Kenny gave me a confused look. “Neither. The Russians want all of you.” He used three fingers to point at us. “And they’re paying by the pound.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The only trailer park inside Boston city limits is on the West Roxbury-Dedham border, squeezed in between a restaurant and a car dealership on a strip of Route 1 that is otherwise zoned for commercial or industrial use. And yet, after decades of fighting off developers and buyout offers from the car dealership, the little trailer park that could remains pressed hard against a sluggish brown stretch of the Charles River. I’d always rooted for the place, taken a vicarious pride in the residents’ resilience to yet more commercial sprawl. It would break my heart someday to drive past it and see a McDonald’s or an Outback in its place. Then again, I doubted someone would take me to a McDonald’s to kill me, but it looked highly likely that I might breathe my last in a trailer park.
Kenny pulled off Route 1 onto the entrance roadway and drove us due east toward the river. He was, I’d learned, still pissed about his Hummer. He ranted about it for half the drive. How the cops had it impounded over in Southie and wouldn’t believe his story that it was stolen and he was probably going to have his parole revoked over it if they could prove he’d been anywhere near it that morning, but most of all, what really killed him, was that he’d loved that car.
“One,” I said, “I don’t know how anyone could love a Hummer.”
“Oh, I loved it, bitch.”
“Two,” I said, “why you beefing with me? I didn’t shoot your stupid-looking car. Yefim did.”
“You stole it, though.”
“But it’s not like I said, ‘Let me take it through the bullet wash.’ I was trying to find out where they were taking Sophie, and Yefim shot the shit out of your ugly car.”
“It’s not an ugly car.”
“It’s a hideous car,” Amanda said.
“It’s a pretty gay-looking car,” Tadeo chimed in. “You man enough to get away with it, though, Ken.”
Helene touched his arm. “I love it, honey.”
“All of you, please,” Kenny said, “shut the fuck up now.”
We drove in silence for the last forty minutes. Kenny was driving a late-’90s Chevy Suburban, which probably got the same mileage as the Hummer but somehow managed to be only half as ridiculous to behold. Amanda, the baby, and I sat in back with Tadeo between us. They’d tied my hands behind my back with a length of rope. It was a pretty uncomfortable way to sit for a two-hour drive, and I got a crick in my neck that worked its way down into my shoulders and would, I was sure, stay there for days. Sucks getting old.
We got off the Pike and drove south on 95 for ten miles before Kenny pulled off onto 109 and drove east another six miles, then turned right on Route 1, and took a right into the trailer park.
“How much they paying you for this?” I asked Kenny.
“How about my life? That’s a good one. Can you double it?”
“No.”
“Didn’t think so.” He looked in the rearview at her. “Amanda.”
“Yo, Ken.”
“I always thought you were a sweet kid, for what it’s worth.”
“I die fulfilled, then, Ken.”
Kenny snorted. “You’re what we’d call a pistol in my day.”
“I didn’t know they had pistols in your day.”
Tadeo laughed. “This bitch is cold.” He turned to her. “That’s a compliment.”
“Never had a doubt.”
We drove to the end of the main road. The trees and the river were the same light brown, and a riot of leaves salted with snow covered everything-the ground, the cars, the trailer roofs, the satellite dishes on top of the trailers, the tin carports. The sky was unblemished blue marble. A hawk flew in low over the river. The trailers sported wreaths and colored lights and the roof of one even sported a light display in the shape of Santa riding a golf cart, for some reason.
It was one of those days that, while cold, was so clear and bright that it nearly made up for the four more months of frigid gray we faced. The crisp air smelled like a cold apple. The sun was sharp and warm on my skin when Kenny stopped the Suburban and opened the back door and pulled me out.
Amanda, the baby, and Tadeo got out the other side and we all stood by a long double-wide trailer along the riverbank. It was empty back here. No cars in front of the few nearby trailers, everyone probably at work or last-minute Christmas shopping.
The door of the trailer opened and Yefim stood there, smiling while he chewed some food, a sub sandwich in one hand, a Springfield XD.40 cal in his waistband.
“Welcome, my friends. Come, come.” He waved us toward him and we all filed in.
When Amanda passed him, he raised an eyebrow at the cuffs. “Not bad.” Once we were inside, he closed the door behind us, and said to me, “How you doing, hump?”
“I’m all right. You?”
“Good, good.”
The inside of the trailer was a lot bigger than I’d imagined. On the back wall, in the center, was a sixty-inch TV screen. Two guys stood in front of it playing Wii Tennis, swinging their arms back and forth and jumping in place while their midget avatars ran back and forth across the screen. To the right of the TV was a sky-blue leather couch, two matching armchairs, and a glass coffee table. Past that, a thick black curtain was strung across the width of the room. On the sky-blue couch, Sophie sat with her mouth covered with electrical tape and her hands bound with a bungee cord. She glanced at all of us, but her eyes lit up when they fell on Amanda.
Amanda smiled back at her.
To our left was a kitchenette, and beyond that a small bathroom and a large bedroom. Cardboard boxes took up nearly every inch of free space-filling the shelves, stacked on the floors, crammed in the spaces above the kitchen cupboards. I could see them stacked in the bedroom and assumed they filled the space behind the black curtain-DVD players, Blu-Ray players, Wii, PlayStation, and Xbox players, Bose home theater systems, iPods, iPads, Kindles, and Garmin GPS systems.
We stood in the entranceway and watched the two men play virtual tennis for a moment with Sophie staring at us. She looked much better than she had the other day, like maybe they’d kept her meth-free and her body was starting to respond.
Yefim cocked his head at me. “Why you tied up, man?”
“Your friend Kenny.”
“He’s not my friend, man. Turn around.”
Kenny seemed hurt by the comment. He gave Helene a look like, You believe this shit ?
I gave Yefim my back and he cut the rope off my wrists, eating his sub the whole time, breathing through nostrils thick with hair.
“You look well, my friend. Healthy.”
“Thank you. You too.”
He slapped his heavy gut with his gun hand. “Ha ha. You a funny hump.” His voice suddenly boomed. “Pavel!”
Pavel turned in the middle of his backhand and looked back at Yefim as his avatar spun and then fell on the court and the tennis ball bounced past him.
“You on the clock. Take their weapons.”
Pavel sighed and tossed his remote onto a chair. His companion did the same. His companion was skinny as death, sunken cheeks and shaved head, Russian words tattooed on his neck. He wore a wife-beater that clung to his emaciated chest and black-and-yellow-striped sweatpants.
“Spartak,” Amanda whispered to me.
Spartak took Tadeo’s shotgun and Pavel took Kenny’s.
“Other guns,” Pavel said, snapping his fingers, his voice and gaze as flat as a dime. “Hurry.”
Kenny handed over a Taurus.38 and Tadeo forked over a FNP-9. Pavel put the two shotguns and two handguns in a black canvas bag on the floor.