The government arbitrarily allowed for street-lights this night. Some were working and showed fuel-filled puddles throughout the parking lot below. I stared through the third floor dingy soviet window pane, cutting through the steady rain, and peering down to the apartment courtyard where the prostitutes were kicking the soccer ball around with the drug dealers. Cold wet passed through the cheap dirty glass and breathed chills across my face, then to my bones. The word expedient hovered over my thoughts as I sat waiting. Before coming to Ukraine I always assumed all states of existence were some how better intended or at least knew a better day. But sometimes and in some places, this place, everyone just does what can be done. The powers did what they could to herd and rape. Those herded, survived. Expectation was just an annoying rumour and the soot-mixed evening rains dampened any hopes of escape.
I finally saw my guy pull onto the south side of the make-shift soccer field. It had to be him because it was a new black Mercedes Benz, the kind that appeared in this region mostly at dusk. Or maybe midnight blue, not sure, he was so late and it would be dark when I reached the first floor. I watched him step out of the car. He dropped and stamped his cigarette, probably French. The other criminals scattered at his gesture, a kind of warning shot. It had to be Sasha.The stained and broken cement steps seemed to moved too fast under my feet as I descended. I was committed to this now and with my life. It could be suicide to get this deep but I ran out of options back in Kiev. I needed to get inside the web undetected. Either this guy would turn things for me or the girl would end up in some apartment like this or worse.
"Sasha?"
"Da."
"Will you help?" I asked. I was practised at that question to the point of exhaustion.
"I’m here. Your Russian sucks. I know English." He lit another cigarette.
"Okay. You know the story? Any questions?"
"It stopped raining; maybe it is a sign, eh?"
I was quiet and felt the idiot look spreading across my face. Small talk is hard enough when you aren’t desperate but these guys added pain by mixing in existential junk. Their questions seemed to hold more questions.
"Look, Sasha. This is not my thing and you scare the hell out of me. This is not my world, not even my country. Was the amount alright? I mean I need to know. It really is all I have and I borrowed half of it."
Sasha took a short walk away from me. I was left wondering if this would be the end of the whole crazy venture. Or maybe it was just a tactic of his. Then like some schoolboy on a first date I searched my every word and every variable of impression they could create. He walked back more quickly than he left.
"I think you keep your money. I looked into you, checked out the time-line you sent me. You have been watched for two weeks. We will transact trust.
"What?"
"I came up, as you people say, in that orphanage. I will trust you with this so you can trust me. I planned to kill four people for 10 years because of what they did to my sister. I never did it and I didn’t know why. It wasn’t enough somehow. This is better. Do you understand?"
"I’m sorry."
"You want this girl. I want her for you…for me. It never was those people, you know. They, are no different than me," he laughed sadly, "It’s the system. I have come to this. Many more will go to hell with me this way. Also, the girl is now being watched, she’s safe."
"What? What do I do?"
"They watch you in the daylight. Buy the nine o’clock bus to Tokmak. You will get on the bus and a friend will have you sit with her. Their car will have an accident." He was gone.
After Sasha drove away I noticed the others didn't come back out. They were always there at this hour in the shadows but couldn't hide their cigarettes. I finally just got street-credit and had to leave in the morning. I returned to the my flat and slept soundly for the first time in months, moving my knife from under my pillow and to the nightstand. Just before falling off I realized he was probably certain he told me something, something to trust. Instead, again I had no idea what he was talking about.
