Page 1 of My Russian Roommate

1

MY RUSSIAN ROOMMATE

LEV

“Miss, I just need to ask you a few questions about what happened here. Miss?”

This is the third time I’ve tried to get this girl’s attention, and I have to admit I’m getting a little frustrated. My shift should have ended thirty minutes ago, and I spent the better part of my day crawling around a dust-covered, stinking basement looking for the drugs and money that my perp had hidden at his mother’s place.

I was looking forward to getting out of this uniform and into a nice, hot shower. I only took this call because it’s so close to my place that it should have been an in-and-out. Write a report and done.

The girl who lives in the apartment where the fire started is sitting on the sidewalk dressed in a waitress uniform, but she looks more like a kid dressed as a waitress for Halloween. Her arms are crossed, head down on her lap. If I didn’t know that her name was on the lease, I would have mistaken her for the tenant's teenage daughter. Now, if she’d only acknowledge me, I can finish up here and get my damn shower.

I’m two inches away from grabbing her by the shoulder and shaking her when a round, hairy man wearing a grease-covered wife beater rolls out of his car and stomps toward me, shouting at the top of his lungs.

“You did this,” he points at the tiny female figure on the sidewalk. “I knew it was a mistake to rent to you. What did you do? Fall asleep smoking your drugs? You’re gonna pay for this!”

Finally, the girl lifts her head and shows her tear-stained face. Boom, it hits me like a gunshot straight through my chest. My heart kicks hard just looking at her. She’s scared, alone, absolutely stunning, and currently being accosted by this raving lunatic who I can only assume is the landlord.

I don’t know how to explain the feeling that overtakes me. It’s like a primal instinct that radiates from deep inside me and shuts down my ability to consider the consequences of my actions.

Without thinking, I grab his throat in my left hand and say, “Excuse me, S-,” I almost called this piece of shit Sir. No, he doesn’t deserve my respect when he’s speaking to my angel like this. “Listen, buddy. You need to step back and shut up.”

His fat fingers slap at my hand and he tries to speak but all he can do is make a wet, gurgling noise. I release my hold on him and push him back a few feet from my sweet girl.

“She’s the prime suspect, Officer!” he says, holding his neck and clearing his throat.

“I’m the officer in charge. I decide who the suspects are,” I answer.

“Then do your job and arrest this little misfit,” he shouts and my face gets hot. Misfit? This amazing creature?

I step toward him and he backs up. I continue forward until I’ve chased him all the way across the street and back to his car. He’s pressed against the driver’s door, and I lean into him and snarl, “As far as I can tell, you might be the prime suspect. Maybe you decided to burn down this death trap for the insurance money. Maybe you never updated the electric and it finally caused the fire the building inspectors warned you about. You serve to gain a whole lot more from torching this place than that little girl, who’s homeless now, does.”

“I didn’t….I was at home…you can’t just accuse…” he stammers.

“Ah, but you just accused her. See how scary it can be to be bullied and accused? Now, you’re gonna calmly walk back over there and apologize to her for your behavior because, if you don’t, I might put your head through your car window. Clear?”

I put my hands on the car, pinning him between them and bringing my face even close to his. “Are we clear, bitch?” Normally, I wouldn’t talk to a civilian this way but a man doesn’t talk to a sweet, little girl that way. He needs to know that he’s not a tough guy. He’s just a bitch.

“Yes, officer. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. You’re right, I should apologize,” beads of sweat that have formed on his forehead roll down his face as he nods frantically.

“Okay, let’s go.”

He takes a deep breath and follows me back to the girl on the sidewalk.

“I’m sorry, Miss Robinson. I was upset about all this, and I jumped to a conclusion. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he tells her.

She glares at him through her tear-stained eyes and doesn’t say a word. Jesus Christ. Even when furious, she’s so incredibly beautiful.

“Alright, you can go home now. I’ll have a report filed and ready for your insurance company sometime tomorrow afternoon,” I tell him.

“But…” he tries to argue.

“I said go home,” I repeat, stepping toward him again.

He holds up his hands and says, “Okay, okay. I’ll go home now and call the station tomorrow. Thank you, Officer. Sorry, what’s your name?”

“Officer Lindov.”

---