my room upstairs. "You might bring a sewing kit, too." I heard him call up the stairs after me.
A few minuted later I returned with a sewing kit and a roll of gauze. "This is all I've got." I said apologetically.
"Tape?" He responded seeing the gauze.
"Packing tape." I answered.
"and scissors." I ran into the library to get the other stuff. when I returned he had removed his shirt and pulled a bottle of vodka from the liquor cabinet.
"I need a drink too." I said, seeing the bloody mess that covered his upper body.
"then you will have to wait" He said opening the bottle. "Do you have a rag?" I ran into the kitchen and grabbed an old towel.
He thanked me quietly as i handed the towel to him. He dumped a fair amount of the clear liquid onto the rag, and began cleaning the scrapes visual through the torn knees of his jeans. He winced a little every time the rag touched his cuts, but continued diligently for a moment before re wetting the rag.
"Should I get your back?" i asked trying to make it sound like i was applying sunscreen.
"Please," He said extending me the rag. He moved over to sit beside me on the couch and turned his back toward me. I dampened the towel with more vodka and began to clean the mess of dried blood of his back. Every time I hit a cut or scrape i could feel the muscles in his back tighten, but he didn't say anything in complaint.
As i gently cleaned the bullet wound in his shoulder he reached his hand back and handed me a needle threaded with black thread. "I can't do that!" I exclaimed seeing his offering.
"You can do it better than I can." He pointed out calmly. "It's just like sewing up a hole in a sock. Don't put the needle through too close to the edge so it doesn't tear out, and close it as well as you can." Hands shaking, I took the needle.
"Hold on!" I said as I ran over to the cabinet, and pulled out a shot glass. "You are going to need it." I said as I poured a shot of vodka into the glass. He took it gratefully and downed it in one throw. I picked the needle back up and cleaned it with the vodka soaked rag.
"Don't worry about it." He reassured me quietly. "It will be fine." I poked the needle through the skin and felt him jump. I nervously began to stitch it shut. After several hushed minutes of intense concentration, I tied the string off and cut it with the scissors. All cleaned up his back didn't look nearly so bad.
"All done." I chimed. "You can do your chest right?"
"I may need some help sewing," He answered. There was sweat beading upon his face, but he was clearly shivering now. Dark circles had emerged under his eyes, and his face was paper white. I realized that he had been bleeding from the wound on his chest the whole time.
"Let me get you a blanket," I said trying to find a way to relieve his shivers. As i wrapped it around his shoulders the doorbell ran. As i went slowly into the hall I could here my friend Angela, calling me.
"Who is it?" Mikhail called out to me.
"It Angela, she's a friend of mine. She doesn't know anything about this."
I heard him scoff at me from where he sat on the couch. I Went over and opened the door; just as i did Mikhail called out "She will suspect something when she realizes that you have a Russian bleeding in your living room."
"Who was that?" Angela asked me. Her big brown eyes got wider in her ebony face. "Do you have a boyfriend that you haven't told me about?" She asked flipping her long braids over her shoulder.
"Yeah," I lied. "Do you want to meet him?"
"Hell yes!" Angela said quietly glancing around to see if he was going to come into the hall. I let her in and she walked into the living room, her blue pumps clacking on the tile floor.
I ran in after her and sat down beside Mikhail. Without waiting for him to say anything I put my hand under his chin and kissed him hard. His lips were cold and dry; he tasted like vodka and blood. I drew away from him after only a second and as i did, I whispered in his ear, "play along." As i looked into his face i could still see the shock of being kissed slowly fading from his eyes. He nodded gently and wrapped the blanket farther around himself to hid his still oozing wound.
"So, who are you?" Angela asked. She was never known for subtlety.
"Mikhail," He answered weakly. "I am a friend of Alexi's"
"You don't look so good." Angela observed. "Do you need some help?"
Then the thought flashed through my mind. Angela was a nurse! I could see out of the corner of my eye Mikhail shaking his head, but my fear for his life out weighed my fear of his anger.
"Yeah," I answered. "There is actually." I pulled the blanket back to reveal Mikhail's yet uncleaned and still bleeding chest. Angela gasped in horror. End Vulcan
"Aaghh!" screamed the nurse, taken aback by the sight of the injured man lying in her friend's living room. "What happened!?!"
"Well, I was attempting to hang up this new light fixture for my girlfriend here, and..." said Mikhail, failing miserably at making a lie. I quickly covered for him.
"That's not important. Can you patch him up, Angela?"
"I...I could, depending on what supplies you have on hand."
I waved my hand towards the meager stack of gauze and packaging tape.
"Yeah, that's not quite going to cut it, but I will see what I can do. First, we need to clean this up. Mind if I use your bathroom sink?"
Nodding in agreement and I moved to help her support the limping Russian as he moved towards the sink. Mikhail winced every two or three steps, the wound was becoming more and more painful by the minute. Angela quickly grabbed a moist washcloth and began to gingerly wipe away some of the dried blood around the open sore. Mikhail's face maintained a stoic expression, but I could tell he was in pain.
Once the wound was more visible, Angela gasped. "Who did this to you? This is a text book bullet wound!"
Mikhail began to say something, but Danielle again cut him off. "I'll explain soon enough. Can you close the wound?"
"Yes, but he really needs to go to a hospital and get stitches."
"No!" Mikhail suddenly said. "I cannot go to a hospital. I will be fine. My body has seen much worse." The Russian began to sit up, but Angela quickly stopped him.
"You mustn't move until I get the gauze in place. It is a poor substitute for proper stitches, but it will work for the time being."
While the nurse was positioning the bandages, Mikhail fell into a light, restless sleep. When Angela was finished, she turned to me and asked sharply, "Now tell me, what in the name of all that's holy is going on! I know you didn't just suddenly get a Russian boyfriend and not tell me about it. I'm your best friend!"
Danielle pondered how much she should let her friend know about her situation.
"Let's let him rest somewhere more comfortable than my bathroom floor, first," I said, stalling, grabbing the Russian's shoulders. With no small effort, we eventually got Mikhail onto my relatively small bed.
I paused for a moment and watched the gentle rising and falling of the chest that belonged to the large, blood-stained man that was resting on my bed. What had he been through?
