«Zoya? When are you—»
«Mama, please listen to me. Is Tavik there?»
«We’re having tea. He and his—»
«Mama, please. Don’t let him know anything’s wrong, but you need to get out of there somehow. Can you do that?»
«Tell me what’s—»
«Shhhhhh! He’ll hear you if you panic. He’ll…»
She heard Tavik’s voice in the background and realized that her mother had answered on the old hand receiver in the kitchen instead of the Web line in the living room.
«Is that little Zoya? Tell her to come join us for tea!»
Her mind raced. «Tell him you need to come pick me up. Go to a police station. You can call Marina to come get you.»
Her mother whispered, «You’re scaring me. Please tell me what’s happening.»
Zoya put a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. «He’ll kill you, Mama. Do what I told you, please.»
There was a strange sound from the other end of the line, a shrill cry.
«Hey, Zoya!» It was Tavik. «We need to talk. Come on home. Your wonderful mother will make pelmeni for us.»
«Tavik, I need Mama to come pick me up. Sorry. We can have supper later, after…after Georgy gets home. Let her come get me.»
«Uh, no, I think not. You have a package that belongs to me. Bring it to me and everything will be fine.»
«Let Mama come get me and—»
«You think I don’t know where you are? I put a trace on your line. My guys should…» There was a loud pounding on Baba Sima’s door. «…be there any moment. Now hand it over to them or—»
Zoya yanked the cord from her slot. “Baba, no! Don’t open it!”
A rough voice yelled from the halclass="underline" “Open up, bitch, if you wanna see your mama alive again. You make us come in there…”
Zoya ran to the living room window and was relieved to see that the fire escape appeared intact. She waved a hand at Sima.
“Hurry, Baba! We’ve got to go.”
“Go? I don’t want to—”
“They’ll kill you, too.” Zoya wrenched open the lock on the window and slid it open as far as it would go. The pounding on the door became more insistent. She thrust one leg through the window, twisted her body through, and dropped onto the rusty platform. She poked her head back through the window.
“Come on!” She waved her hands frantically.
Sima shook her head, her eyes wide. “No, I’m not going.”
The banging on the hall door stopped. Zoya shook her head. “Sorry, Baba. I love you. Call the police!” She turned to the narrow steps descending the side of the escape. The hand rail was so rusty it looked like it might collapse if she touched it. She prayed that the steps would hold and started down. The entire fire escape shuddered and shrieked as she went.
She kept expecting to see Tavik’s men race around the corner of the building below to intercept her. She saw that the window to the second floor apartment was partly open and lunged at it. She pushed it up, climbed through onto thick carpeting, and slammed the window shut.
“Hey, what the hell?”
Zoya turned to see a blue-haired old woman in a thin yellow robe standing in the doorway to the kitchen, a mug of something in one hand.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, holding up her hands. “I just…I’ll be going now.” She ran toward the hall door.
“What the hell!” the woman shouted again, angrier this time.
“Sorry!” Zoya slid the bolt and thrust open the door. The hallway was empty. She shut the door and looked both ways, trying to decide her next move. They’ll be waiting no matter which way I go. She tried to remember where she was. Second floor. Don’t know anyone on this floor. Then it hit her. The pig who’s always inviting me to have a drink with him. She’d seen him leering out his window at her many times; his apartment must be the first one off the stairs. Zoya took off running and slid to a halt at the right door. She palmed the buzzer. Be home, Pig. Please be there.
He opened the door. The stench of stale vodka and salami washed over her. The man’s eyes widened when he saw her.
“Please, sir, can you help me? I’m being chased.”
His eyes narrowed. “Chased? Who’s chasing you? Cops?”
“No, uh…my brother’s friends.”
“Come on in,” said Pig, grinning. “Make yourself—”
“Thanks!” She pushed by him. “Close the door. Hurry.”
The trash scattered about the living room stunned her. Most of it looked like food containers and empty bottles of vodka. She stepped carefully past a half dozen bottles and plopped onto a wooden stool. A soccer match, sound barely audible, was showing on the wall opposite a stained gray couch.
Pig picked up a half-empty vodka bottle from a stand. He turned to her and waved the bottle. “Drink?”
She shook her head, trying hard to hide her disgust.
The man plopped onto the couch and glared at the game. He scratched at his thinning, greasy hair and looked at her.
“You needn’t sit so far away, you know. Couch is more comfortable.”
“I’m fine here. Look, do you know some way I could get out of here?”
Pig took a swig of vodka, belched. “You just got here. They won’t find you. Relax. Come here.”
Zoya wondered if she hadn’t escaped one problem only to find another. “I…I have to get out of the building. They’ll start searching apartments.”
“What you do to these guys, they want you so bad?”
She shook her head again. “I don’t know. They…they killed my brother.”
“Whoa!” he said, leaping up from the couch. “These guys are serious, hey? I don’t need that kind of trouble.”
Zoya jumped up, too, afraid the man was going to attack her. She held up her hands. “Please. I just need to escape. Maybe you have some friends?”
Pig took a step toward her, a petulant look on his unshaven face. “No,” he said. “No, you go on, get out of here.”
She circled away from him. “Please. They’ll kill me.”
“Don’t give a fuck,” he said and lurched at her.
She leapt back, tripped over some trash, and landed painfully on a bottle. Pig was coming for her. She winced and snatched up the bottle, hiding it behind her back as she stood. He cornered her near the door. As he reached for her, Zoya whacked him on the head as hard as she could. He grunted and collapsed to the floor.
She stuffed a fist to her mouth, stifling a scream. He didn’t move. She dropped the bottle and ran to the window, peered carefully around the screen to look out at the parking lot. A short man in a long black leather jacket stood near one of the sky cycles. From the look on his face, Zoya could tell he was communicating wirelessly with someone.
“Ah, God,” she murmured. There was no way to get by this guy unnoticed. She thought about Mama and felt helpless. Tavik probably hadn’t killed her yet, hoping to use her as leverage. Red and blue lights flashed in the window, and a police car settled slowly down near Tavik’s man.
Zoya held her breath and watched as two black uniformed cops climbed out of the vehicle. Both cops shook hands with the short man in the leather jacket, and one clapped him on the back. She blew out her breath in dismay. She couldn’t hear what was being said, but Shorty kept pointing at the apartment block.
There was a loud groan behind her. She spun and saw Pig pulling himself to his knees. She snatched another bottle as she hurried over to Pig, who was moaning and probing the wound on his head with one hand. Aiming carefully to avoid breaking his fingers, she bashed him with the bottle. This time the bottle shattered.
“Christ!” she cried. The last thing she wanted was for him to bleed to death. She spotted some rags near the arm of the couch, grabbed them, and pressed them into the gash in the unconscious man’s forehead.