A beautiful woman in a long black evening dress sat on a bar stool near Steve. She was a thirtyish brunette with curly hair.
“Well, hi, gentlemen!” she said.
Ramses nodded. “Privet!”
“You speak English?” Steve asked her.
“Just so much I have managed to grab at school and college,” she said. “So, my English is not good enough.”
“It’s not bad either,” Steve said. “But I’ll down my level of eloquence. Still, it’s always pleasant to be able to speak in a foreign country in one’s native language. What’s your name?”
He looked into her blue eyes, which were like two huge wells full of clear water.
“Lena,” she said.
“Nice to meet you, Lena. I’m Steve. And this big chunk of flesh here is Ramses.”
Ramses rolled his eyes. Lena smiled.
Steve dived into the conversation as he always did well, and it was obvious the evening was looking promising for him.
Ramses looked at them, a sad smile playing on his lips. He was drinking his cocktail and thinking about how he had met his ex-wife at a party like this. He shook his head and tried to wipe the sad look off his face.
The DJ announced a white dance, and Lena asked Steve to dance.
“What’s a white dance?” Steve asked her.
“It’s when ladies ask the gentlemen to dance,” Lena said.
“Oh, how nice,” Steve said and got up. “Okay, let’s go Sadie Hawkins.”
While dancing, he whispered something funny into her ear. She seemed to get his jokes and threw back her head laughing.
After the dance, Lena went to the bathroom. Steve sat on a high stool next to Ramses.
“Sorry, pal,” Steve said, “but I think I’m gonna leave this party earlier.”
“Listen up, man,” Ramses leaned closer to his friend. “You positive she’s not a hooker or something?”
“Why are you saying so? Can’t you see she fancies me?”
“All right,” Ramses said. “Just keep your eyes peeled.”
Steve is like a young horse after his divorce, Ramses thought with a smile. He’s shooting everything he sees.
Lena came back.
Steve stood up. “Okay. See you at the hotel.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Lena said to Ramses.
“Yeah, you too,” Ramses said. “Be seeing ya!”
Steve said goodbye to his Russian colleagues and led Lena out of the dance hall.
Ramses was sitting alone at the bar counter like a deceased pharaoh in a sealed vault. There were people around him, but he was feeling lonely. Maybe the famous Russian spleen was taking over him as well? He glanced at the dancing people. Vassili was already making a play for another girl.
Ramses turned to the barman. “Can I get a martini, please?”
“No problem,” said the barman in good English. He made the drink in no time and set it before Ramses.
“What’s your name?” Ramses asked.
“It’s Roman.”
“Roman, like in Polanski?”
“Yep. You like his movies?”
Ramses nodded. “He has a couple of decent ones, all right. I like ‘Rosemary’s Baby’ most of all.”
“A good flick. You’re from the States?”
“Yah, straight from California.”
“Wow. California rocks! From L.A.?”
“Was born there,” Ramses said, “but living in San Francisco now. I’m on a business trip here.”
“Well, enjoy your stay.”
“Thanks.” Ramses drank up his martini. “Okay, Roman, how much do I owe you? And can you call a cab for me?”
“No sweat at all,” Roman said. He picked up the phone receiver, dialed a number, spoke a bit in Russian, nodded and hung up.
“It’s settled, sir,” the barman said. “You can hang around here for a while. I’ll let you know when the taxi driver calls me.”
“Thanks again, friend,” Ramses said. He took out his wallet and slid a couple of crisp banknotes across the bar counter. “That’s for the cocktails and the cab.”
As he thumbed the banknotes from the roll, the barman’s eyes glinted like those of Gollum’s for a fraction of a second.
Ramses added some more cash to the pile. “And this is for you.”
The barman took the money and put it in his shirt pocket. “Thanks, man.”
He poured more martini. “And this is from me. On the house.”
Ramses dried the glass and put it on the counter. “Think I’m gonna catch some fresh air outside. See ya.”
“Have a good night.”
As Ramses went outside, the barman wiped the bar counter with a piece of cloth as if it had been covered with filth. He looked around, picked up his cell phone and punched the buttons.
“There’s some stinking nigger ape with a lot of cash on him,” he said in Russian, plugging his ear with a finger to hear through the noise. “He’s outside now, smoking maybe. A big guy. With dreadlocks. You can’t miss him.” He nodded. “Only do it far from this place.”
***
Ramses was outside. The snow was still falling. It was cold, and he made a mental note to buy a warm ski cap tomorrow.
People stood chatting on the barely lit sidewalk. Teenagers walked by, pointing at him and sneering. It was well after midnight.
Don’t they have a curfew time for kids?
He put on his leather gloves and took a stroll along the sidewalk, not straying too far and keeping the nightclub entrance in sight in case the taxi arrived.
He took his wallet out of his parka pocket and flipped it open. He looked at the photo of his baby daughter Cherrylyn. Cherry Berry, as he liked to call her. In the photo, she was sitting on top of the playground slide. He ran his index finger over her little smiling face.
Snowflakes slowly descended on the see-through plastic cover of the wallet. A gust of cold wind blew them away.
Ramses looked up. No passersby. No taxi yet. He was alone on the sidewalk now.
He turned around and bumped into a dark hunch-back figure, which had come up from behind quietly, ninja style. His heart leaped in his ribcage, as he saw a woman of uncertain age in a battered, dirty coat. She was homeless apparently. She stooped in walking, but she was not old.
“Jeez, lady.”
The woman said nothing and kept on walking. Ramses took a deep breath and exhaled a cloud of steam into the cold air.
A black BMW parked to a halt at the road curb. Three men got out of the car and started walking up toward him in tight formation. Having a certain purpose in mind.
Three long shadows approached Ramses. There was a tall athletic guy with a bottle of beer in his hand, a tough-looking man in his forties and a young short man wearing a sports cap.
Ramses returned the wallet back into the inside pocket of his parka.
The