"Now, what is going on, Danielle?"
"I wish I could tell you, Angela. All this is..is so...sudden."
"What's so sudden?"
"The Russians. The ring. The white market. This base...the entire operation...me...everything..." her voice trailed off.
"What Russians? Ring? Base? What are you talking about, girl? Are you going crazy?"
"No, but it feels like it. You see, there's this White Market smuggling ring..."
"White...market?"
"Yes, to fight Soviet Opression there's this-"
"Dannie! This is America! There are no Soviets here! Don't go all McCarthy on me now."
"They...err...we, we aren't talking about America. This is Russia, Soviet Russia that we deal with."
"Who deals with? Deals with what? You aren't making any sense!"
"Okay, let me start from the beginning. You remember my old landlord?"
"Yeah, that eccentric Russian guy, whatshisname, Alex? He died, right?"
"Alexei. Yeah. I was the sole beneficiary in his will and he left me this boarding house."
"You? You own this? Ha! Wait, but what does that have to do with a Russian ring of 'White Market' smugglers?"
"Everything. After Alexei died, this-"
I quickly fell silent as her doorbell rang. From the speaker box came this hail:
"Hello, Danielle? This is John Williams, from the postal service? I have a package here you need to sign for."
I could feel the blood drain out of my face as I heard my given name called by an unfamilair voice. I was addressed as Danielle, not Dasha. Quickly glancing down the hall to a window overlooking the street next to her boardinghouse, I could see a figure pacing on the far side. He was wearing a conspicious black suit.
"Danielle, what's going on?" asked a confused Angela.
"Shh! Say nothing! Angela, go stand in that closet next to the bathroom and be silent."
"But-"
"Silence! Hide, now!"
I waited for my friend to get out of sight before I drew the revolver Mikhail had given me and stalked slowly towards the front door; the sound of the doorbell buzzing shattered the sudden silence. There was no Mikhail to back me up this time. END ACE
The room went silent as I went for the door, it's just the postal service, there is nothing to worry about. Taking a deep breathe, i grasped the cold silver knob and turned slowly. Reassuring myself, I looked to make sure sure Mikhail was safely out of sight. My heart drew heavy and my blood went thin. What if this was the guy that shot him, pretending to be the postal service? These questions earthed doughts deep inside. The doorbell went off again, shattering all feelings of emotion and a shockwave pulsed through my body. Openning the door, it creeked in the silence from the house's age, only giving more suspence to what was on the other side. A cracking sound followed, and a rush of bitter cold air blew hard and slightly blinded me.
A wide grined colored man greeted me, wearing a thick wool suit to keep him warm. I gave a sigh of relief, and stepped out, closing the door behind me. He held up a big brown box with a clipboard and pen on top. What would be so big to be inside this box, i haven't ordered anything in months.
"Sign on the bottom of the page please." He said professionally, maybe a bit too rehearshed. I picked the pen up and gracefully wrote my name in cursive, then taking the box and giving the clipboard to him. He walked back to his warm white delivery truck, waiting for him to return.
Walking back inside, Mikhail came back into view. I put the box on the floor, Angela came out of hiding too, it seems that while I was out, she finished closing the wound. The box. I had to know what was in there, it could be anything. End Sabre.
I placed the larg box on the floor and stared down at it. Mikhail came over and examined it too. I looked up at him, he still looked bad, the wound on his chest was bleeding through the gauze.
"Are you going to open it?" He asked me. As i looked at him he pulled a folding knife out of his pocket and flipped it open. It was spring loaded.
I took the knife gently in my hand and pressed it against the packing tape that sealed the box. I gently slid the knife through and began to slide the knife down to the end of the box.
Bam! There was a loud knock on the door. Bam! another echoed through the silent room. Then whoever was knocking called inside, "Misha! Misha, open the door!" The thick russian accent that shrouded the words set the hair on the back of my neck on end.
I pulled the gun out of the back of my jeans and pointed it towards the door. Mikhail placed his cold, shaking hand over mine on the gun and pushed it down towards the floor. "Let him in" Mikhail whispered in my ear. I began to protest, but he immediatly interupted me. "Just let him in Dasha."
I moved quietly towards the door, as I placed my hand on the knob the man called again, "Misha, let me in; it is freezing out here!" I slid the threw the door open with all the force I could muster. The man jumped back from the door; his hands out splay fingered in from of him.
After a moment of staring at each other I swept my hand back and ushered him inside. Immediatly upon seeing him Mikhail threw his hands into the air. "Sergei!" He said in a loud voice, "What are you doing here?"
"Comming to see how everyone is setteling in," The stranger responded in a much quieter tone. "Misha," he said his voice hushed almost to a whisper, "you look like hell." Mikhail nodded as Sergei took him by the shoulders. "You're bleeding." He added at he spotted a small drop of blood runnign down Mikhail's chest.
"You don't look so heavenly yourself." Mikhail croaked trying to add some humor to the situation.
I took a moment to examin this new Russian. He had thick, stiff, brown hair that hung in his face and over his ears. His large green eyes peered out of his strikingly handsom face. He had beautiful and very russian features, all sharp, definite, and a little forlorn.
He slid out of his heavy black trench coat, revealing a tight tee-shirt and a pair of loose pants that ended just below his knee and were sinched tight there. on his feet were a pair of delecate black sneekers. Then he looked over at Angela. "You have not stitched the wound?" He asked. It wasn't really a question, but the simple word why permiated his expression.
"No," Angela replied, fully ready to defend her reasons.
"Is there any reason why I shouldn't?" He asked her beforeturning back to face Mikhail who was clearly sick of being prodded.
"Are you a doctor?" She asked skeptically.
"No, I'm a dancer," He explained motioning down at his strange clothing.
"Then you arn't qualified to stitch him up."
Sergei turned to Angela and with a look one might give a small child he said, "It isn't that hard." He looked back at Mikhail "Do you have supplies?" Mikhail nodded and indicated the living room. Without any objections Mikhail allowed the significantly shorter Russian to slip an arm around him and support him onto the sofa.
Angela gave me a look of near rage, her dark eyes wide and her lips thin. "What is up with these russians?" She hissed at me through her teeth.
