The Big Bad Wolf

THE COUPLE WAS HIDING out for a few days in New York City. Lower Manhattan. It was so easy to get lost there, to disappear off the map. And New York was one city where they could get whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted it. The Couple wanted rough sex. For starters, anyway. They had stayed out of reach of their employer for more than thirty-six hours. Their contact man, Sterling, finally got through to them on the cell phone in a room at the Chelsea Hotel on West Twenty-third Street. Outside the window was a sign: HOTEL CHELSEA in an L shape. The vertical HOTEL was in white, the horizontal CHELSEA in red. It was a famous New York City icon. "I've been trying to reach you for a day and a half," Sterling said. "Don't ever turn off your cell on me. Consider this a last warning." The woman, Zoya, yawned and gave the phone the finger. With her free hand, she popped a CD, East Eats West, into the player. Rock music kicked in hard and loud. "We were busy, darling. We're still busy. What the hell do you want? You have more money for us? Money talks." "Turn down the music, please. Please. Somebody has an itch. He's very rich. There's a lot of money involved." "Like I said, darling, we're busy right now. Otherwise occupied. Out to lunch. How big an itch is it?" "Same as last time. A very big itch. He's a personal friend of the Wolf." Zoya flinched at the mention of the Wolf. "Give me details, specifics. Don't waste our time." "We'll do it like we always do, darling. A piece of the puzzle at a time. How soon can you be on the road? How about thirty minutes?" "We have something to wrap up here. Let's say four hours. This need that somebody has, this itch - what kind of itch is it?" "One unit, female. And not too far from New York. I'll give you directions first. Then specifics on the unit. You have four hours." Zoya looked at her partner, who was lounging in an armchair. Slava was idly fingering a pecker leash as he listened to her talking. He was gazing out the window at a sweet shop, a tailor shop, a one-hour photo. Typical NYC view. "We'll do the job," said Zoya. "Tell Wolf we'll get his friend what he needs. No problem whatsoever." Then she hung up on Sterling. Because she could. She shrugged at her partner. Then Zoya looked across the hotel room to a queen-size bed with a steel decorative head- board. A young blond man was lying there. He was naked and gagged, handcuffed to vertical rods spaced about a foot apart on the bed. "You're in luck," Zoya said to the blond. "Only four more hours to play, baby. Only four more hours." Then Slava spoke. "You'll wish it was less. You ever heard of a Russian word - zamochit? No. I'll show you zamochit. Four hours' worth. I learned it from the Wolf. Now you learn from me. Zamochit. It means to break all the bones in your body." Zoya winked at the boy. "Four hours. Zamochit. You'll take the next few hours with you through eternity. Never forget it, darling."