“So what do you suggest I do?”
“Meet me. I will explain what we are going to do. Okay?”
“But I don't understand. Why you are doing this? What business is it of yours?” Cassy said.
“Because I hate the motherfucker. He's the worst person God ever made.”
“I'm not sure. How do I know you are who you say you are?”
“Tell you what, why don't we meet at Grand Central in the middle of rush hour? There will be thousands of people around. That way you'll feel safe.”
*****
Cassy waited at Chirping Chicken in Grand Central. She'd never seen Igor before, but when he walked into the restaurant, she knew it was him. On the phone he'd spoken with a Russian accent, and the man who came into the restaurant looked Russian. Not only did he look Russian, but he was also extremely good looking. Tall, well built, cropped black hair, a fine-boned Slavic face, and the deepest blue eyes.
He was even more impressed with Cassy than he had been when he'd seen her on TV. She was wonderfully beautiful, with green eyes, long dark hair, and the softest-looking skin.
“You know, I shouldn't be here. If the cops knew, they'd probably charge me with something,” she said anxiously.
“Fuck the cops. They won't help you. They haven't got the balls to fight Murat Hyka.”
“And you have?” she asked, slightly sarcastically.
“Yes. My brother and I have got a score to settle with him.”
“You told me you’re a real estate dealer.”
“Listen, we buy and sell apartment buildings in New York and London. I came to America when I was eighteen, seeking my fortune. I have done a lot of bad shit, but now we're trying to stay above the law. I'm gonna get your brother back and put an end to this asshole. Okay?”
“And what do you want in return?” Cassy said.
“I don't want money. If I bring Michael home to you, I want you. Your debt will be one night with me.”
Cassy looked at him as if he'd gone mad. “You are joking, right?”
“No, I'm not. One night for your brother. That's all.”
“Thanks, but I don't play with my virtue. Now get the hell away from me.”
When Cassy got home, she rang Judy's dad, who was a sergeant at NYPD. She asked him to do a check on Murat Hyka and Igor Ivanovich. Later, he told her Murat was an Albanian businessman with suspected links to drug trafficking and protection. His information on Igor was that he was a Russian real estate dealer with interests in New York and London. She was surprised to learn his net worth was over three billion dollars. His record was clean, although he had been taken in for questioning a few times regarding threatening behavior toward public officials and bankers.
*****
“Are you Michael?” Igor asked. Michael nodded and put his hands back over his ears. “It's okay. I've come to take you back to Cassy.” Michaels' eyes lit up at the sound of her name.
“Bad. Bad,” he said as he looked at the two men on the floor, both of them with their necks broken.
“Come on, Igor, hurry up. Untie him and let's get out of here,” Dima said. He looked up the cellar stairs to the light, waiting for more men to appear. He gripped his gun more tightly, peering to see if there were any moving shadows.
Igor pulled Michael along with him as they climbed the cellar steps and arrived in the kitchen of the seedy detached house in Queens. Dima looked at the other two men they had immobilized. One of them was lying face down in a pool of blood on the kitchen floor, the other slumped across the kitchen table, his head turned at a grotesque angle.
Dima reversed the car out of the driveway and drove away from the house where Michael had been held.
“You know we're going to have to finish what we started, don't you?” Dima said. “We're going to have to go after Hyka. When he finds out we've done this, he'll come for us.”
“Don't worry. We can handle that little prick,” Igor said.
Michael began to scream. It was high pitched and very loud. “It's okay.” Igor put his arm around Michael. “Michael, we're taking you home. To Cassy.” Michael went silent again.
Dima drove slowly across the city. The last thing he wanted to do was get pulled over by the cops for speeding with Michael in the back of the car. When they arrived at Pearlington Avenue, Michael began to recognize the houses.
“Home,” he said in the manner of a small child.
“Yes, home,” Igor said. “Pull up here. Any closer to the house and they may see us.” Dima pulled up on the quiet road three hundred yards away from the Solomon residence. “Okay, Michael, go home.” Igor opened the car door and watched as Michael began to walk as fast as he could toward the house he shared with Cassy.