"trust me," I defended. "If I knew I'd tell you." We then followed the men into the living room.
When we arrives Sergei was already stitching Mikhail up using the sma eneedle I had used this time threaded with red threat. Angela patiently until he was doen to explode.
"Who are you people?" She screamed so loud the neighbors must have heard.
Mikhail, already looking drained, collapsed back into the couch and pressed his forarm against his eyes. Sergei stood up to look her in they eye, or at least try. Admitedly in those pumps she was probably five foot ten or eleven, but she towered a good three or four inches over him.
In responce to her blaring question he mearly placed a finger over his mouth, and whispered. "Please, quiet down." He then turned on me and extending a hand for me to shake introduced himself. "I'm sorry," he began, "I should have introduced myself to you sooner. I am Sergei." I shook his hand. "I am assuming youa re Dasha." I nodded , the sound of my adopted nickname soothed my nerves a bit. "I'm a friend," he assured me. I nodded again.
He looked akwardly for a moment and then whispered, "You canlet go of my hand now, yes?" I jumped and released him.
"Sorry," I ghasped, forcing the reluctant words from my tongue. "It's justthat all of this seems more real now that i know there are more than just Mikhail involved with this."
He nodded, "It suprises me that no one but Misha has come to see you. Although it shouldn't."
"Excuse me," I interupted him. He looked up at me with wide eyes and leaned his head towards me to listen. "Why do you call him Misha? I mean, isn't his name Mikhail?"
He smiled gently at me, "It is a..." he searched for the word. "Diminutive?" He looked to me for recognition, there was none. He tried again, "It is a childhood nickname. Something he parents, grandparents, close friends might call him."
"Ahh," I answered in understanding. "Do you have a nickname?"
"Yes, but I don't like it much, not even my parents use it." He answered reluctanly.
"What is it?" I pushed trying to figure this stranger out.
"Sergunya." The name sounded beautiful in his Russian voice, but i had the distinct feeling I would not be able to reproduce it.
"Sergei it is." I responded. He nodded his approval.
"Perhaps," He suggested staring back into the hall. "You should open that box." END VULCAN
"Wait, how did you know...?, Nevermind." I knew it was useless to ask questions by now.
I went back into the hall and picked up Mikhail's knife and the mysterious package. I shook it like a child before christmas. No sound came from it; no rattling, banging, jingling, nothing. I walked back into the room holding the box as if it were going to blow up any second. Mikhail, who had started to feel better, laughed at my actions. Blood flushed into my cheeks and I moved the box a little closer as I sat it on the coffee table. I flipped open the knife and slowly slit the packing tape.
"OH COME ON ALREADY!" Angela screamed as she jerked the box and the knife from me, "Thats the problem with you people," she said looking especially at Sergei, "Takes you a month to open a box! Seriously, what WOULD you do without me?" Mikhail and Sergei looked at each other in amusement as the black woman rambeled on about President Ford and starving children.
Angela had opened the box and was removing the packing peanuts when the doorbell cut the silence like a knife on an infomercial. Everyone looked to Sergei, who had a terrified look on his face. "Who in Moscow is that?" whispered Mikhail under his breath.
"OH! Dang, look at me, messin up yall's little box opening. I forgot I ordered a pizza. I hope yall like anchovies!!!" I had to restrain Mikhail as she came back with 4 large fully loaed pizzas that reeked with the smell of anchovies. "What, you got a eye problem or sumthin?" she said as we all glared at her.
"That could've been the KGB," I told her as she opened the pizza box and the foul odor permeated the room.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I completely forgot they're with the White Market! Well, I'll just sit here and eat my pizza while you three take your sweet time opening that box."
Just as I began to delve further into the box the doorbell rang again and everyones attention was on Angela, whose mouth was full of pizza. "Well, there I go again, messin up yall's little box opening! I forgot to give the poor lil pizza boy his money. I'll be right back yall...." Mikhail and Sergei stared at each other in disbeilef.
"Thats Angela," I said as I grabbed the box again, "You gotta love her."
"Quick open the box before she gets back," Mikhail growled in a clearly irritated tone. END GREEN
What do you do when all the questions you have are about the death of the man with all the answers? It is a question I have been asking myself everyday since my landlord Alexei died. He just died, of nothing the police could find, not a heart attack, not a stroke, not even poison; he just kicked the bucket, left the building, dropped dead. The man was only, i guess, 52. I can't understand it, that old russian was tough as old tree roots, but now he's gone.
Now admittedly, he was a little strange. He owned a boarding house, but I was the only one who rented a room, besides a few people who spent a night here and there. He also had a bunch of, shall we say, shadowy aquantances who came in the middle of the night to see him; I don't think they were overly concerned with hiding their arrival, they rang the doorbell and woke me up, but whatever they had to talk about must have been very secret; They used to lock me into my room.
I have no idea how Alexei made his money, or who these strange people were, but i have a feeling I'm about to find out. That stinker willed the whole, big mess to me. END VULCAN
When his lawyer called me this morning and told me he'd forgotten to hand me a brown envelope that he'd promised Alexei he'd give me if anything happened to him, I thought viola! Perhaps all will be revealed now. I hurried down to the Lawyer's office as soon as I finished work. I was feeling a little nervous when I left the Lawyer, clutching the brown envelope.
Back home, I poured a drink, sat on the sofa and contemplated the rather bulky envelope I'd placed on the coffee table. There was something exciting about trying to guess: Would it have the answers as to how Alexei died? Maybe its money. Perhaps...
I refilled my glass, gulped down a mouth full of whisky and picked up the envelope. I ripped at it impatiently and pulled out the contents: A magazine, with the pages folded back revealing a half finished crossword. A pen, and a picture of a beautiful young woman. End Secrets
"What is this!?," I thought to myself. The man was odd, but leaving me this stuff? What type of practical joke is this?
No, it can't be a joke. It's not in Alexei's nature to joke. He could be quite amiable, but rarely humorous. No, this is certainly not a joke. There must be some clue in here, but a clue to what? This package is creating many more questions than answers.
The crossword. In an old TIME magazine. Let's start here. I filled my shot glass, covered in old Pirate Jolly Rogers. It was a novelty glass Alexei gave me once for my birthday. Yes, the landlord was always kind to me. I can't complain about that, but did he think leaving me this mess of a boarding house was being kind?
