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“You shouldn’t bring knives to gunfights,” he replies, patting the obvious outline of a gun in his waistband. “You ready?”
“One second.” I pull off the shirt I took from his bag last night and replace it with the sour-smelling one I wore on the drive here. I didn’t realize how much I had been sweating in this heat until now, and I doubt extra deodorant is going to be enough to counteract that.
I definitely need something else to wear, but maybe this will keep Nikolai away from me. I have to look on the bright side.
Speaking of bright, the sun is blazing up in the sky with such hostility that I can practically hear it as we step outside. I blink in the searing light as Nikolai walks in front of me with so much poise and direction that I’m certain he’s cheating the sun somehow, and he isn’t even wearing sunglasses.
“Jesus, is it always this bright outside?” I ask, stumbling along behind him as he makes a beeline for the closest restaurant. “How can you see?”
“I have my eyes surgically tinted by the Russian government back in ‘98,” he replies casually.
I stop a moment to process what he just said, but run after him again when I realize he’s pulling my leg. “Okay, very funny. You’re just full of jokes, aren’t you? I thought a Bratva boss would be a bit more serious, especially at a time like this. You’re acting like a high school jock.”
He spins around on his heels and I bounce off his chest, nearly falling to the ground. “The only thing I’m serious about is you not mentioning that I’m a Bratva boss. As much power as it gives me at the hotel, not everyone around here is as keen to have a criminal in their backyard. They might see killing me as an opportunity to gain favor and mercy from the Cartel. I’d rather be a jock than a Bratva boss out here.”
I hadn’t thought of that, but I can’t see Nikolai as anything but an obvious criminal. He’s covered from head to toe in tattoos, and he’s about twice the size of a normal man. He wouldn’t be able to hide his Bratva affiliation if he dressed up in a tutu and started teaching ballet.
“And you’re guilty by association,” he adds. “So don’t think you can get rid of me and come out of here alive. They’d gut you without a second thought.”
As it turns out, I was right when I said that bad things happen in small towns. I don’t trust this place. For one, there’s nobody here, and that’s weird enough, but if Nikolai feels the need to walk around with a gun in his pants and hush me when I mention he’s with the Bratva, there’s no way we’re somewhere that’s truly safe.
I stand by what I said before. A big city would’ve been safer. We could’ve disappeared there. Here, we stick out like tourists, only the type people want to kill instead of rob.
“Breakfast is good here,” Nikolai says, pointing to another unlabeled building in a sea of unlabeled buildings. It seems that everyone just knows where everything is already, and they don’t need signs.
“Are you sure there’s even anyone in there?” I ask as we walk up to the door.
“I know the place. Really good food. You’ll see,” he says, pulling the door open.
I’m surprised when we walk in and discover that it’s buzzing as much as lunch hour at my favorite taco place in the United States. We almost have to wait for a table, but someone vacates one as we walk through the building, and we quickly slide into either side of the booth.
The waiter doesn’t give us menus. Apparently, there’s only one breakfast option, and I have to settle for that. I watch the other patrons, noting how they dig into plates filled with various types of meat, eggs, beans, and tortillas. I’m glad I’m not a vegetarian.
Now that we’re seated, I can smell myself again, and the odor is nothing pleasant.
“Tell me about this clothing store,” I say, leaning back to keep some distance between Nikolai and myself. I feel like he’s going to make fun of me if he realizes how bad I smell.
Or maybe I just don’t want him to think I’m gross. I shouldn’t, though. I don’t need his validation.
“It’s an outdoor market, so you should drink plenty of water with breakfast. If you think it’s hot now, wait until we get outside again and start walking around,” he replies, playing with a little piece of a discarded straw wrapper on the table.
It kind of feels like we’re on a date.
“So, they’ll have something casual there? Something… typical?” I ask, trying to figure out how to say I just want jeans and a t-shirt without implying that the locals here don’t know how to dress.
I mean, they do know how to dress, but that’s just it. They all seem to be wearing dresses, and I’m afraid if I did, Nikolai wouldn’t be able to stop himself from reaching under it and grabbing my –
“They have lots of options. Probably stuff similar to what you’re wearing now.”
“And that’s fine here?” I ask, looking down at my wrinkly t-shirt and jeans tinted orange from the dirt.
“You look great,” he says, flicking the straw wrapper onto my side of the table.
“I just want to blend in and feel safe. That’s all,” I reply, flicking the little piece of paper back to him. “I don’t want people to know what we’re here to do.”
“Smuggling drugs in exchange for your cousin’s life,” he adds, his voice low, almost like he’s savoring the words. “I hope it’s as thrilling as it sounds.”
“Thrilling is one word for it,” I mutter, glancing over at a waiter carrying identical plates and then back at him. “Terrifying would be another.”
