Part 22 (1/2)
”Yo, Stace, I'm out of the subway now. Hear me okay?”
”Oh yeah.”
”Still got 'em?”
”Coming up on Chester. The Beemer just pulled into a lot.” Stacy turned into the lot in time to see the men enter a back door. It looked to be the fourth or fifth building from the corner. ”They've gone into a building. I'm parked.”
It was still there. She had been certain it would be. The same flat brick faade and the red door set at an angle inside a niche just big enough to accommodate two smokers at a time on rainy days. The sign, in Cyrillic script, ”,” and a notice board under a cracked plexigla.s.s cover offering jobs, announcing meetings and entertainments and sometimes seeking companions.h.i.+p.
Sergei and his hulking companion went straight in, not looking around, not checking behind, oblivious to the possibility that they'd been followed. Anya however knew that she'd been followed, and she was quite content. The big one had been in the next coach all the way. Odd-looking woman, angular and tall, but not uncoordinated, quicker than she looked.
She found a table in the McDonald's across the street, away from the window, but with a clear view reflected in the artwork on the opposite wall. She nursed a coffee and waited. It was something she was good at.
Adele sat in the pa.s.senger seat. ”You getting pepperoni repeats?”
”No.”
She belched delicately behind her palm. ”With maybe fried egg?”
”Need some Pepto?”
”h.e.l.l no, I need a regulated life, some order, some better habits.”
”She still in McDonald's?”
”Staring at that bar across the street.”
”What's she up to?”
”Sounds weird, but I get a strong feeling she was just leading the way. And now she's waiting for us.” A small burp. ”Too early for a beer?”
The bartender had stubble heavier than was currently fas.h.i.+onable. His look, lecherous when he checked out Stacy, soured when he saw her companion.
”Couple'a Coors Lite,” said Adele.
”Place you're looking for is two blocks that way.”
Adele was amused. ”Oh yeah, what place would that be, sir?”
”You know, where the 'girls' hang out.”
”This place 'boys only,' is it?” She looked around the room. ”I don't know, Stace, most of the gay bars I've been in, the guys had style.”
”Hard to tell sometimes,” Stacy said. ”Check his wrist. That's a five thousand dollar timepiece, don't you think?”
”Five easy.”
”Easy. You pay retail for that?”
Bartender gave them a hard look, placed two bottles on the bar and moved to the other end. Adele put down a ten dollar bill. ”No gla.s.s?” The bartender's attention was on the TV above the pinball machine. A silent soccer game was in progress.
Stacy deliberately spilled a few drops on the floor. A private ritual. The G.o.ds shouldn't have to do without just because she didn't drink. She scanned the room, taking it all in, weighing everything, locating doors and hallways, counting bodies - a dozen, all male - vodka, coffee, tea, newspapers, chess. Travel posters invited the world to visit the Black Sea and St. Petersburg, to drink Stolichnaya and fly Aeroflot. The music was the best of ABBA or something, European disco, no balalaikas. ”Charming spot,” she said.
Adele wet her lips. ”Far side, Big Hair and Dapper Dan?”
”I think the big one was in my town,” said Stacy. ”Yesterday, day before.”
”Oh yeah?”
”I'm pretty sure I saw him at the hospital. I recognize the hair. Who combs their hair like that?”
”And the short one has nasty eyebrows.”
”You think? Yeah. Kind of objectionable.”
The two men were arguing about something, in Russian, but being very controlled about it, with phony smiles and bogus laughter, sometimes audible over the inappropriate music. ”Dapper Dan wants to strangle his friend but his hands aren't big enough,” Adele said.
”How do you want to do this?” Stacy asked.
”Oh h.e.l.l. Let's see how cool they are.”
Adele walked straight across the room. Stacy left her beer on the bar and took the scenic route, crossing the room at oblique angles, checking faces, expressions, features, making an impression.
”Hi there, gents,” Adele said. ”Mind if we join you?”
The big one looked them over. ”She can stay,” he said, pointing. ”You can p.i.s.s off.”
”And I thought this was a social club,” said Adele. She sat down. Stacy remained standing, keeping an eye of the rest of the room.
”You are police?”
Stacy turned her shoulders to look the big man in the eye. ”That's right, sir.”
”Being police is dangerous job,” the big man said.
Stacy smiled, ”So's being an a.s.shole.” She resumed picket duty.
”What's your name, sir?” Adele asked him.
”Yevgeni Grenkov. I am citizen.”
”Are you now? That's good to know. Pay taxes and everything? Very nice.” She turned to his companion. ”How about you, sir?”
”You drink on duty?”
Adele's face creased in a broad grin. ”I know that voice. I thought that might be you. Didn't I say that, Stace?”
”You did.”
”I said I'll just bet that dapper little f.u.c.ker is my pal, Serge.” She had another sip. ”And yes, Serge, I'm sipping a beer. I'm on compa.s.sionate leave today, Serge. You know, on account of my partner getting shot. You remember my partner, Paul. Paul Delisle, Mr. . . . ah, what is it?”