Page 7 of Blood & Snow
Those are all lies too.
I don’t know why the interview is at eleven p.m.
Maybe it's a shut-in or someone who works odd shifts and wants their housekeeper to clean at night.
I'll take anything at this point.
Irina frowns. "That sounds unusual. Most hotels conduct interviews during normal business hours."
"Luxury places operate differently. Twenty-four-hour service means staff availability at all hours."
The explanation sounds reasonable even to me.
"They're willing to pay cash daily, which is exactly what we need right now."
"I don't like the idea of your traveling across Moscow alone at night for a job interview."
"I can't afford to be particular about scheduling." I stand and begin gathering my things.
"The position pays well enough that I could help with the kids’ presents this year."
That argument ends Irina's objections.
She wants Anya and Mikhail to have a proper celebration, complete with gifts under a decorated tree and traditional foods forNovy God.
Neither of us can afford those luxuries on her nursing salary alone.
Not when rent is half her pay and we're already scrimping on day-old food from the market.
"Just be careful," she says.
"If anything feels wrong about the situation, leave immediately."
I promise to call when the interview ends and kiss her goodbye.
The kids’ voices echo from the bathroom as I put on my coat and gather the address information.
Mikhail sings off-key while Anya recites multiplication tables over the sound of running water.
The metro carries me south through neighborhoods that grow progressively seedier as we move away from the city center.
It's a bit of a trip, but I don't have to drive, so I can probably nap to and from work if I get the job.
By the time I emerge at Kashirskaya Station, the streets start to look abandoned.
Streetlights flicker over empty sidewalks while wind howls between concrete apartment blocks built in the seventies.
I check the address twice before entering the building.
There is no doorman or security system, no signs indicating there's even a reputable business here.
It appears deserted.
The elevator smells like urine and cigarette smoke.
Graffiti covers the walls in languages I can't read.
The apartment sits at the end of a dimly lit hallway.
