a colorful quilt. A small alcove had been converted into a kind of kitchen. There were two standing portable closets and a trio of matching cushioned chairs covered in a well-worn green material. A small table with two chairs stood next to the bed. The rest of the room was taken up by cheap bookcases of various sizes and shapes. One particularly impressive floor-to-ceiling bookcase was jammed with books.
“What do you want?” the woman asked.
“To sit at your window,” said Sasha, looking out the glass. “We are waiting for some suspects to enter that building across the street.”
The rifle was obviously getting heavy. She hoisted it up.
“The Tivonovs?” she said. “Short, fat man and a woman who looks like his twin?”
Sasha did not answer.
“The boys,” she ventured again. “Tried to get in here once. I keep the shades down when it gets dark, but I sit by the window and read and watch when I can.”
Still Sasha didn’t answer her question but said instead, “We would simply like to take turns sitting at your window. We will require nothing of you but your silence. You can go on with your routine.”
“What if they don’t come back till night? What if they don’t come back for days?” she asked.
The rifle was now definitely aimed at the floor in front of Sasha. There was little chance that she could raise it and fire before he could step forward and take it from her hands.
“My partner will begin the watch. I will relieve him at midnight. You may sleep while I watch.”
“Someone tried to rape me once,” she said, looking with suspicion at the two men.
“I’m sorry,” said Sasha, feeling a rush of impatience he recognized as dangerous. “We will not harm you. When we are finished, we will give you a letter of commendation for your cooperation. The name of a chief inspector will be on the letter. You can say that you have a friend in the police who is a chief inspector.”
“In this neighborhood,” she said, moving to the door and leaning the rifle against the bookcase, “such a letter could get me killed. No letter.”
“No letter,” Sasha agreed.
“Money,” the woman said.
“Perhaps a little, after we catch them.”
“How little?” the woman said, facing the young detective.
“I don’t know.”
“American dollars,” she said. “Five American dollars.”
“I can’t get five American dollars,” said Sasha, glancing out the window again. “I’ll get what I can in rubles.”
The woman shook her head and said, “I have a choice?”
“No,” said Sasha.
“You want tea?” she asked.
“I am leaving,” said Sasha. “You don’t have a phone. Where is the nearest phone?”
“Two blocks that way. In front of what used to be a hotel. It still works. You want to know why?”
“Why?” asked Sasha wearily.
“Because the drug dealers use it and they’ll kill anyone who breaks it,” she said. “If it weren’t for the drug dealers, this neighborhood would be a hell. It takes the police more than half an hour sometimes to answer a complaint in this neighborhood. You call one of the drug dealers and they take care of things fast. They don’t want the police around.”
“I would like some tea,” Zelach said, moving to the window.
“You have the appreciation of the Moscow police,” Sasha said to the woman, who had moved to her alcove to prepare the tea.
“I’m the widow of a policeman,” she said. “You people appreciated him so much that now I have a pension so small, I can barely stay alive on it and I have to live in this prison. You have families?”
“My partner lives with his mother,” said Sasha. “I have a … This is not relevant.”
“To me it is,” said the woman. “And to your family. What happens to your wife if you get shot down dead in the street? I’ll tell you what happens. She gets a pension too small to live on.”
Zelach was standing at the window.
“Sit down,” the woman said.
Zelach sat, still wearing his coat.
“I will return at midnight if they haven’t come back by then,” Sasha said.
The woman shook her head and said, “I get little company. Having a man sitting at my window may not be such a bad thing.”
Sasha left, closing the apartment door behind him. Zelach knew the routine. If the boys returned, he was to call Sasha at home and do nothing till Sasha arrived, nothing but watch the door.
Sasha’s jacket was a bit too light for the weather. His heavy coat was not yet needed. He walked through the chill toward the nearest metro station. People moved in both directions. Sasha scanned faces for a trio of young boys as he moved.
He was now in a decidedly bad mood. He imagined himself on a hospital stretcher, his dead body flat, Maya looking down at him, wondering how she could manage without his salary. It was a good thing that he did not see the Chazov boys before he got to the metro station. He was certain that had he seen them, he would have done something quite foolish and possibly dangerous.
Alexei Porvinovich paced his designated side of the room considering something quite foolish and possibly dangerous. He had paced for hours. Artiom Solovyov had not returned. Alexei had leafed through the magazines that had been left for him. He had glanced at the lean masked man with the automatic weapon. The lean man sat watching Alexei and not speaking.
The pain in his face had been reduced to a constant tender throbbing, but his face in the mirror looked as if he had contracted some horrific, disfiguring disease.
Before doing something foolish and possibly dangerous Alexei decided upon a plan. He had made a near fortune being patient and dealing with bureaucrats at all levels. Some had been smart or at least cunning. A number had been fools. Usually the fools were much more difficult to deal with, and the man in the chair across the room certainly looked like a fool.
“You can remove the mask,” said Alexei. “It must be very warm.”
The man did not answer.
“Your name is Boris,” said Alexei, finding it difficult to speak through his pain. “You work for Solovyov. I’ve seen you many times. I can identify you with or without the mask.”
Boris considered this and looked at the door, wondering what Artiom would say if he returned and found him without the mask. But Porvinovich was right. What difference could it make? And the mask was driving Boris mad. He pulled it off and placed it nearby on the floor. He brushed back his hair, which resisted and turned him into a wild-haired clown with a gun.
“What do you know of me?” Alexei asked him.
Boris didn’t answer, but he did look at his prisoner. It was a small step.
“I am very rich,” Alexei said. “You know that. That is why you’ve joined Solovyov in this.”
Boris said nothing but watched Alexei, who had stopped pacing and now sat in a chair, which he turned to face the man with the weapon. Alexei would have liked to put on his business face, a resigned, understanding smile, but he knew it would look grotesque. Instead he sat casually, one leg crossed over the other. A cigarette would be a wonderful prop now, especially if he could pluck it casually from the silver case he normally kept in his pocket. Unfortunately, the case had been taken from him.
“How rich do you think I am?” Alexei said softly, the voice of a conspirator.
The man with the gun did something that may have been a shrug.
“How much is Solovyov paying you for helping him, Boris?”
Boris did not respond.
“A few thousand rubles? More? Maybe he promised you millions,” said Alexei casually. “I have that, and what does it hurt him to promise you anything?”
He had the attention of the man with the gun, though he had still not gotten a word from him.
“He will have to kill me, Boris,” said Alexei. “I know who he is. I know who you are. Would I go to the police
