“Felix.”
“It gives her thyroid a boost. Nothing serious.”
“Have you tried her husband yet?”
“I didn’t get this until a few hours ago. I think it’s probably too late for a real pharmacist to call, but I didn’t know what time zone he’s in because if he’s out west, then I could totally call him, or I could have two hours ago. I could call him in Hawaii if he’s there. But now it’s kind of too late to get him anywhere.”
“Sorry, but I couldn’t have helped you anyway. I don’t know where he is.”
“That’s cool. I’ll just call him tomorrow first thing.”
I watched Harvey’s desktop laboring to snap to. It reminded me that Felix had a T3 connection. “Are you at home?”
“Yes.”
“Can you do a quick search for me?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“Look up something called the vors.”
“Like V-O-R-E-S? V-O-A-R-S?”
“I don’t know.” I used the heel of my hand to rub my left eye and then my right. “Throw some options into Google with Russia and Ukraine, and see what comes up.”
He started doing the Felix Thinking Song as he moved through his searches and scanned his screen. It was like being on Jeopardy. I got up and started to wander so I wouldn’t fall asleep. Felix didn’t seem ever to sleep. Before he went wireless, I used to find him by following the cables through his apartment. He didn’t own a desk, and he liked moving around to work, on the theory that some spots in his living space were luckier than others. The luckiest spot of all was the balcony. He was probably there, slumped in a chair so that all you could see from the back were the tips of his spiky hairdo peeking out. Dan had made him cut off the bleached tips he had sported in Miami. No employee of his was going to look like “some fucking birthday cake.” Even without the outward manifestation, Felix was still the accidental anarchist, the kid whose irrepressible enthusiasm and daffy hyperintelligence led him inevitably to places he shouldn’t be to do things no one was supposed to be able to do.
“This is really interesting shit, Miss Shanahan.”
Felix had never used to cuss until he started working for Dan. Since I had introduced them, I felt vaguely responsible for his corruption. On the other hand, the reason I had met him in the first place was that he was a gifted hacker.
“What’s interesting?”
“Vors v zakonye. It’s Russian for ‘thieves in law,’ and they’re the real power inside the red mafiya. Did you know that in Russia they spell mafiya with a y?”
“Thieves in law?” No wonder Bo hadn’t been able to translate. I didn’t even know what it meant in English.
“From what I can tell, they’re like, um, the Justice League of criminals in Russia.”
“The Justice League?”
“Oh, yeah.” His tone changed entirely as he gave his full attention to filling the void in my education. “To be in the Justice League, you have to be Superman or Batman. The best of the best. Not just a hero but a superhero. Green Lantern or the Martian Manhunter. You have to be smarter and stronger and more powerful than the bad guys. Except in this case, they’re, you know, the bad guys. The worst of the worst, I guess. Not the Justice League but-”
“The vors. I’m following you.”
“Vory. More than one is vory. They live by their own code. That’s why they’re called thieves in law.”
“What are their laws?”
“Um…”
I had made it to the kitchen, which was dark except for the dim light over the stove. The china cups, saucers, and teapot I had washed were still sitting on the counter, exactly as I’d left them.
“Well, it goes without saying that you can never rat out one of your brother vory, but you also aren’t allowed to work. In the old Soviet Union, if you got caught on any of the official work rolls, they’d kill you.”
I opened the cabinet where Harvey kept the china service and stacked everything away.
Felix went on. “You couldn’t serve in the army. Basically, you couldn’t serve the interests of the state in any way. The only way you’re allowed to make money is to steal it. Or play cards. Did you know the most revered criminals in Russia were the pickpockets?”
“I did not know that.”
“Me, neither, but it’s true. And here’s the really bad news. Since the Soviet Union fell, the Russian mafiya and the vory have gone global. They’re like Microsoft, spreading their brand of evil all over the world. They can’t be stopped.”
“Do you see anything there on tattoos?”
“Tons. Tattoos are a really big deal with these people. First of all, you can’t just get tattooed with something because you think it’s, like, really cool. You have to earn one before you can have it, and the more you have, the more respected you are.”
“Like Boy Scout badges.”
“Exactly.”
“Earn it by-”
“Mostly murder. The other thing is you can also get killed if you get a tattoo you didn’t earn. How do you think they keep track of who has what tattoo? Do they have a database or something? They would probably need some kind of a special scanner.”
“I don’t know, Felix.”
“How come you’re interested in vory, Miss Shanahan?”
“I’m scheduled to meet one tomorrow. I think he might have been the man who took Harvey. He might be a little ticked off at us.”
There was a long silence. Felix was hardly ever speechless. It was unnerving.
“I’ll be all right, Felix. Bo will be there.”
“Oh, I wasn’t worried about that. I was just wondering…can I come with you?”
13
A PHONE WAS RINGING. THE SOUND WAS LIKE A PATIENT, persistent worm burrowing ever deeper into the apple that was my consciousness. The ringing stopped. Maybe I was dreaming.
I opened my eyes, and I was looking at the elaborate tinwork that was the ceiling of Harvey’s office. What had apparently been quite an elegant feature back in the day was just one more thing Harvey couldn’t take care of. The sun streaming in through the east-facing windows illuminated the tarnished and discolored condition. It was in need of a good polishing or…whatever one did to maintain a tin ceiling. Why had I never noticed before?
I had fallen asleep sitting up. When I tried to lift my head from the back of the couch, my neck muscles objected fiercely. I was trying to gather my wits when the ringing started again. It was my ring tone, but the sound was muffled. I followed the sound to the crevice between two couch cushions.
“Hello?”
“It’s time to go.”
“Bo?”
“The meeting is set. Tishchenko is waiting for us.”
Crap. I sat up straight and nearly knocked my laptop to the floor. I’d forgotten about the meeting. That was one of my wits I had failed to gather. “Where are you?”
“Out front.”
I wobbled to my feet and peered through the front window. The way the light hit the hood of his silver Mercedes, it seemed pretty early in the morning. “What time is it?”
“Seven.”
“Seven?” I rubbed my eyes.
“He is a busy man. He will not wait long.”
Right. Busy doing what vory do at seven in the morning. Maybe getting a new tattoo. “All right. Just give me a second to check on Harvey. I’ll be right out.”
I hung up and searched for my shoes, black leather lace-ups with thick soles that were kind of clunky and a little hard to misplace. I looked under the couch and behind the desk and found them under the side table next to the wingback. As I put them on and tied them, I wondered what the dress code might be for meeting a vor. Jeans, a polo shirt, a windbreaker, and clunky work shoes were all I had to offer.
I found a clean shirt upstairs in a spare dresser where I kept a few essentials. Harvey was facedown in bed with one arm flopped over his head. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I could hear him snoring. Next stop was the medicine cabinet. I went with four ibuprofen for my stiff neck and a Pepto-Bismol chaser straight from the bottle. Then I went to the kitchen and poured a glass of grapefruit juice to wash away the filmy pink residue. Feeling marginally fortified, I grabbed my backpack, took a deep breath, and headed out the door to my first-ever breakfast meeting with a Russian mobster.