Final Winter

And the other lead, slim as it was, had led to this address. Adrianna’s apartment, which she had shared with her aunt — one Elyse Annanova — had been flipped so many times with new tenants that no one had any memories of an older woman and her young niece who had lived there. The few neighbors home this day that he approached also gave him blank stares. Him being a white man in a suit in this neighborhood, asking nosy questions, probably didn’t help either, though a local grocery store had helped just a bit. The older man there, wearing a spotless white apron and welhshined black shoes, had said, ‘No, sir, I don’t remember anything about that woman and her aunt. But I have somebody who might know something. That’d be Mamma Garrity. She lives over on Prospect Street now, but she used to live here, and I don’t like to speak ill of the elderly, but my God, that woman can talk a hole through a tin pot, and if that woman and her aunt lived here, she’d know, by God.’

So by way of thanking the helpful grocer, Brian had bought a couple of six-packs of Coors that he didn’t want. Now he was on Prospect Street — a bit of punnish humor from the Big Guy Upstairs? — and he got out of his rental car and walked up to the small house, ready to ring the doorbell and keep on digging.

And why was that? he thought. Because it was his job, or because he was pissed at the cold treatment he had gotten this morning from Adrianna?

Who knew? Brian rang the bell.

~ * ~

The two young American men came over to Vladimir and Imad, gave them quick nods. Then one of them took off his sunglasses and said something. Vladimir couldn’t understand what he said, the boy talked so fast, and so he replied, ‘Excuse me?’

‘I said, man, what the fuck is up here?’ the youngster said. He had a goatee and there were earrings in both ears. His companion kept his glasses on and nodded, arms folded. There were tattoos on both forearms. His companion said, ‘This place is protected, dude. You can’t be painting your truck here. Do you have a permit?’

Vladimir thought as quick as he could, but these two young males in front of him seemed as foreign as if they had stepped out of a spaceship from Mars. Imad said quietly, ‘Why don’t you mind your own business, then?’ The young man with the folded arms stepped forward and said, ‘This place is our business, dude. Earth is our business. Protecting it is our business. And we don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, but we came here for a day of rock climbing, and we see this…this fucking mess here. What’s up with that?’

The boy without the sunglasses said, ‘Like I said, do you have a permit? Do you? This is National Forest land, man.’

The young girls had been busy, taking the gear from the rear of the Jeep, and one shouted out something and the guy said, ‘Jackie’s right, man. You get your stuff cleared up and out of here, and like now, or we report you to the rangers. Got it? Get your shit clean and out of here. You don’t belong here.’

Imad stepped forward and Vladimir grabbed his arm. ‘Please,’ Vladimir said, ‘We’re almost done. We will be on our way shortly.’

‘Nope,’ the tattooed guy said. ‘Out now.’

Vladimir said, ‘Perhaps a payment for your troubles, some compensation, and—’

And then the goateed one, the one with earrings, actually spat at Vladimir. Spat on the ground!

‘That’s what we think of your cash, man. Nothing. We can’t be bought. So get the fuck out, or the rangers get the call.’

The two strolled away and Imad looked at Vladimir, eyes dark with fury. ‘We can’t let them call the police or the rangers or anyone else. You know that.’

‘I know.’

‘Then what do you plan to do about it?’ he demanded.

‘I… I… something must be done,’ Vladimir said.

‘Yes, but what?’

Vladimir stammered, then went silent.

He looked over at the Jeep where the four were still busy, though they kept on looking over at him and Imad.

Imad looked at Vladimir with contempt, and said, ‘You. Brave man who plans to kill millions. Strike a blow. Smash. Be a barbarian and kill. All talk. All empty air unless you are safe, away from seeing what you are doing, what must be done. You don’t want to get your fingers dirty, your precious fingers. Am I right? Am I?’

Vladimir felt the burning of humiliation in his cheeks as the young savage in front of him spoke the truth. He could not say a word. He just nodded.

Imad now looked satisfied. ‘Good. I will do what has to be done, Russian, so you know. I will do what has to be done, and from you there will be no more dismissive words or gestures or insults. Understood?’

Another nod.

Imad said, ‘I did not hear you, Russki.’

‘Yes,’ Vladimir said. ‘Understood.’

‘Good.’ Imad strode to the truck and Vladimir stood there, just watching, an observer.

From the Jeep Wrangler, some more laughter, and a shout from one of the men: ‘I don’t see you moving, asshole. Get moving or you’ll regret it!’

And so Vladimir stood.

~ * ~