Page 10 of Pageant

Two years earlier

Ivan Kalashnik puts a baseball bat in my hand and pats my cheek. “Welcome to America, kid.”

I take a swing with the bat, propelling it hard through the air at an imaginary ball. It feels so good holding a weapon that I didn’t fashion furtively from a toothbrush and conceal up my sleeve.

“Look at him, he’s a natural,” Ivan says, and the men around him laugh. Dima and Bogdan, his right-hand men. Vasily, a man my age who’s as restless as a puppy. He bounces on his toes with excitement at what’s to come.

I rest the bat on my shoulder, stick my other hand in my pocket, and reply in my thick accent, “Easy-peasy.”

It’s a phrase I picked up from the American flight attendant on the plane from Moscow.Easy-peasy. She smiled and said it every time I asked for a pillow or a cup of water. I think she sensed my nervousness asking for anything. It’s been a long time since I’ve opened my mouth and wasn’t immediately kicked in the teeth.

“We’ll make an American of you yet.”

“Not too American,” I say, swinging the bat back and forth. “I do not like your fucking food.” The men all laugh.

“After this, I’ll take you home for dinner and you can try my wife’s cooking. You won’t taste as good in all of Moscow.”

I can already picture Mrs. Kalashnik, a short, plump, bottle blonde with thick eyeliner and hot pink nails. She’ll put plates of dumplings in front of me as she bemoans that I’m too skinny, all the while patting the muscles of my shoulders, my chest, and my back. I have aunts and second cousins just like her. They would pinch my cheeks and ask me how many hearts I have broken this week. Homesickness stabs through my chest.

“But first—work.” Ivan nods to Vasily, who runs to fetch the prisoner.

Vasily drags a bound man out of the shadows of the cellar and throws him at my feet. He’s been beaten and his nose and mouth are a mess of blood and pulpy flesh.

Ivan points a finger at the wretched figure cowering at our feet, his eyes gleaming with malice. “This man dared to make disgusting jokes about my wife. He dared totouchmy wife.”

“I didn’t mean it, Ivan. I swear it,” the man blubbers. He looks wildly around and his beseeching eyes land on me.

I don’t care what he did. I’m not here to judge. I reach behind my head and pull my T-shirt and sweater off in one smooth motion and toss them aside. I don’t want to arrive for dinner covered in blood. There’s always a test when you join a new crew. Something you have to steal. Someone you have to kill. The men want to see how you operate. If you hesitate. If you hold back. I’ve never held back from anything in my life, and I never fucking hesitate.

The others stare at the tattoos covering my chest and arms. Figures and symbols inked into my flesh that tell the story of my life.

Thief. Killer. Prisoner. Too many years a prisoner.

The man at my feet sees the weapon in my hand and shakes in terror. I tap the bat under his chin. “Up.”

I’ve never killed a man who’s cowering at my feet and I’m not about to start now. He doesn’t move, and so Vasily drags him up.

The man’s terror spills into anger. “You bastard. You think this is a fair fight? You cock-sucking piece of—”

I grasp the baseball bat and swing it with full force at the man’s head. His head snaps to one side. Teeth and blood explode from his mouth as he falls to his knees with a gurgling cry. I bring the bat down on his head again and again. Controlled swings, each one crushing a fresh piece of his skull.

After six blows, I stop and nudge the man with my shoe. He doesn’t move.

The men are grinning at the mess I’ve made of their prisoner, and the blood spattering my chest and arms. Ivan picks up my T-shirt and sweater and throws them to me.

“Nice work. Hungry?”

“Starving,” I reply with a grin.

Vasily tries to follow as we turn toward the door, but Ivan points at the body I just mangled. “Clean that up.”

Vasily’s face falls, but he doesn’t complain as I pass the bloody bat to him with a shrug and pull my clothes on.

Out on the street, Ivan unlocks a big black SUV. He turns to us and holds up a finger. “Watch your mouths around my family, all of you. We were at the bar teaching Elyah about American football.”

“Not baseball?” I ask.

Ivan chuckles and shakes his head like an affectionate uncle. He likes me, I can tell. I remind him of himself when he was young. “We’ve got a smartass here, everyone.”

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