somewhere around there, I’m not sure because I didn’t stick around long enough to make sure, you know — plus, what the hell difference does it make anyway?”
“Is this the place?” Nikolai asks, pulling onto a quiet street lined with old buildings scarred with graffiti and broken windows. There are several vehicles parked ahead of them but only one that looks drivable.
“Just at the end here,” Katja tells him. “I need to get some stuff first, you know? At the end there. Anyway, so I sort of shot Januscz and then I just took off because I thought if someone finds out what I’ve done, well, you know, some serious shit is going to happen so I figure well, fuck, he was going to screw me over and leave without me anyway so I’ll do the same to him. Here. Just here.”
And Nikolai pulls the car over to the curb next to a building in a worse state than most. The steps leading up to the main doorway are partially blocked by two dumpsters stacked end-on-end, and there is the faint sound of bass-heavy music coming from inside.
“But this guy who’s going to make the exchange, well, he’s expecting Januscz and me to turn up, right, the both of us together, so he’s going to figure something’s up if it’s only me and I’m not the mule, right, I’m not Dracyev’s man, so I need you, I need you to act like you’re Januscz, pretend to be Januscz, that is.”
“But won’t he know I’m not . . . ?”
“Januscz isn’t a player, not the player he thinks he is. He’s never done anything like this before, a deal I mean. I don’t know why the fuck Dracyev has suddenly decided he can trust a loser like Januscz to do this sort of thing but he has, he did, so this guy that’s waiting for him, for me, for us, on the boat, he’s wearing a red suit. This guy has never seen or met Januscz before. He’s just been told to wait for a guy and a girl with this vial coming tonight, and in exchange to help them get to the mainland. A red suit.”
“Right.”
“So I need you to be Januscz. Pretend to be, I mean. Will you do that?”
“Just say I’m Januscz?” Nikolai asks.
“Just say you’re Januscz. Then we’ll be taken to the mainland and we can leave the vial with this guy or take it to someone on the other side or whatever the fuck was meant to happen and then we’re out of there and you can do whatever you want once you’re there. I just need your help to make this exchange.”
“And I can get off the island? With you?”
“Yes. I just need to get my stuff first.”
Nikolai nods and for the first time seems lucid, fully comprehending. “From here?”
“From here. Just wait for five minutes. Keep the engine running.”
“Okay.”
And she smiles, or grimaces at least, and gets out of the car. She is aware of a small handful of people lingering in doorways and the alleys that run between the buildings, but she knows the area well and knows that there are always people lingering in the darkness and shadows. Regardless, she keeps them in her field of vision as she presses herself through the gap between the two dumpsters and climbs the steps.
The front entrance has long been nailed shut so she walks around to a stack of packing crates leaning up against one of the walls. In the rain she slides the crates to one side and reveals a gap in the brickwork that probably started as a small hole but has since been worked into an opening big enough for her to crawl through.
The others in the squat have their own entrances, through corroded iron plates bolted over the lower floor’s windows to ramps that lead up to damaged roofing, each inhabitant like a separate species of insect, creating their own personal nests.
She drops down into the basement chamber that passes for her own nest and instantly feels a strange mix of security and vulnerability. Of claustrophobia.
Home.
Punk posters litter the walls, curling where the tape that holds them up has weakened and come away. Packets and wrappers lie
“Is this the place?” Nikolai asks, pulling onto a quiet street lined with old buildings scarred with graffiti and broken windows. There are several vehicles parked ahead of them but only one that looks drivable.
“Just at the end here,” Katja tells him. “I need to get some stuff first, you know? At the end there. Anyway, so I sort of shot Januscz and then I just took off because I thought if someone finds out what I’ve done, well, you know, some serious shit is going to happen so I figure well, fuck, he was going to screw me over and leave without me anyway so I’ll do the same to him. Here. Just here.”
And Nikolai pulls the car over to the curb next to a building in a worse state than most. The steps leading up to the main doorway are partially blocked by two dumpsters stacked end-on-end, and there is the faint sound of bass-heavy music coming from inside.
“But this guy who’s going to make the exchange, well, he’s expecting Januscz and me to turn up, right, the both of us together, so he’s going to figure something’s up if it’s only me and I’m not the mule, right, I’m not Dracyev’s man, so I need you, I need you to act like you’re Januscz, pretend to be Januscz, that is.”
“But won’t he know I’m not . . . ?”
“Januscz isn’t a player, not the player he thinks he is. He’s never done anything like this before, a deal I mean. I don’t know why the fuck Dracyev has suddenly decided he can trust a loser like Januscz to do this sort of thing but he has, he did, so this guy that’s waiting for him, for me, for us, on the boat, he’s wearing a red suit. This guy has never seen or met Januscz before. He’s just been told to wait for a guy and a girl with this vial coming tonight, and in exchange to help them get to the mainland. A red suit.”
“Right.”
“So I need you to be Januscz. Pretend to be, I mean. Will you do that?”
“Just say I’m Januscz?” Nikolai asks.
“Just say you’re Januscz. Then we’ll be taken to the mainland and we can leave the vial with this guy or take it to someone on the other side or whatever the fuck was meant to happen and then we’re out of there and you can do whatever you want once you’re there. I just need your help to make this exchange.”
“And I can get off the island? With you?”
“Yes. I just need to get my stuff first.”
Nikolai nods and for the first time seems lucid, fully comprehending. “From here?”
“From here. Just wait for five minutes. Keep the engine running.”
“Okay.”
And she smiles, or grimaces at least, and gets out of the car. She is aware of a small handful of people lingering in doorways and the alleys that run between the buildings, but she knows the area well and knows that there are always people lingering in the darkness and shadows. Regardless, she keeps them in her field of vision as she presses herself through the gap between the two dumpsters and climbs the steps.
The front entrance has long been nailed shut so she walks around to a stack of packing crates leaning up against one of the walls. In the rain she slides the crates to one side and reveals a gap in the brickwork that probably started as a small hole but has since been worked into an opening big enough for her to crawl through.
The others in the squat have their own entrances, through corroded iron plates bolted over the lower floor’s windows to ramps that lead up to damaged roofing, each inhabitant like a separate species of insect, creating their own personal nests.
She drops down into the basement chamber that passes for her own nest and instantly feels a strange mix of security and vulnerability. Of claustrophobia.
Home.
Punk posters litter the walls, curling where the tape that holds them up has weakened and come away. Packets and wrappers lie
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