I look at Victor. In the few moments that have passed, he’s grabbed the gun from his desk. But even if it’s my opponent rather than me that Victor intends to shoot, it’ll take too long for him to complete that movement, let alone aim the gun and fire it at Shkillet.
Besides, if he did that, there’s no telling whether he’d shoot the wrong person—namely, me—given how close I’m standing to Shkillet. I decide against Reading Victor to see who he’s going to aim that gun at. I have no Depth to waste on questions where the answer won’t help the situation at hand. Instead, I Split back.
Even before my mind is back in my body, I begin mentally playing out a maneuver that I can best describe as a hula-hoop move. I try to do it over and over, to make sure it’s the first and only thing that my body does when it gets the mind back. My body moves in the desired motion, but not fast enough, and I feel a burning pain in my side.
A pain that makes me involuntarily Split again.
Please, God, don’t let me see myself dying. I turn to look at my frozen body in the Mind Dimension.
I’m in luck. Even though the hula-hoop move wasn’t entirely successful, it did get me far enough out of the knife’s path. Shkillet only grazed my side. And now he’s off-balance.
I Split and get back to real time with a whirling kick to Shkillet’s balls, a move I’ve done many times since starting my investigation. Nothing stops a man as quickly as a hit in that vulnerable place, and no man has ever deserved it more than Shkillet.
As my foot connects, Shkillet squeals loudly and grabs his damaged family jewels. Remembering Victor’s unfinished vodka bottle, I grab it, determined to bring it down on Shkillet’s head. But before I can, a shot rings out.
My heart feels like it’s going to jump out of my ribcage as the room goes silent.
I automatically Split again and look around. My real body doesn’t look like it’s been shot. There’s some more blood flowing from where Shkillet’s knife grazed me, but that’s it. When I glance at Victor’s gun, I can’t tell where he’s pointing it because the air around the barrel is filled with smoke.
When I turn toward Shkillet, however, I see that the right side of his skull is flying away, with bits of blood and brain matter frozen in the air. So that’s where Victor was aiming. And what’s more, there’s another bullet frozen midway on its trajectory toward Shkillet’s chest.
Exhaling in relief, I decide to spend a few more precious moments of my Depth to Read Victor’s intentions. If he’s planning to shoot me, I want to know about it, even if there’s not much I can do to stop him. Then again, maybe I’ll throw that vodka bottle at him—get one last shot in before I go.
Inside Victor’s head, I experience rage mixed with awe mixed with confusion. It’s impossible to tell what he’ll do for sure, so I leave the Mind Dimension and get ready to face whatever is in store for me.
Victor looks at Shkillet’s bleeding body, then looks at me, the gun pointing at me for a brief, heart-pounding moment, but then he slowly lowers the weapon.
A bouncer rushes into the room. “What the fuck, boss? Your glass door is not that soundproof. If I heard it outside, anyone on the dance floor could’ve, too.”
“We’ll need some private cleaning in here.” Victor puts his gun down on the table. “And as for the noise, tell the DJ to make up an excuse about a problem with his equipment. Also tell him to announce a half hour of open bar, starting now.”
“Got it.” The bouncer exhales and rolls his shoulders as he heads out the door. “That’ll work, especially the second part.”
“I’m not sure what just happened,” Victor says when the bouncer leaves. “What you said about Vera was accurate, and only someone who’s seen her naked would know those things. But something doesn’t ring true because I have a hard time believing he’d dare.” Victor waves toward what’s left of Shkillet, and shakes his head. “Still, I did underestimate the little creep tonight. I ought to put on his tombstone: ‘Shkillet, the underestimated.’”
“I’d make that ‘Shkillet, the underestimated rapist.’” I give the dead body a shove with my foot.
“I don’t know about that part.” Victor extends his hand for the bottle I’m still holding.
“Believe what you want.” I hand him the bottle. “Ask around. He was a rapist.”
“But did he do that to Vera?” Victor frowns, pouring himself another shot. “That’s what I have trouble with. Wouldn’t she have told me?”
“She was probably ashamed. It happens a lot with rape victims. All I can say is, if he didn’t, he sure lied about it. Just like he lied about me being a cop.”
“And you’re not?” Victor gulps down the shot. “You moved like some Spetsnaz soldier when he attacked you. It was—”
“I have good reflexes.” I have to get his mind off what he thinks he saw. “That’s all. It doesn’t make me a cop.”
“But it does make you an accessory to this.” He points to Shkillet. “But here’s what bothers me. If he lied and didn’t fuck her, how’d he know what she had on her back?”
“Well, we can’t ask him now.” I shrug. “Maybe he was a peeping tom? That’s not strange for a rapist.”
“Perhaps.” He gives me a suspicious stare. “Or maybe you are. Did you see me fuck her yesterday? Did you watch us and use the info to make it look like he disrespected me?”
“You wish. That’s one of your voyeuristic fantasies. Besides, wouldn’t you close the door and have some bouncer guard it if you were fucking?”
Victor sighs and rakes his fingers through his hair. “Talking to you is as frustrating as talking to Nadia. You’re too good of a liar—probably helps you during poker.”
I shrug and pretend not to know he’s talking about his daughter.
“So.” Victor exhales. “The fact that he attacked you could mean you’re right. Maybe he knew that if he didn’t attack you, his death would’ve been . . . slow.”
“You give him too much credit. He’s not that smart—only crazy.” I twirl my finger next to my temple in a gesture for insanity.
Victor chuckles, but then he stops abruptly and stares at me.
Feeling like I’m under a magnifying glass, I can’t help but notice the throbbing in my wound. The adrenaline rush has worn off, and it hurts like a son of a bitch.
“You’re bleeding.” He frowns.
“It’s nothing.” I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting to weakness. “But thanks for your concern.”
“Listen, whatever-your-name-is, I want to continue this conversation someday.”
Great. Just what I don’t need. I think it, but don’t verbalize it.
“In the meantime,” he continues, “I’ll spread the word that you’re under my protection so you won’t need to worry about the likes of Shkillet in the future.”
I’m at a loss for words. I didn’t expect him to say that. That’s the third time I’m surprised today. I really should Read people more if I don’t want these surprises, but it’s tricky because of my limited Depth.
“Here’s my card.” He hands it to me as if this is a normal business deal. “Call me if you need anything.”
I take the card. Then he walks to the door and lets his bouncers in.
“Take her to the hospital,” Victor tells the big guy who brought me here earlier. “Put the bill on my tab.” He looks at me after the bouncer nods. “I’ll be seeing you later, Ilona.”
Numb with shock, I let myself be herded through the club. There’s no sign of the guy I’d danced with. Oh well. It’s not like that would’ve been anything more than a one-night stand. I’m nothing if not realistic. There’s no room in my life for a relationship.
*
Patched up and tired as a dog, I take a cab from the hospital to my car.
As I watch the streets whiz by, I have a million thoughts running through my head. They fight with one another, but the one that keeps getting my attention is that I have to get away. Away from Brooklyn, away from gangsters, away from all this shit. I need to let things settle here.
It’s a smart idea, but what can I do? Where should I go?