Stolen Souls

25

ARTURAS STRAZDAS LAY staring at the ceiling when his mobile phone rang. The cracked display said “number withheld.” He hit the answer button and asked in English, “Who is this?”

“You know.”

“Yes,” Strazdas said. He sat upright on the bed.

“My condolences on the passing of your brother.”

“Thank you. What do you want?”

“To give you a warning. A police officer will call on you before long. Detective Inspector Jack Lennon. Be careful with him.”

“How does he know I’m here?” Strazdas asked.

“He’s a smart cop, that’s how. He has many sources. He might cause you some problems.”

“Might he?”

“Very likely. But I can help you out. Run interference. Keep you informed of what he’s up to. But I would expect to be compensated accordingly.”

“Of course,” Strazdas said.

“Are we agreed, then?”

A knock at the hotel suite’s door.

“Hold on,” Strazdas said.

He went to the living area, put his eye against the peephole, and saw the distorted shape of Herkus waiting in the corridor. His nostrils tingled in anticipation. He opened the door, and Herkus rushed inside.

Strazdas brought the phone back to his ear.

Silence.

“Hello?” he said.

Nothing. He stared at the display for a second before remembering that Herkus had entered the room.

“That idiot brother of Sam’s tried to take me,” Herkus said, pacing.

“What?”

“I went to get your stuff from Rasa’s dealer, but Mark Mawhinney was waiting for me. He fucked it up, so I finished him. Rasa’s dealer must have set me up.”

“Where’s my coke?” Strazdas asked.

Herkus stopped pacing. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

“Yes, I heard,” Strazdas said. “Someone tried to hurt you. Where’s my coke?”

Herkus stood with his mouth open, his arms wide.

Strazdas threw the phone at him, shouted, “Where’s my coke? I sent you to do one thing for me, just one—”

He would never have believed Herkus could move so fast had he not seen it before. Strazdas’s feet left the floor, his throat gripped in the big man’s thick fingers, his back slammed into the wall.

“Listen to me,” Herkus said, his breath hot on Strazdas’s face. “I almost got my fucking guts sliced open by one of the morons you do business with while I was trying to get your coke. Do you think it’s going to stop there? Those brothers had friends. Those friends aren’t going to let it go. And sooner or later someone’s going to mention your name to the cops. This thing has gotten out of hand. We need to get out of this shit-hole of a city right now. You can have all the coke you can snort when we get to Brussels, but right now, we need to get away from here. Do you understand?”

Strazdas tried to pry Herkus’s fingers from his throat, but they were too strong, like stone. He croaked, and Herkus loosened his grip.

“Get your hands off me,” Strazdas said.

Herkus let go and backed off.

“Sorry, boss, but we need to get out of here.”

Strazdas coughed and walked to the couch. “Did you find the girl?”

“No,” Herkus said.

“Then we don’t go anywhere.” Strazdas sat down. “When she’s dead, then we can go.”

“Forget about her, she’s—”

“I promised my mother,” Strazdas said. “I keep my promises. You should do the same. You promised to bring me some coke.”

Herkus shook his head. “Christ, listen to yourself. Four people are dead and all you can think about is your coke?”

Strazdas wanted to say yes, all he could think of was the coke, but his right mind held the words back. Instead, he said, “I’m sorry for the deaths. All the more reason to track down the girl. It’s her fault. She caused all this.”

Herkus took a piece of paper from his pocket and dropped it in Strazdas’s lap. It was an envelope bearing a sketch of a bearded man.

“What’s this?” Strazdas asked.

“He was the last one to talk to the girl,” Herkus said, taking a vodka from the minibar. “Rasa told me he visited her yesterday morning, but the girl said he only wanted to talk. He gave her a necklace with a cross on it.”

“You think he knows something?”

Herkus downed the vodka in one gulp and hissed. “Maybe. Maybe not. But he’s all we’ve got to go on.”

“Then find him,” Strazdas said. He held the envelope out. Herkus took the paper. “Boss, I’ll do whatever you want, you know that.”

Strazdas did not answer.

“Anything you say, I’ll do it. But please, at least think about it. If the cops don’t come for you, the Loyalists will. If I’m out looking for this girl, I can’t protect you. You’ve got to get out of here. I’ll stay and look for her, but you go to the airport, get the first plane to Brussels you can.”

“No,” Strazdas said.

“Think about it.”

“No.”

Herkus nodded. “All right,” he said. He studied the sketch. “If this man visited the whorehouse in Bangor, he’ll have visited others. I’ll ask around, but I have to be careful. There’s one man I can trust. I’ll go see him.”

He turned and walked for the door.

“Herkus,” Strazdas called.

Herkus stopped, his shoulders slumped. He looked back. “Yes, boss?”

Strazdas touched his nose.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Herkus said.