But I digress... I sipped the strong spirits and flipped through the magazine. Nothing. The June 1984 TIME was devoid of clues of any kind. No marked words, folded pages, nothing of the sort.
That was a useless lead. How about the pen? I picked up the rather heavy writing instrument and examined it. "Albright Law Offices, 1283 Abbott Place, Suite 7. 1-439-732-8772." Apparently, my landlord had dealings with an attorney. Perhaps if I contected them, I could find out the what was up with the dealings with those shady characters...
And there still remains this picture. Wow, she is a beautiful girl. Even though this picture is an old black and white one, it's obvious that she would be the center of attention in any room. Blond hair, bright eyes, and a brilliantly white sun dress. But who was she? And what, if any, connection does she have to Alexei, and those shady visitors? I guess I should try the law firm next.
I picked up the pen once more to write down the address, but as soon as I lifted it, the bottom dropped off and a tiny slip of white paper drifted out...END ACE
Ah ha! A peice of paper, maybe it has something useful written on it, i picked the paper up, the text was tiny and barely legible, gah this doesn't make sense! It has just a bunch of random letters! Wait, I looked at it closer. No, this is too organized to not be a code. But what could help me crack it? The crossword puzzle! Of course! I picked the puzzle up, man i should have looked at this more closely, then i would have noticed that the answers filled in are slightly misspelled. Ah, I think i understand this code now, 26 answers, 26 letters in the american alphabet.
Hm, this is a very basic code, but at the same time is hard to pick up by the normal person. But, it would take a mastermind to get this just perfect, wow i didn't know Alexia had it in him. This is odd, if this paper has to deal with the murder it just adds so many more questions, did he predict his death? Did he do something that would cause him to die? My brain hurts, but i have to start decoding this puzzle. This may take awhile.
Long time later...
There are only 20 answers! Dangit! The code is so close to being able to read it, it's almost frustrating. What else could i be missing? Hidden message on the picture? I held it up to my flashlight, seeing the missing letters decoding itself, A = G H = E Y = S J = C N = I B = A. Why would someone go through all this trouble to tell me something a sentence long? Could this be that big of a deal? I hope i'm not getting into something that will get me killled too. I shuddered the thought. No matter, i have to decode the paper now.....END SABRE
I snatched the tiny piece of paper from the table where i had just finished decoding it. It was in Russian, of coarse. Alexei obviously wasn't going to make this easy for me. I jotted down the address for the law firm on another piece of paper and headed for the door. I grabbed my coat and hat from the rack and bolted out the door.
The cold air against my face immediately canceled any effect left by the liquor. My breath billowed out in from of me in white clouds as I walked down toward the library. I was almost to the end of the block when i heard a loud male voice calling me from near the door to the house.
"Hey wait!" he called down the street. I would have ignored him if not for the extremely thick Russian accent that muddled all his words.
"What do you want?" I called as i turned and walked back toward him.
"Are you Dasha?" The man asked.
I stood and gaped at him for a moment. He was my age, in his 20's, tall and lean in torn, blue jeans with a thick leather belt around his narrow hips and brown leather ankle boots. He wore a thin t-shirt through which the muscles in his chest were visible and a thick leather band around his right wrist. His black curly hair was graying with frost. He must have been freezing!
"Who?" I asked. "Aren't you cold?"
He ignored my second question. "Dasha? umm..." He ran his left hand through his hair revealing a small golden loop earing. "...Danielle?" His Russian accent altered the pronunciation of my name a lot, but i recognized it. "You own this house?"
"Yes," I answered quickly. "Do you want it?"
"No," he answered. He looked at me with a confused expression. "Why?"
"Don't worry about it," I responded. "What can I do for you?"
"No," he said, "I am here to help you."
"With what?" I asked. "Never mind, can you read this?" I held out the tiny piece of paper to him.
"I looks like a law firm in Abbot Place to me" He said as he gave me the paper and a very strange look. I looked down at the paper, it was the wrong one.
"Not that one." I said. "this one." I handed him the other paper.
He stared at it for a long moment before looking back at me. "It says, 'follow you magic and let it sing, for if it leaves there will be no spring. That rhymes very well in English. It doesn't rhyme in Russian. Maybe he wrote it to rhyme in English but not in Russian. Then why write it in Russian?" He was thinking very hard about it.
"Maybe so i would have to have you read it to me?" I suggested, feeling very smart.
"Not for me to read to you, he wouldn't have known i was coming."
"Who are you?" I asked realizing that i didn't know.
"Mikhail," He answered. "Just Mikhail." The name sounded so wonderful in his Russian accent.
"So was Alexei like Russian mob or something, Mikhail?" I asked him weighing the name as I spoke it.
"No, nothing like that," He answered. "Well, nothing so mundane." END VULCAN
"So just what is the deal with this mysterious note; those late-night meetings? What was Alexei a part of?"
"My friend, Danielle, I would like to come inside. It is too cold to discuss these things outside."
We walked back inside the boarding house, into my rooms. I let him in without thinking; I hope he can be trusted. I shut the door and locked it. Too late to worry about that now. I steadied my nerves to hide my apprehension and walked over to the table.
"Would you like some coffee?" I asked him.
"Please, if you do not mind. It would help to warm my chilled bones."
I set the steaming mug in front of him and took a seat. After a long sip, he looked up.
"Danielle, I know you probably have many questions about Alexei's death, but they will all be answered in due time."
"Tell me, what was he involved in?"
"Ah, that's the most important bit. That will come to light in a few minutes. Alexei never told you about his past before the boarding house, did he?"
"No, he never was very talkative. He liked me well enough, but he tended to keep to himself most of the time."
"That is evident from what he left you. He may not have spoken much, but he thought a lot of you to leave you such responsibility. You see, Alexei never was really sociable, and he became even more quiet after his escape."
"Escape?!"
"He really never told you anything, did he? The escape I refer to wasn't from prison, or asylum, but from an even greater oppressor. The iron grip of the Soviet Union."
END ACE
"I always figured he was a defector. I couldn't make him out as a villain." I responded warily.
