Hard Currency

“Case 341,” said Karpo.

Yevgeny Odom laughed, but as the laugh echoed down the street, chasing the ghost of the chill wind, he stopped suddenly.

“Do you believe me?” asked Odom.

“I neither believe nor disbelieve. If you wish me to believe, you may give me details of some of the crimes in Case File 341.”

“I don’t like being a number,” said Yevgeny seriously.

“The decision to assign this crime a number is a matter of investigatory policy. It was not done to please or displease you.”

“Details,” said Odom, turning around and leaning against the kiosk next to the phone stand. “So many. The girl on the embankment, July 2, 1990. She was bitten on the back of her neck. I selected her because she looked so ripe, so clean. But she was evil. I did it for him.”

“For him?”

“For Kola,” Yevgeny explained.

“For Kola?”

“I think Kola might be growing fur.”

“Fur?”

“On his back. I may throw up.”

“You said he was evil,” said Karpo quickly.

“No. You misunderstood,” said Yevgeny with a sigh. Perhaps he had made a mistake. Perhaps he had made contact with a dull-witted policeman with whom he could not talk. “I said she was evil.”

“You said she was evil,” Karpo corrected himself. “She was a clerk in a government butcher shop. What had she done that was evil?”

“She was not a clerk in a butcher shop,” Odom said with a smile. “She was a prostitute posing as a student in need of money to help her finish her education. Her name was Anya Profft. All this is on my board.”

“Your board?”

“Never mind,” said Odom impatiently. “Do you believe me?”

“Yes,” said Karpo. “So you and Kola killed the girl.”

In the long pause Karpo could hear the ambient sounds of a street.

“Yes, I am guilty. But only of finding them. Kola … This is lonely business, Karpo. I have to be strong. I have no choice. No one asked me if I wanted to do this. He was there, waiting, growing, demanding. Do you have any idea what that is like, what it took from me to keep him contained for all these years?”

“Yes,” said Karpo, and Odom believed that the man with the flat voice on the other end of the line really did understand. “You will have to go underground soon.”

The pause was long.

“What do you mean?” asked Odom.

“Hide.”

“Perhaps.”

“If you do not, you will be caught.”

“Why are you giving me advice?”

“I am not,” said Karpo. “I’m pointing out that you are a man scheduled for a long dark ride. I think you have no choice but to take that ride even if it leads you to your death.”

“Everyone dies, Karpo. Do you have a first name?”

“Yes.”

Pause.

“What is it?”

“I would prefer not to have you use it,” said Karpo.

“Are you mad, policeman? You are supposed to be friendly to me. Exchange first names, life stories. I’ve read the manuals. Septnekvikov’s biography.”

“Do you wish to turn yourself in?” asked Karpo.

“Turn myself … No. I wish … I wish to be understood. Not forgiven. I’ve done nothing to be forgiven for. Kola has killed forty-one people. See, I’m not afraid of the word, killed. I don’t use cowardly euphemisms. I don’t say ‘eliminated’ or ‘removed’ or ‘did away with.’ He meant to kill them. And I helped. Yes, I helped. And I helped well. You’ve never been close to finding us.”

“We have been very close,” Karpo said. “And we are very close now.”

The chill of hell ran through Yevgeny Odom and within him Kola whimpered.

“You lie to me, policeman.”

“I do not believe in lies,” said Karpo. “You have lied.”

“No.”

“Where is Kola now?”

“Screaming for a victim.”

“Where is he?” Emil repeated quite calmly.

“I quiet him by rocking from foot to foot,” said Yevgeny. “I keep him caged inside me, but it is hard. If he is growing fur.” Yevgeny sobbed.

“You have killed forty, not forty-one,” said Karpo.

“You didn’t find one of them or you didn’t give me credit. Perhaps you didn’t recognize Kola’s work.”

“There is no Kola,” Karpo said.

“Listen, Karpo. Before Kola returned to me, I was considering suicide. Russia is a nightmare now. It was a nightmare before. Only those who are awake and strong, who live by their wits and dine on the bones of the weak, can survive. I needed Kola and he needed me, but now he grows fur. Don’t laugh at me or I’ll hang up.”

“I never laugh,” said Karpo.

Yevgeny Odom knew from Karpo’s voice that this was true.

“Why have you called me?” Karpo asked.

“Because, I told you, I’m having trouble controlling Kola.”

The sound of his own voice made him look down the street to see if he had awakened anyone or drawn the attention of a roving police car. Moscow was accustomed to drunks and noise, he told himself, and then returned to the phone.

“Then come to us. I will meet you. We can take you to doctors who can remove Kola.”

“You don’t understand. I can’t betray him. I am nothing without him. I know if you take him I will die.”

“Why did you call?”

“So someone would understand,” cried Yevgeny in near panic. “Oh God. Shh. Shh. He’s awake again.”

“Kola?”

“I will try to make him wait till tomorrow.”

“We will be waiting.”

“No,” sobbed Yevgeny. “We will strike where we have never struck before, away from the moon and the sun. I think I may be going mad.”

His voice was almost imperceptible.

Another pause.

“Well,” said Odom. “Aren’t you going to comfort me, put an invisible arm around my shoulder, urge me again to give myself up to be treated, understood, cared for?”

“No.”

“What kind of policeman are you?”

“You called me to confess. I am listening to your confession.”

“What? I accidentally called a priest?” Odom asked derisively.

“I believe in no god or gods,” said Karpo.

“What do you believe in?”

“Obeying the law and seeing to it that others obey the law. Without the law, there is no meaning. Without