Maybe you can introduce Max and X, so it won’t look like I’m your woman.
Maxwell coughed, “Chinatown.”
A few stirred.
When Uncle Igor let go of my hand, he actually bowed a little at me. “You’re welcome here.”
Not sure of how else to respond, I bowed back. “Spasibo.”
I think that’s how you say thank you. Is it? Damn it. Next time, I better know for sure.
Uncle Igor’s gaze lit up and he clapped. “Perfect accent. Do you know more?”
Kazimir shook his head a little at me.
Yeah. I don’t think this is a good time to tell him, “I hope his kids shit in his soup.”
“Nyet,” I said. “Just a few Russian words here and there.”
Uncle Igor studied my face. “You’ll learn a lot with Kazimir.”
I bet.
Uncle Igor turned to the crowd. “There will be no Mourning Sun!”
Finally, I could check out Kazimir’s expression. If anything, he appeared embarrassed and close to grinning. I quirked my eyebrows at him as if asking, “What the fuck?”
And then the grin broke out on his face and he shrugged.
Basically, your uncle is crazy and has enough money and power in this country to have people worshiping him like a king. Got it.
Uncle Igor left the stage with Kazimir, treating Max and X more like my bodyguards instead of my equals. He hadn’t even given them a second look.
It was what made Chinatown work. With me in the limelight, everyone would whisper and focus on me. We’d learned this working with the Triads in Chinatown.
As we followed the men out of the dark room of animal masked strangers, we rounded the corner to a long marble hallway. Kazimir and Uncle Igor shifted to that ancient language.
Luka walked close to me, staying by my side like he usually did as if feeling left out.
Okay. I’m focused. We’re still surviving regardless of the craziness. Everything will be okay.
I thought back about that week in Chinatown.
Our contact was Pretty Tony—Anthony Lee Chung to his mother. He had a thing for women of color, always had one on his arm. The Triads asked us to smuggle stolen statues from China to New York through our gallery. I was fine with that but felt some sort of way about the cocaine we’d found inside of the statues.
I’d trafficked stolen goods, but not drugs which garnered more time and more heat from the Feds. We had to go into Chinatown and give Pretty Tony the news; just saying no would have been an error. We had to hang down there with him. I flirted while Max and X did reconnaissance, finding out as many secrets as they could.
It appeared that Pretty Tony had fucked up the usual way they moved drugs. His second-hand man, Won Yong didn’t like how everything was going. Won had ideas for the Chinatown Triads—ones that would put their group on a higher level than drug dealers.
We decided to put our vote with Won just like Russia was alleged to do with American elections. We snuck in, discovered the divide and added to the pot, whispering in ears, leaving things around to suggest another did it. After a week of hanging in Chinatown, Pretty Tony had been found dead in his bed.
My stomach twisted for some reason. A bad taste went to my tongue as I walked out with the rest.
What had the Triads done to Pretty Tony? Won Yong had shown me the pictures, pretending to not know either, but happy to take the new position.
The images were grotesque. Pretty Tony lay on the floor. There was a bloody smile cut into his face. Chinese symbols had been carved into his chest in between a few smiley faces. They’d stabbed out his groin and…
I felt like I was going to vomit, but still I pushed forward.
No way. No fucking way.
I tapped Maxwell’s hand and whispered, “Did I kill Pretty Tony?”
“Definitely. I assumed he got too handsy one night.” He nudged me as if to relax.
“Jesus,” I muttered.
“No worries.”
“How many people have I—”
“Not important,” X interrupted. “Stay focused on the present and don’t kill no one here.”
“Jesus,” I whispered.
“Yeah, stay focused.” Maxwell watched Kazimir and Uncle Igor ahead. Luka continued to trail after them.
My mouth went dry. My head spun a little, but I refused to pass out or panic. It was what it was. I was fucked up. I had to get over that part. I’d ignored it on the plane. That needed to continue to be my way until we’d all got our revenge.
Maxwell disrupted my thoughts and nudged me again. “By the way, you killing people in Chinatown is not the part of Chinatown that we’re talking about.”
I gritted my teeth. “I got it.”
“I’m just saying. More sexiness and less knife work.”
I fisted my hands but said nothing.
We followed Kazimir and his uncle into a dark hallway, lit by small torches on the wall. It felt like a medieval castle, something that King Arthur would’ve made love to Guinevere in.
An odd stench hit my nose. A strange sight came later. Two men played chess on a black and ivory table with red chess pieces. Behind them, a nude man was chained to the wall. He must’ve been in his thirties. His eyes were blank. None of them turned our way as we walked by, not even the two men. They simply focused on their game.
So, Uncle Igor has prisoners? Okay…
We left that hallway and entered a room full of mirrors. Every wall gave out a reflection. On one side, pale porcelain dolls lined the wall. The carpet and ceiling were black, giving the whole space a dreamlike effect. In the center, a little girl with black hair sat on the floor eating some sort of red-filling pie. Every time she stabbed her fork into her piece, red liquid spilled out of the torn crust.
In the corner, a woman that must’ve been her mother sat on the floor behind her. Elaborate silk clothes covered them both —something designer and elegant. But neither appeared happy or sad—just drugged and vacant.
Max whispered to me, “We’re definitely not in Harlem anymore, Dorothy.”
Fear sliced up my spine, but I breathed through it.
“Adjust,” was the only word I gave Max.
We paused as Uncle Igor gestured to Kazimir and said something. I wished I knew what the hell he was saying. The language barrier was killing me.
Who is this? Wife? Daughter? Niece? Are they prisoners or what? This looks odd.
The little girl giggled something and smeared the red stuff all over her face. Still, the scene wasn’t cute or adorable. She wasn’t a cute kid eating pie. She looked more like a demon-possessed little person dripping with blood.
Maxwell shook his head. “I can’t wait to leave this place.”
We left the room and moved on.
The whole time, Uncle Igor held a conversation in his thick-accented language, and my crew tried to figure out what the hell was going on.
We went down another hallway.
I got X’s attention. “We need a map of this place. Blueprints. Whatever you can get.”
“I’m already on it.”
I sighed in relief. “Thanks.”
Kazimir glanced over his shoulder as if he’d caught what I’d said.
If you think I’m going to stay put in this house of horrors, you’re wrong. I am finding an escape tunnel or something, just to keep me calm.
“Secret passageways?” Maxwell asked.