"He isn't!" Mikhail. assured me waving his hands in front of him, "Wasn't. We are the good guys."
I stared at him for a long moment. He began looking worried and muttering in Russian under his breath, no doubt checking his translation. "And who are the bad guys?" Asked sarcastically.
"The soviets!" He exclaimed. There was a surprising passion in he Russian accented voice. "There are thousands of people starving in cities and countrysides alike, and they do nothing to aid them!"
"What does this have to do with Alexi?" I asked slightly shocked by his passion.
"Alexi gave aid. All of us give aid."
"How?" i asked wondering if he was going to hit me up for money.
"We make supplies available where none were available before." He answered in a calm voice. The speech was obviously rehearsed.
"Like the black market?" I asked shocked. "You people are smugglers?"
"Smugglers, yes. Black market, no. We don't charge for our goods. They are free to those in need." He was talking very fast now and difficult to understand, but his eyes pleaded with me not to judge so quickly.
"How do you cross the iron curtain?" I asked.
"We have ways." He responded. "I am not at liberty to tell you, but we do."
"And you are not the black market?"
"No, we are a... white market. A team of good guys, with good intentions. Who also happen to be criminals, but not... bad guys." He looked pained by his inability to further elaborate. His English wasn't as good as I had thought.
"OK and what does this have to do with me?" I asked, I could see the tension build in his face as i asked it.
"Alexi has left you this..." He struggled for a moment to find the word. "...base. This base of operations on the United States side of the world. He has left you to run it."
"Why would he do that?" I asked; this was beginning to sound like a practical joke.
Mikhail studied me for a moment before responding, "It isn't clear to me, but Alexi, I'm sure, had his reasons. I personally wouldn't have left a woman in charge, but..."
"Why not?" I interrupted. "A woman can do anything a man can do! This is 1985!"
"Yes," He answered quietly, "and in America women have been liberated, but not so much in Russia. Excuse my old world thinking." He stood up and walked to stand in front of me where he took a knee and bowed his head. "My apologies."
"Stand up!" I demanded. He did and then sat back in his chair. "SO now that I'm running a base," I said playfully."What do i have to do?"
"It's mostly a safe house until a boat leaves, but you will also have to collect and send out letters of various descriptions. No one will expect you to be Alexi, but he was very important to our operation in the west."
I nodded my head. I was sure this was all a game. What did I have to loss? "Sure, OK, anything else?"
"Do you own a gun?" Mikhail asked me. His face had grown serious, far away from the playfulness that had been there when he knelt in apology.
"No." I responded slowly. I began to think that maybe this wasn't a game.
"Then here," He reached into the waist of his jeans and pulled out a small revolver. He held it out for me to take. "I don't think you will need it, but better to be safe."
I recoiled at the sight of the weapon. He was serious. He was dead serious, and i had just agreed to join a Russian smuggling ring. "I can't. This can't be real. I have to go." I grabbed my jacket and bolted for the door. He followed me.
"What about the house? What about the base?" He called out to me.
"You run it!" I shouted back to him as I ran out the door.
"I can't!" he yelled back at me from the stoop in front of the boarding house. "They know me!"
Those words froze me in my tracks. I turned slowly back around; he had already caught up to me. "Who knows you Mikhail? Who Do you come to this house to be safe from? Mikhail This is America. Everyone is scared to death of Russians, and if the CIA thinks I'm a spy..."
"Not the CIA. " He said taking me by the shoulders and trying to calm me down. "The KGB."
"Oh like that's better!" I screamed. He covered my mouth with his hand.
"Not the whole KGB, just these two agents. They were humiliated by Alexi's defection, and have been tracking us all down, but they can't move with American witnesses near by. You are what made that house safe, Dasha."
He stared into my eyes, and slowly dropped his hand. As he did I saw two men dressed in black suits approach they door to the house. He glanced over his shoulder and saw them too. He pushed me into the ally, out of sight, and whispered to me, "Wait here for 10 minutes then go back to the house. Do not open the door for anyone, who isn't one of us."
"How will i know who's safe, idiot?" I asked resorting to sarcasm only out of sheer terror.
"Alexi called you Dasha. It isn't quite proper Russian, but is shows he cared. Don't open the door for anyone who calls you Danielle!"
He handed me the gun, and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. He walked out of the ally as he fumbled to light it. After a moment of shouting in Russian he ran past the mouth of the ally with the two men in suits a few seconds behind. I glanced at my watch and began counting ten minutes. END VULCAN
I waited the entire ten minutes, my eyes fixated on the opening of the alley. My fingers had become numb from grasping the gun Mikhail gave me so tightly. Every slight sound made the hair on the back of my kneck stand up. I regained my composure and walked slowly out of the alley. I grasped my keys for a quick entry into the boarding house. When i reached the front steps I dashed to the door unlocked it and jumped inside. I quickly slammed the door and locked it. "I might want to invest in some more locks," I thought as I rested against the door. I proceeded throught every room of the house inspecting every square inch of the building, gun in hand. After rechecking the doors and windows, I made my way to my bed, locking the door behind me.
The next day Mikhail came back. His T-shirt was tattered and dirty. He had cuts and bruises all over his body accompanied by the occasional burn mark. "Who are you supposed to be, Rambo?," I asked trying to break the tension in the room. "Do you have any coffee?" he asked as he went to the fireplace to warm his frozen limbs. "Sure, how do you like it?" I inquired even though since he seemed the typical tough guy I figured he would want it black. "Black," he responded, his thick Russian accent coming out quite forcefully. "So, what do we do now?" I asked him as he sipped the piping hot coffee. "You don't need to know yet," he answere gruffly. Irritated by the lack of answers, I shrewdly asked, "Why not? I have just as much reason to know as you do!" He jumped up from his seat, towering over me with his deep blue eyes staring into mine. I stepped back as he advanced towards me. "STOP!!" I yelled as I tripped over the coffee table and landed square on my back. "Curious woman, I knew it was foolish of Alexei to hand everything over to you!" Suddenly I heard the sound of hinges being rent fromt the door facing. Slow footsteps resounded down the hallway, it was too late to douse the fire or shut the door. A man eeriely similar to Mikhail stepped into the room. Wait, that is Mikhail!!! "What the heck is going on?" I thought as I rapidly looked from one Mikhail to the other. "You!" both Mikhails said simultaneously. They then started yelling in Russian. I slowly crept away and hid under the bed in my room. They realized I had gone and stopped yelling. I heard a silenced gunshot and a body hit the floor. Footsteps came right to my bed and big, heavy, black boots stood mere inches from my face. The dust ruffle was jerked up and the pistol jammed under the bed. "Don't shoot!! Don't shoot!!," I screamed and shut my eyes bracing for what was to come.
