me.”
It was all across his face how much he hated me and my offer. He was sweating now, and he licked his lips once, twice, and I knew his mouth had gone dry, knew he was going into shock.
“You're running out of time,” I told him.
He swore again, then said, “Tourniquet. Put a tourniquet on it first.”
“No.”
He swore once more, but this time it was quieter, and more at himself and his position than at me.
“She went out yesterday, before dawn,” Vladek Karataev said. “On the boat to Trabzon. She's already in Turkey.”
“Why there? Why'd you send her there?”
“She went with the others.”
“What others?”
His eyes focused. “What's it to you? Who the fuck are you?”
“A friend of Bakhar's,” I said. “What others? Why did you send her to Turkey?”
He began coughing, and it must have hurt like hell to do it with a shattered pelvic girdle, but he didn't stop. After a moment, I realized he was laughing, not coughing, and he was laughing at me. Then pain caught up to the joke, and his noises subsided.
“That shit had it coming,” Vladek told me, and he smiled. “He fucking sold us to the police, Bakhar got what he had coming. Gave it to his daughter, too. We all did.”
I didn't say anything.
“You won't find her.” The smile turned into a grin. One of his incisors was missing, another was gold. “She's pretty and young. She's already been sold. Some fat Arab sheikh already has her wiping his floors and sucking her own shit off his cock.”
My arm felt cold where it was covered in blood, like it had been dunked in a bath of ice. My head pulsed with pain, my left ear still ringing sharply. The backs of my thighs and shoulders throbbed, and for the first time I was aware that what I thought was sweat running down my back probably wasn't sweat at all.
He really loved the reaction he got, the look on my face that I couldn't hide, and didn't bother to try to.
“What the fuck you think this is?” he asked, as if assessing me for brain damage. “You fucking think Bakhar was living in that shithole town because he liked the beach? Coward, fuckingcoward was hiding from us, he knew what he had done. So we paid him back, we paid him in full.”
I still didn't speak, but this time it was because I didn't think I could.
“He sold them, too, you understand me? He sold more girls than you've ever seen, and then the fucking Americans leaned on Tbilisi, and Tbilisi leaned on us, and he sold us out. Your friend . Fuck you! That was your friend!”
He was shouting at the end, furious at Bakhar, at me, at his wounds and the injustice of a world that would punish him like this. I watched his chest heave as he tried to replace his spent breath, glaring at me, the hostility as naked as it had been on Bakhar's body.
I moved my foot off his thigh, watched the blood begin to flood out of the wound I'd made, spreading beneath his leg.
“Give me a name,” I said. “The captain of the boat, the contact in Turkey, something. I want a name.”
The glare stayed as before. He knew the way that I knew that he would never get a tourniquet or the phone. He knew he was done, and he knew that giving me anything more wouldn't change that.
I took out my gun.
“You'll never find her,” Vladek Karataev said.
“You'll never know,” I told him, and shot him twice in the face.
CHAPTER
Seven
Halfway back to Kobuleti, after crossing the Supsa River, I took the Land Cruiser off-road, heading inland, headlights off. It was closing on two in the morning, the moon beginning to move toward setting, but there was more than enough to see by as long as I drove slow. I followed the river-bank for four kilometers, passing farms and their distant houses, before reaching woodlands. Then I turned the nose of the car to the river and parked. When I moved to get out of the car, I realized that my shirt had stuck to the seatback as
It was all across his face how much he hated me and my offer. He was sweating now, and he licked his lips once, twice, and I knew his mouth had gone dry, knew he was going into shock.
“You're running out of time,” I told him.
He swore again, then said, “Tourniquet. Put a tourniquet on it first.”
“No.”
He swore once more, but this time it was quieter, and more at himself and his position than at me.
“She went out yesterday, before dawn,” Vladek Karataev said. “On the boat to Trabzon. She's already in Turkey.”
“Why there? Why'd you send her there?”
“She went with the others.”
“What others?”
His eyes focused. “What's it to you? Who the fuck are you?”
“A friend of Bakhar's,” I said. “What others? Why did you send her to Turkey?”
He began coughing, and it must have hurt like hell to do it with a shattered pelvic girdle, but he didn't stop. After a moment, I realized he was laughing, not coughing, and he was laughing at me. Then pain caught up to the joke, and his noises subsided.
“That shit had it coming,” Vladek told me, and he smiled. “He fucking sold us to the police, Bakhar got what he had coming. Gave it to his daughter, too. We all did.”
I didn't say anything.
“You won't find her.” The smile turned into a grin. One of his incisors was missing, another was gold. “She's pretty and young. She's already been sold. Some fat Arab sheikh already has her wiping his floors and sucking her own shit off his cock.”
My arm felt cold where it was covered in blood, like it had been dunked in a bath of ice. My head pulsed with pain, my left ear still ringing sharply. The backs of my thighs and shoulders throbbed, and for the first time I was aware that what I thought was sweat running down my back probably wasn't sweat at all.
He really loved the reaction he got, the look on my face that I couldn't hide, and didn't bother to try to.
“What the fuck you think this is?” he asked, as if assessing me for brain damage. “You fucking think Bakhar was living in that shithole town because he liked the beach? Coward, fuckingcoward was hiding from us, he knew what he had done. So we paid him back, we paid him in full.”
I still didn't speak, but this time it was because I didn't think I could.
“He sold them, too, you understand me? He sold more girls than you've ever seen, and then the fucking Americans leaned on Tbilisi, and Tbilisi leaned on us, and he sold us out. Your friend . Fuck you! That was your friend!”
He was shouting at the end, furious at Bakhar, at me, at his wounds and the injustice of a world that would punish him like this. I watched his chest heave as he tried to replace his spent breath, glaring at me, the hostility as naked as it had been on Bakhar's body.
I moved my foot off his thigh, watched the blood begin to flood out of the wound I'd made, spreading beneath his leg.
“Give me a name,” I said. “The captain of the boat, the contact in Turkey, something. I want a name.”
The glare stayed as before. He knew the way that I knew that he would never get a tourniquet or the phone. He knew he was done, and he knew that giving me anything more wouldn't change that.
I took out my gun.
“You'll never find her,” Vladek Karataev said.
“You'll never know,” I told him, and shot him twice in the face.
CHAPTER
Seven
Halfway back to Kobuleti, after crossing the Supsa River, I took the Land Cruiser off-road, heading inland, headlights off. It was closing on two in the morning, the moon beginning to move toward setting, but there was more than enough to see by as long as I drove slow. I followed the river-bank for four kilometers, passing farms and their distant houses, before reaching woodlands. Then I turned the nose of the car to the river and parked. When I moved to get out of the car, I realized that my shirt had stuck to the seatback as
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