high-grade but low-cost supplier. Elvin even tossed our snitch a quarter-kilo free sample.
The implication was clear. Elvin Abramson killed the Yashins, took the dope, and was now trying to take over the business. Yuan Chen fell for our ruse and elevated Elvin Abramson to suspect number one.
Chen set up a raid on Elvin’s place. He wanted to run it by the book, but I talked him out of it when I laid on the let-me-take-this-one routine. “He may be the guy who killed my girlfriend’s parents,” I said. Chen was thinking, sure, why not? Let hothead Mozambe go in and knock him around a little, see if he can get anything out of him.
Paul and I smashed through the front. We charged the bed, our weapons drawn. Elvin Abramson and his lover rolled out from under the sheets and fell to the floor. It was early morning-always the best time to make arrests. The two of them froze, lase-pistols in their faces. We cuffed Elvin naked.
The lover was on his knees, begging. “Please, I didn’t do anything. I don’t even know him. We just met last night. I have a wife and kids at home…”
I said, “Get dressed and get out.”
Paul shoved the warrant in Elvin’s face. “Can you read this? It says you’re fucked.”
The apartment was a one-room. I scanned for possible stash locations. Kitchenette cabinets held dishes only. Dust bunnies under the bed. I went into the closet. Glitzy shirts hung on hangers, and hats hung on the back of the door-all fedoras and panamas. I shoved the clothes aside, pulled out a trunk. “Where’s the key?”
Elvin said, “In my pants.”
I snatched up a pair of white pants draped over a chair and retrieved the key. I opened the trunk-brown sugar, spoons, scale, plastic bags, and rubber bands. I cinched up my trouser leg, plastic bag tied to my calf.
Elvin saw me. “HEY! What the fuck are you doing?”
Paul stomped on his foot and shushed.
I untied the bag from my calf and emptied it into the trunk, adding one bloodied lase-blade to the contents.
I closed the trunk, closing the case along with it. Natasha was safe. It wasn’t her fault that she did what she did. The fault was all mine. To set things right for her, I had to frame a man innocent of the crime. The price was cheap. What was the conscience of a flatfoot like me worth?
“It’s over,” I said. “Detective Chen probably called to tell you we got the guy.”
Natasha’s eyes were staring off into nothingness. I leaned back in my seat, the back of the iron bench chilling my skin. I looked at the lilies. There were all kinds, orange, pink, purple. It had taken me a while to find her. She’d told me to meet her here at the Koba Gardens. I’d wandered around for a good ten minutes before I thought to ask somebody where the lilies were.
Natasha’s voice was barely a whisper. “How did he end up with the blade?”
I knew what she meant. It was in her mother’s back that last time she saw it. “Paul and I had to plant it on him,” I admitted. “But we know he did it. This wasn’t the first time he’s killed somebody.” That was a total lie. I didn’t want Natasha to feel guilty about somebody else getting punished for her crime. She’d have enough guilt to deal with. This way she could tell herself that Abramson deserved his fate.
“He’s killed other people?”
“Yes. Two that we know of, but his lawyer got him off both times.”
She stayed silent for a few minutes. I sat quietly, wondering what she was thinking.
“So what do we do now?” she asked.
“We don’t have to do anything. It’s over.”
“No. So what do we do now?”
“You mean us?”
She nodded.
I knew what a regular guy would think. He’d think she’s a fucking psycho. Did you see what she did to her parents? But I wasn’t a regular guy. I rubbed at the scars on my wrists. I understood what she did. I understood.
I said, “I’m sorry I closed the door on you.”
She shrugged. “I should’ve told you.”
“It’s none of my business what you did before we met.”
She looked into my eyes. “You mean that?”
“I do,” I said.
“So you think it’s possible to have a fresh start in life?”
I could see the hope in her eyes. I said, “I do.”
“Do you think we could have a fresh start? You and me?”
I wanted to ask her for forgiveness. I wanted her to forgive me for spying on her. I wanted her to forgive me for failing her when she needed me most. But I couldn’t ask. Not without her learning that I knew the truth about her father, about how her parents died. Maybe a fresh start was the best I could do. It wouldn’t be easy to put all this behind. But I didn’t want easy. I wanted her. I wasn’t ready to say good-bye.
I said, “I do.”
She squeezed me in her arms. I squeezed her back. I kissed the top of her head. “I love you, Natasha.”
I felt her tense in my arms.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“It’s nothing.”
“No, tell me. What’s wrong?”
She kept her face buried in my chest. “You said my name. I don’t like my name. I never liked it.”
“What’s wrong with Natasha?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t like it. I don’t like it when you call me that.”
“Why?”
She didn’t answer.
Her father used to call her Natasha. I pictured him on top of her, saying her name, whispering it in her ear…
I shivered. I could feel my face flushing with anger. Now I hated the name, too.
I thought about how she’d been Natasha for her whole life. A life she hated. A life she desperately wanted to leave behind. I thought about her father’s final word, a second before the lase-blade stabbed down into his chest. I wondered if the memory of that moment would come back to her every time somebody said her name.
“Change it,” I said.
“Change what?”
“Change your name.”
I could feel her head shaking left and right against my chest. “I can’t do that. People would think I’m strange.”
I didn’t think there was anything strange about it. “Who cares what they think? You can pick whatever name you want. That’s what fresh starts are all about.”
She squeezed me tighter. “Maybe you’re right.”
Minutes passed, and we stayed in that position, holding each other.
She asked, “Remember how I had a brother who died before I was born?”
“Of course I do.”
“Remember how my parents gave me his name as my middle name?”
“You want to be called Nikita? That was you’re brother’s name, right?”
“How about just Niki?”
TWENTY-ONE
JUNE 31, 2787
Midnight had passed. The men had gambled their last pesos and drunk their last cups of shine. The women’s cliques were long since gabbed out and had moved inside. Lights were flicking out from behind taped-over