I opened my eyes when nothing happened. I was in my bed dripping with sweat. I looked at the clock, it was three in the morning. "Phew, just a dream," I said. I jumped a little bit as my voice came louder than I expected. I was alive! END GREEN
I jumped at a sharp rap on the front door. I drew the gun from my nightstand and went to investigate. As i reached the end of the front hall I could hear Mikhail calling, "Dasha, Dasha, It's me! let me in Dasha!" I opened the door slowly and poked the end of the gun through the opening. A cold hand pushed the gun down toward the floor and Mikhail slid cautiously into the hall.
He was wearing the same t-shirt and jeans as before, this time accompanied by a nicely tailored black coat from the waist up, which then tapered slightly at the hips and fell loosely around his shins. As he moved I could see his own handgun, a black official looking number sorta like the one a police man would carry. He turned quickly around and locked the doors.
He didn't say anything as we walked into the living room. He ushered me in and hung his coat on my coat rack. As I turned around to talk to him I Gasped in horror at his appearance. His shirt was torn nearly to shreds beneath it i could see scrapes, busies even burns. A huge patch of blood was growing from the front of his right shoulder.
"You look..." I began.
"I know," He cut me off. "Good news though," he said turning around to reveal an equally big path of blood on the back of his shoulder. "It's through and through. No bullet to remove."
"You think that's good news?" I said examining his equally torn up back. The back of his jeans was worn nearly white, probably from sliding on pavement.
"It is better than some," he groaned in an exceptionally heavy Russian accent as he eased himself into a worn leather chair. "Do you have a first aid kit?" He looked expectantly up at me as he pressed his palm against the bullet wound on his chest. I turned to go and look in my room upstairs. "You might bring a sewing kit, too." I heard him call up the stairs after me.
A few minuted later I returned with a sewing kit and a roll of gauze. "This is all I've got." I said apologetically.
"Tape?" He responded seeing the gauze.
"Packing tape." I answered.
"and scissors." I ran into the library to get the other stuff. when I returned he had removed his shirt and pulled a bottle of vodka from the liquor cabinet.
"I need a drink too." I said, seeing the bloody mess that covered his upper body.
"then you will have to wait" He said opening the bottle. "Do you have a rag?" I ran into the kitchen and grabbed an old towel.
He thanked me quietly as i handed the towel to him. He dumped a fair amount of the clear liquid onto the rag, and began cleaning the scrapes visual through the torn knees of his jeans. He winced a little every time the rag touched his cuts, but continued diligently for a moment before re wetting the rag.
"Should I get your back?" i asked trying to make it sound like i was applying sunscreen.
"Please," He said extending me the rag. He moved over to sit beside me on the couch and turned his back toward me. I dampened the towel with more vodka and began to clean the mess of dried blood of his back. Every time I hit a cut or scrape i could feel the muscles in his back tighten, but he didn't say anything in complaint.
As i gently cleaned the bullet wound in his shoulder he reached his hand back and handed me a needle threaded with black thread. "I can't do that!" I exclaimed seeing his offering.
"You can do it better than I can." He pointed out calmly. "It's just like sewing up a hole in a sock. Don't put the needle through too close to the edge so it doesn't tear out, and close it as well as you can." Hands shaking, I took the needle.
"Hold on!" I said as I ran over to the cabinet, and pulled out a shot glass. "You are going to need it." I said as I poured a shot of vodka into the glass. He took it gratefully and downed it in one throw. I picked the needle back up and cleaned it with the vodka soaked rag.
"Don't worry about it." He reassured me quietly. "It will be fine." I poked the needle through the skin and felt him jump. I nervously began to stitch it shut. After several hushed minutes of intense concentration, I tied the string off and cut it with the scissors. All cleaned up his back didn't look nearly so bad.
"All done." I chimed. "You can do your chest right?"
"I may need some help sewing," He answered. There was sweat beading upon his face, but he was clearly shivering now. Dark circles had emerged under his eyes, and his face was paper white. I realized that he had been bleeding from the wound on his chest the whole time.
"Let me get you a blanket," I said trying to find a way to relieve his shivers. As i wrapped it around his shoulders the doorbell ran. As i went slowly into the hall I could here my friend Angela, calling me.
"Who is it?" Mikhail called out to me.
"It Angela, she's a friend of mine. She doesn't know anything about this."
I heard him scoff at me from where he sat on the couch. I Went over and opened the door; just as i did Mikhail called out "She will suspect something when she realizes that you have a Russian bleeding in your living room."
"Who was that?" Angela asked me. Her big brown eyes got wider in her ebony face. "Do you have a boyfriend that you haven't told me about?" She asked flipping her long braids over her shoulder.
"Yeah," I lied. "Do you want to meet him?"
"Hell yes!" Angela said quietly glancing around to see if he was going to come into the hall. I let her in and she walked into the living room, her blue pumps clacking on the tile floor.
I ran in after her and sat down beside Mikhail. Without waiting for him to say anything I put my hand under his chin and kissed him hard. His lips were cold and dry; he tasted like vodka and blood. I drew away from him after only a second and as i did, I whispered in his ear, "play along." As i looked into his face i could still see the shock of being kissed slowly fading from his eyes. He nodded gently and wrapped the blanket farther around himself to hid his still oozing wound.
"So, who are you?" Angela asked. She was never known for subtlety.
"Mikhail," He answered weakly. "I am a friend of Alexi's"
"You don't look so good." Angela observed. "Do you need some help?"
Then the thought flashed through my mind. Angela was a nurse! I could see out of the corner of my eye Mikhail shaking his head, but my fear for his life out weighed my fear of his anger.
