Before Sergei Returns

mess. Except the woman is gone. The dirt is pressed, different, as if she climbed out. She was dead… she was not alive… I know she wasn ’t alive. Was she ever alive? I twist my head, around and around, for some hint. She can ’t have just disappeared. This is the middle of nowhere. But I can feel her. I can feel her like glass in my eyes.

I stare out… out at the sunrise. The sunrise that isn ’t. The sun, the sun has reversed course. It’ s got stage-fright. It’ s scared. It’ s creeping back east. Down and down and down until it’ s safe and under the horizon. The sky is falling: it’ s raining, it’ s drizzling, it’ s drizzling, and then it’ s pouring. It’ s pouring down, pouring down on me. It’ s a monsoon of dread. And soon I’ m drenched: drenched in rain and fear.

You can ’ tescape.

CharlesJosephAlbert

“Fffrrrgh! Hmmmmngh! Rrrrr, rrr!” Pan Zielinski glares at me as I finish putting the duct tape on his mouth. His angry bloodshot eyes remind me of Papa, though I haven ’t thought about him for a long time. I straighten up to look down at him, tied to his chair, and he keeps pointing his ugly face up at me, glaring with nasty dark eyeballs. So I take one last long piece of duct tape off the roll and slap it over his eyes. When he yanks it off, it’ s going to tear the shit out of his eyebrows if he tears them off. I sit back down on the broken car seat we use for a couch and don ’t think about Papa, I don ’t think about Sergei, and I definitely don ’t think about what Pan Zielinski just said. I put that shit clean out of my mind,

The Wayne Literary Review: Escapism

and I turn the game up to watch Bolsinero make another crazy-ass pass to Márquez... but of course, he misses. I sit there during the commercial break fuming that I had to be the one to babysit. Sergei’ s the one that grabbed him. Sergei—the Kidnap King of Donbass. Pan Zielinski started talking to me, and I don ’t know why Sergei didn ’t tape his mouth shut because it’ s hard not to think about what he said. I don ’t want to think about it, I just want to watch some soccer. This Márquez guy is a joke and I’ m glad he keeps missing because Papa always hated him. Papa took me and Lauzi to a game once and we spent most of the time laughing at Márquez. The only reason he was on the team is that he was some big shot’ s brother. I didn ’t watch soccer for a long time after Papa died. I had to go live in the garbage dump with Lauzi. Shit, there were a lot of kids who lived there. Maybe a hundred. So we were all excited the day Sergei’ s gang came there to pick up cash from a drop. And then we all shit ourselves when the police cars came screaming in and there was a big shoot-out. The cops were shooting everybody, not just the bad guys but us kids too. Lauzi… her head was… by the cops. The fuckers. I came running out to grab the gun from a dead cop so I could start shooting at the rest of them, but instead Sergei grabbed me. He called me a hard ass and he told me to come to live with them. And now here I am. Now I sleep on a real bed and eat cooked food. And we all talk all day about how much we hate the cops. I also hate the rich guys—the bogati. The svinya, Sergei calls them, the guys who run everything and pay all the cops to shoot us and stuff like that. That’ s why Sergei kidnaps them. The soccer game is almost over; it looks like we ’ re going to win. Pan Zielinski is crying or something. Like I care! If Sergei doesn ’t get the ransom money, he said I have to shoot Pan Zielinski in the head. If I was man enough. “Yeah, you bet I’ m man enough, ” I said. That would be a chance to get revenge for Lauzi, against the cops and the bogatiwho own them. Only when we started talking did Pan Zielinski tell me he ’ s not even from Ukraine. He ’ s from Poland. So he could be paying our cops to shoot

The Wayne Literary Review: Escapism

kids? And now he ’ s crying again. Shut up, Pan Zielinski! Can ’t you just shut up? I’ m part of why he ’ s here—I ran out in front of Pan Zielinski’ s car and pretended that they hit me. His driver didn ’t want to stop because he knew it was a trick. I could hear Pan Zielinski yell at him, and when he got out to take a look at me, that’ s when they grabbed him. It busted my arm when the car hit me. Vanya took care of it. That’ s why I got this tape all over my arm. Anyway, I figured out a while back that Sergei wasn ’t an angel or anything; he made me run out in the gunfire for the money bag, made me jump in front of the mark’ s car, shit like that, so I already thought he wasn ’t so great, even before what Pan Zielinski said to me. One time Sergei even thought I was killed and left me where I‘d fallen. But I was just knocked out. Something hit my head in that shootout. I woke up on the side of the road and finally made my way home, and Sergei looked surprised. And actually, he didn ’t look happy either—just surprised. The shoot-out that killed Lauzi was with this cop, Bronsky, who ’ s been after Sergei for a while. Maybe he ’ s even out there waiting for Sergei right now. He ’ s got a super rifle team and they shoot anybody who even looks like Sergei, so I wouldn ’t be surprised if they get him tonight. This Pan Zielinski guy is supposed to be worth a million million. He made the mistake of coming to Donbass for some kind of deal. We grabbed him from under the noses of twenty armed guards, right outside his hotel. No wonder Bronsky wants to get Sergei so bad. But damn it, I can ’t get out of my head this thing Pan Zielinski said. I try to watch the next soccer game but his question is still swimming around up here, driving me crazy. I think I’ m going to give Pan Zielinski the knife. Sergei should have been back here by now anyway. He never takes this long for a pick-up. Maybe Vanya ratted on him. Or maybe Bronsky finally shot him. If he did, he and his officers are probably going up here to rescue Pan Zielinski. And I’ m as good as dead. Pan Zielinski had asked me how I joined the gang, and I told him. And then he asked, “Why did Sergei lead the cops to the dump?”

The Wayne Literary Review: Escapism

That’ s when I slapped the tape over his mouth. But now I can ’t shut up that question. Sergei’ s a bastard, but he ’ s not as bad as the cops—that’ s what I used to tell myself. I’ m stupid and almost got killed twice, and I used to think maybe Sergei cared but just didn ’t want me to know it so I wouldn ’t get soft. Only Pan Zielinski didn ’t even know me, and he shouldn ’t have stopped the car, but he still cared more than Sergei did when I broke my arm.

Sergei was able to grab Pan Zielinski because the dumb Polish bogati made the driver stop for me. Tough luck for him. Only now, he asked me why Sergei led the cops to the dump? And I can ’t get that awful question out of my head. But he ’ s right. Sergei knew we were there. The only thing that makes sense is that he wanted to use us kids as a human shield. And yes, I know, the cops didn ’t have to keep shooting, but there ’ s no way around it: Sergei’ s as much why Lauzi’ s dead as Bronsky is. A noise outside. At first, I thought it was Sergei coming back, but it’ s just a dog. That’ s when I caught myself wishing I’d already done something. So now I’ m going to do it. First the kitchen, and then to the Pole. “Here ’ s a knife, Pan Zielinski. I’ m putting the handle in your hand. Cut yourself loose and get out of here before Sergei comes back. And don ’t look for me. I’ll be long gone. ”

The Wayne Literary Review: Escapism