Stolen Souls

3

THE PLASTIC-COVERED CORPSE rolled against Galya as the car jerked to a standstill, its bloody odors forcing her to gag against the cloth that had been shoved in her mouth. She wedged her shoulders against the rear wall of the trunk and pushed the body back with her knees. They’d used some sort of thin electrical cord to bind her wrists, but already it worked loose on her blood-slicked skin. She could easily slip free from it, but instead chose to keep it there until her hands could do her some good.

Galya felt the car rock as the men alighted, heard the doors slam shut. The last few minutes of the journey had been slow, with sharp turns and sudden stops, before a final lurch and judder as the car came to a halt on rough ground. She strained to listen to the environment beyond the darkness that encased her. Traffic noise somewhere, but closer, the soft sigh of water.

As soon as she’d woken in the black, her head throbbing with the car’s engine, she knew they meant to kill her. There was no question. The sound of water only confirmed it. They would dump the dead man in it, then throw her in after. Maybe they’d kill her first, or maybe they’d drown her. Either way, she would be in the water soon.

Voices now, outside, the Irishman’s high and panicky, the Lithuanian’s low and angry. They exchanged accusations and curses as they came closer. A key scraped against metal, the lock turned, and cold air flooded in.

A cloud of mist formed between Darius and Sam as their breath mingled. The Lithuanian grabbed his countryman’s body and hauled it from the trunk, grunted as he let it drop to the ground with a wet thump.

Galya did not resist when Sam reached for her. The icy ground seemed to bite at her soles as he held her upright. She bucked with the intensity of the shivers that shot through her, and he gripped her arms tighter.

The car, an old BMW, stood feet from a stretch of water, parked on a narrow band of waste ground separated from the empty road by a low curb. All around were warehouses and cranes, quiet and still in the cold night. Lazy waves lapped at the embankment. Across the channel, more warehouses, and the lights of the city beyond them. Galya tried to turn her head to see more of the surroundings, but Sam squeezed and jerked her arm.

“Quit it,” he said, as much to himself as to her.

Darius stooped and grabbed his dead friend’s ankles. He pulled, but managed no more than two feet, the plastic snagging and tearing on the rubble. He cursed and dropped the legs.

“Help,” he said.

“What?” Sam said.

“Help,” the Lithuanian said. “Put Tomas in water.”

“I’m keeping hold of her,” Sam said, tightening his grip on Galya’s arm.”

“Where she go?” Darius asked, holding his hands out, indicating the expanse of water and low buildings. He pointed at the corpse on the ground. “You help.”

A clammy heat lingered on Galya’s arm when Sam released it. He pushed her back against the car.

“Don’t move,” he said.

He crossed the few feet to the body, hunkered down, gripped the shoulders.

Darius said, “Vienas, du, trys, hup!”

Both men hissed as they raised the body a few inches from the ground. They shuffled toward the water’s edge, huffing and grunting as they went. A bloodstained hand flopped from the plastic and brushed its fingertips along the loose stones.

“Jesus,” Sam said.

A thin, distorted disco beat erupted from nowhere, and he yelped in fright as he dropped the dead man’s shoulders. Galya took a step away from the car.

Darius lowered the feet and straightened. Something vibrated on the body. He reached down and tore a hole in the shiny plastic. His hand explored inside for a moment before emerging again, a mobile phone gripped in his thick fingers. His face went slack when he looked at the screen, its light making him look even paler than he already was. He glanced at Sam.

“Is Arturas,” he said.

Sam swallowed so hard Galya heard the click in his throat. “Are you going to answer it?” he asked.

Darius gave him a hard stare. “You a stupid man. I answer, say brother busy? Say he go in water, yes? I say to him this?”

Sam shifted his weight as if the insult had hit him square in the chest. “Well, fuck, I don’t know. He’s your boss, not ours.”

Galya moved to the far side of the car.

“Arturas everybody boss,” the Lithuanian said.

Sam took a step forward. “He’s your boss, not mine.”

Darius held out the phone, still blasting its tinny music, his pudgy face swelling with anger. “Okay, you say he not you boss, you say him now.”

“Fuck yourself,” Sam said.

Galya flexed her wrists, felt the electrical cord skim the backs of her legs as it slipped away.

Darius stepped over the body, came face-to-face with Sam.

“You think you big man?” he asked, the phone still lit up and ringing in his hand.

Two meters separated Galya from the car now. She pushed the cord aside with her toes, kept her hands behind her back. She pressed her tongue against the rag between her teeth, pushed it out, and let it fall to the ground. She steadied her breathing.

Sam moved to the other side of the body. “Listen, this isn’t the time for getting the arse with each other, right? We need to get this sorted before anyone comes along and asks us what we’re doing here at this time of the night.”

Darius would not be placated. “You need take care your mouth, or you go in water also.”

Sam raised his hands.

Darius slapped them aside.

Galya ran.