"Yeah," I answered. "There is actually." I pulled the blanket back to reveal Mikhail's yet uncleaned and still bleeding chest. Angela gasped in horror. End Vulcan
"Aaghh!" screamed the nurse, taken aback by the sight of the injured man lying in her friend's living room. "What happened!?!"
"Well, I was attempting to hang up this new light fixture for my girlfriend here, and..." said Mikhail, failing miserably at making a lie. I quickly covered for him.
"That's not important. Can you patch him up, Angela?"
"I...I could, depending on what supplies you have on hand."
I waved my hand towards the meager stack of gauze and packaging tape.
"Yeah, that's not quite going to cut it, but I will see what I can do. First, we need to clean this up. Mind if I use your bathroom sink?"
Nodding in agreement and I moved to help her support the limping Russian as he moved towards the sink. Mikhail winced every two or three steps, the wound was becoming more and more painful by the minute. Angela quickly grabbed a moist washcloth and began to gingerly wipe away some of the dried blood around the open sore. Mikhail's face maintained a stoic expression, but I could tell he was in pain.
Once the wound was more visible, Angela gasped. "Who did this to you? This is a text book bullet wound!"
Mikhail began to say something, but Danielle again cut him off. "I'll explain soon enough. Can you close the wound?"
"Yes, but he really needs to go to a hospital and get stitches."
"No!" Mikhail suddenly said. "I cannot go to a hospital. I will be fine. My body has seen much worse." The Russian began to sit up, but Angela quickly stopped him.
"You mustn't move until I get the gauze in place. It is a poor substitute for proper stitches, but it will work for the time being."
While the nurse was positioning the bandages, Mikhail fell into a light, restless sleep. When Angela was finished, she turned to me and asked sharply, "Now tell me, what in the name of all that's holy is going on! I know you didn't just suddenly get a Russian boyfriend and not tell me about it. I'm your best friend!"
Danielle pondered how much she should let her friend know about her situation.
"Let's let him rest somewhere more comfortable than my bathroom floor, first," I said, stalling, grabbing the Russian's shoulders. With no small effort, we eventually got Mikhail onto my relatively small bed.
I paused for a moment and watched the gentle rising and falling of the chest that belonged to the large, blood-stained man that was resting on my bed. What had he been through?
"Now, what is going on, Danielle?"
"I wish I could tell you, Angela. All this is..is so...sudden."
"What's so sudden?"
"The Russians. The ring. The white market. This base...the entire operation...me...everything..." her voice trailed off.
"What Russians? Ring? Base? What are you talking about, girl? Are you going crazy?"
"No, but it feels like it. You see, there's this White Market smuggling ring..."
"White...market?"
"Yes, to fight Soviet Opression there's this-"
"Dannie! This is America! There are no Soviets here! Don't go all McCarthy on me now."
"They...err...we, we aren't talking about America. This is Russia, Soviet Russia that we deal with."
"Who deals with? Deals with what? You aren't making any sense!"
"Okay, let me start from the beginning. You remember my old landlord?"
"Yeah, that eccentric Russian guy, whatshisname, Alex? He died, right?"
"Alexei. Yeah. I was the sole beneficiary in his will and he left me this boarding house."
"You? You own this? Ha! Wait, but what does that have to do with a Russian ring of 'White Market' smugglers?"
"Everything. After Alexei died, this-"
I quickly fell silent as her doorbell rang. From the speaker box came this hail:
"Hello, Danielle? This is John Williams, from the postal service? I have a package here you need to sign for."
I could feel the blood drain out of my face as I heard my given name called by an unfamilair voice. I was addressed as Danielle, not Dasha. Quickly glancing down the hall to a window overlooking the street next to her boardinghouse, I could see a figure pacing on the far side. He was wearing a conspicious black suit.
"Danielle, what's going on?" asked a confused Angela.
"Shh! Say nothing! Angela, go stand in that closet next to the bathroom and be silent."
"But-"
"Silence! Hide, now!"
I waited for my friend to get out of sight before I drew the revolver Mikhail had given me and stalked slowly towards the front door; the sound of the doorbell buzzing shattered the sudden silence. There was no Mikhail to back me up this time. END ACE
The room went silent as I went for the door, it's just the postal service, there is nothing to worry about. Taking a deep breathe, i grasped the cold silver knob and turned slowly. Reassuring myself, I looked to make sure sure Mikhail was safely out of sight. My heart drew heavy and my blood went thin. What if this was the guy that shot him, pretending to be the postal service? These questions earthed doughts deep inside. The doorbell went off again, shattering all feelings of emotion and a shockwave pulsed through my body. Openning the door, it creeked in the silence from the house's age, only giving more suspence to what was on the other side. A cracking sound followed, and a rush of bitter cold air blew hard and slightly blinded me.
A wide grined colored man greeted me, wearing a thick wool suit to keep him warm. I gave a sigh of relief, and stepped out, closing the door behind me. He held up a big brown box with a clipboard and pen on top. What would be so big to be inside this box, i haven't ordered anything in months.
"Sign on the bottom of the page please." He said professionally, maybe a bit too rehearshed. I picked the pen up and gracefully wrote my name in cursive, then taking the box and giving the clipboard to him. He walked back to his warm white delivery truck, waiting for him to return.
Walking back inside, Mikhail came back into view. I put the box on the floor, Angela came out of hiding too, it seems that while I was out, she finished closing the wound. The box. I had to know what was in there, it could be anything. End Sabre.
I placed the larg box on the floor and stared down at it. Mikhail came over and examined it too. I looked up at him, he still looked bad, the wound on his chest was bleeding through the gauze.
"Are you going to open it?" He asked me. As i looked at him he pulled a folding knife out of his pocket and flipped it open. It was spring loaded.
I took the knife gently in my hand and pressed it against the packing tape that sealed the box. I gently slid the knife through and began to slide the knife down to the end of the box.
Bam! There was a loud knock on the door. Bam! another echoed through the silent room. Then whoever was knocking called inside, "Misha! Misha, open the door!" The thick russian accent that shrouded the words set the hair on the back of my neck on end.
I pulled the gun out of the back of my jeans and pointed it towards the door. Mikhail placed his cold, shaking hand over mine on the gun and pushed it down towards the floor. "Let him in" Mikhail whispered in my ear. I began to protest, but he immediatly interupted me. "Just let him in Dasha."
