Telling Fortunes in Phoenix

Johni

Out at the ranch Johni paced, waiting for Casa Grande to call back. And the kid guy: she had to call him. This was not a conversation she looked forward to. Viktor Evgeni Pavel was surly enough when things went smoothly but she needed to get it behind her.

“What?” he answered briskly.

“It’s me. Johni.”

“Yeah,” he said, “since I have caller ID like most people on the planet I was aware of that. What I want to know is why you are calling since I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“That’s what I’m calling about. The shipment is cancelled.”

There was silence from the other end of the line. Finally, “You’ve been paid.”

“We’ve received partial payment, which we will, of course refund.”

“I’ve already found homes for those children,” Viktor said tightly.

“Inform your people that the homes are no longer necessary,” she said.

There was a short silence, then “No.”

“No?”

“No,” Viktor repeated. “You get some replacements for me.”

Johni was well aware of the seriousness of this breach of contract and Viktor had the right to pitch a fit. Sort of. But they’d worked together for years. Couldn’t he just act human for once instead of going all alpha dog and forcing her to roll over and show her belly?

“I can stall these guys but I can’t just say, oops, we lost the kids,” he said. “How did you lose them, by the way? Are they running around out there giving your description to the feds?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He jumped on that pretty damn quick.

“They didn’t come,” she lied. “Their parents left them at home.” She pulled hostility from an ever-full well to stain her voice. “And I’m not running out to grab more kids, so forget that idea, but I can transfer your funds this afternoon.”

There was another pause.

“I’ll pick it up in cash,” Viktor said

“No,” Johni said, as if she were instructing a child. “Have you tried getting cash in this century? Banks don’t keep it around, I can’t get you that much currency ever, let alone soon. Just give me your transfer numbers.”

“I’ll give you a week to get the cash,” Viktor said, and hung up.

What an asshole.

On a shelf in Johni’s desk sat a pretty wooden pencil box. It did not contain pencils but her dope and the paraphernalia needed to inject it. Sitting in her office off the kitchen Johni looked longingly at the little box. She dearly wanted the comfort of her only friend but today was not the day. She dialed the surgical center.

“So you okay to take them early?” This was the second call to them this morning.

“We’re working on it, Johni.”

“Well, why don’t I just head on in and you can be ready when I get there?”

“Do not do that, Johni. We don’t have anywhere to put them, do you want to drive five doped up Mexicans around town all day? I’ll call you when I get something.”

Fuck me, Johni thought. She took some slow breaths.

She called Eddie to tell him the situation but he didn’t pick up and she didn’t leave a message. The van was packed. The blood samples were extraneous now that she was delivering the product ahead of schedule but she’d packed their cooler the night before. She’d bring them along. After feeding the chickens and washing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen there was nothing to do. It was time to get out of here. She considered running into town to gas up the van but knew that for the waste of time it was, random busywork to allay her anxiety. And she’d miss her call.

Johni’s long blonde hair had unwound itself so she re-braided it tightly before covering her head with a billed hat. The cap matched her eyes and the faded blue denim of her shirt and jeans, her worn golden work boots echoed the color of her hair. She moved with economy and unconscious grace as she went back to the yard to give the chickens more feed. The poultry milled around her feet, excitedly pecking at the surprise bonus as she gazed at nothing, trying to plan for everything. Hands still full of grain, her eyes drifted to the bluff behind the ranch.

Her spread was a small plain in the shadow of a group of ridges to the west and she wondered if the burro had gone up there. Steep and unclimbable from this direction, it was easily reached from the western side where the gradient was gradual. Game trails encircled the rise and led to small valleys and stands of desert trees that dotted the more hospitable slope but she’d need a few free hours if she wanted to look up there.

She wished she had the leisure to hike up and search. She was not so sure that the little shit who’d caused this crisis was gone in a car as Eddie had surmised. Why hadn’t the donkey come home? If set free he should have returned to where he was fed. From beneath her brim she examined the top of the ridge, concentrating on a slash of darkness, a cave that could be seen in its gold and brown entirety in the morning hours. She looked at her watch. Eleven. She headed for the house to check her answering machine. What was taking them so long?

Her irritation became panic when she heard the crunch of wheels. Turning she saw a white Chevy Malibu park and disgorge a beige man wearing buff chino’s, a white shirt and a sand colored windbreaker. Viktor.

He came to her directly where she stood. Relief washed over her, quickly replaced by anger. At least it wasn’t the police.

“What are you doing here?” She put her hands on her hips.

“Your safety is important, Johni.” Viktor Pavel was Russian by birth and upbringing but his years in the country had obliterated his background and his accent and sentence structure were pure Texas. His speech and his mushroom coloration made him the invisible man but Johni knew that he was quick to cruelty, though it didn’t give him a charge; it was simply the fastest way to get things done. Pavel had no urge to make friends.

“You seem to be fucking up in a big way,” he continued in his colorless voice, “so I decided to help before you drag me into your mess.”

“I don’t need your help, so you can go away now,” Johni said.

Viktor snorted and moved closer. They were of a height, the tall woman nose to nose with the medium man.

“Show me around the place. What is this long building?” he asked, nodding at the bunk house.

Johni’d had enough of his shit. Moving toward him so that their noses touched she spoke slowly, enunciating each word. “Get… the fuck… off… my ranch.”

Pavel reached out with his left hand, seized her right wrist and flipped her around, twisting her arm behind her back while simultaneously pulling a pistol with his right hand from his windbreaker pocket. He pulled her close, her arm snugged between their bodies, his right hand holding the gun to her temple.

“Stop being such a bitch, Johni. I told you, I’m here to help. Now show me who’s in the guest house.”

Johni sighed. It would be nice to provoke him into shooting her. The peace. The quiet. Somehow, though, as she felt her arm positioned to easily dislocate her shoulder, she didn’t think he’d make it that easy.

“The people in there shouldn’t be disturbed right now, Viktor.” She kept her voice steady, attempting to reason with the man.

He was walking her toward the bunkhouse as she spoke. He pulled her arm a little higher up her back as they advanced.

“We can’t just bust in there,” Johni said. “We’ll scare them.” She swiveled her eyes, trying to see the gun. As he concentrated on walking her along by pushing her legs with his, she stopped moving, which made him overbalance. Johni wrenched herself away and turned to face him.

“They don’t think anything is wrong,” she said to him loudly. “You’ll just make things difficult!”

Viktor reached up and hit her face with his gun. Blood oozed from a cut he’d made. Johni’s ryes dilated until they were black, she could feel them; her rage was dreadful. He would pay for that. But now she kept her eyes on the ground hoping for a look of meekness but at least hiding the murder in her eyes. She tried again.

“Viktor, they’re drugged. They think they’re going to a job. But they’re not unconscious and if you let them know they’re captives we’ll have to restrain them.”

Viktor nodded and released her. He stopped going to the outbuilding and directed her to the house. The gun never left his hand.