I moved quietly towards the door, as I placed my hand on the knob the man called again, "Misha, let me in; it is freezing out here!" I slid the threw the door open with all the force I could muster. The man jumped back from the door; his hands out splay fingered in from of him.
After a moment of staring at each other I swept my hand back and ushered him inside. Immediatly upon seeing him Mikhail threw his hands into the air. "Sergei!" He said in a loud voice, "What are you doing here?"
"Comming to see how everyone is setteling in," The stranger responded in a much quieter tone. "Misha," he said his voice hushed almost to a whisper, "you look like hell." Mikhail nodded as Sergei took him by the shoulders. "You're bleeding." He added at he spotted a small drop of blood runnign down Mikhail's chest.
"You don't look so heavenly yourself." Mikhail croaked trying to add some humor to the situation.
I took a moment to examin this new Russian. He had thick, stiff, brown hair that hung in his face and over his ears. His large green eyes peered out of his strikingly handsom face. He had beautiful and very russian features, all sharp, definite, and a little forlorn.
He slid out of his heavy black trench coat, revealing a tight tee-shirt and a pair of loose pants that ended just below his knee and were sinched tight there. on his feet were a pair of delecate black sneekers. Then he looked over at Angela. "You have not stitched the wound?" He asked. It wasn't really a question, but the simple word why permiated his expression.
"No," Angela replied, fully ready to defend her reasons.
"Is there any reason why I shouldn't?" He asked her beforeturning back to face Mikhail who was clearly sick of being prodded.
"Are you a doctor?" She asked skeptically.
"No, I'm a dancer," He explained motioning down at his strange clothing.
"Then you arn't qualified to stitch him up."
Sergei turned to Angela and with a look one might give a small child he said, "It isn't that hard." He looked back at Mikhail "Do you have supplies?" Mikhail nodded and indicated the living room. Without any objections Mikhail allowed the significantly shorter Russian to slip an arm around him and support him onto the sofa.
Angela gave me a look of near rage, her dark eyes wide and her lips thin. "What is up with these russians?" She hissed at me through her teeth.
"trust me," I defended. "If I knew I'd tell you." We then followed the men into the living room.
When we arrives Sergei was already stitching Mikhail up using the sma eneedle I had used this time threaded with red threat. Angela patiently until he was doen to explode.
"Who are you people?" She screamed so loud the neighbors must have heard.
Mikhail, already looking drained, collapsed back into the couch and pressed his forarm against his eyes. Sergei stood up to look her in they eye, or at least try. Admitedly in those pumps she was probably five foot ten or eleven, but she towered a good three or four inches over him.
In responce to her blaring question he mearly placed a finger over his mouth, and whispered. "Please, quiet down." He then turned on me and extending a hand for me to shake introduced himself. "I'm sorry," he began, "I should have introduced myself to you sooner. I am Sergei." I shook his hand. "I am assuming youa re Dasha." I nodded , the sound of my adopted nickname soothed my nerves a bit. "I'm a friend," he assured me. I nodded again.
He looked akwardly for a moment and then whispered, "You canlet go of my hand now, yes?" I jumped and released him.
"Sorry," I ghasped, forcing the reluctant words from my tongue. "It's justthat all of this seems more real now that i know there are more than just Mikhail involved with this."
He nodded, "It suprises me that no one but Misha has come to see you. Although it shouldn't."
"Excuse me," I interupted him. He looked up at me with wide eyes and leaned his head towards me to listen. "Why do you call him Misha? I mean, isn't his name Mikhail?"
He smiled gently at me, "It is a..." he searched for the word. "Diminutive?" He looked to me for recognition, there was none. He tried again, "It is a childhood nickname. Something he parents, grandparents, close friends might call him."
"Ahh," I answered in understanding. "Do you have a nickname?"
"Yes, but I don't like it much, not even my parents use it." He answered reluctanly.
"What is it?" I pushed trying to figure this stranger out.
"Sergunya." The name sounded beautiful in his Russian voice, but i had the distinct feeling I would not be able to reproduce it.
"Sergei it is." I responded. He nodded his approval.
"Perhaps," He suggested staring back into the hall. "You should open that box." END VULCAN
"Wait, how did you know...?, Nevermind." I knew it was useless to ask questions by now.
I went back into the hall and picked up Mikhail's knife and the mysterious package. I shook it like a child before christmas. No sound came from it; no rattling, banging, jingling, nothing. I walked back into the room holding the box as if it were going to blow up any second. Mikhail, who had started to feel better, laughed at my actions. Blood flushed into my cheeks and I moved the box a little closer as I sat it on the coffee table. I flipped open the knife and slowly slit the packing tape.
"OH COME ON ALREADY!" Angela screamed as she jerked the box and the knife from me, "Thats the problem with you people," she said looking especially at Sergei, "Takes you a month to open a box! Seriously, what WOULD you do without me?" Mikhail and Sergei looked at each other in amusement as the black woman rambeled on about President Ford and starving children.
Angela had opened the box and was removing the packing peanuts when the doorbell cut the silence like a knife on an infomercial. Everyone looked to Sergei, who had a terrified look on his face. "Who in Moscow is that?" whispered Mikhail under his breath.
"OH! Dang, look at me, messin up yall's little box opening. I forgot I ordered a pizza. I hope yall like anchovies!!!" I had to restrain Mikhail as she came back with 4 large fully loaed pizzas that reeked with the smell of anchovies. "What, you got a eye problem or sumthin?" she said as we all glared at her.
"That could've been the KGB," I told her as she opened the pizza box and the foul odor permeated the room.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I completely forgot they're with the White Market! Well, I'll just sit here and eat my pizza while you three take your sweet time opening that box."
Just as I began to delve further into the box the doorbell rang again and everyones attention was on Angela, whose mouth was full of pizza. "Well, there I go again, messin up yall's little box opening! I forgot to give the poor lil pizza boy his money. I'll be right back yall...." Mikhail and Sergei stared at each other in disbeilef.
"Thats Angela," I said as I grabbed the box again, "You gotta love her."
"Quick open the box before she gets back," Mikhail growled in a clearly irritated tone. END GREEN
