Page 19 of My Russian Roommate

Arriving home, I take the stairs two at a time and arrive at my door. My hand shakes, making it a struggle to put the key in the hole, but when I do, I throw open the door slamming it into the wall and nearly knocking it off the hinges.

The apartment is dark. She isn’t here and hasn’t been here. I lean against the door frame and tug at my hair. There’s no doubt in my mind now. She’s in trouble. Think, damn it! I place my hand on my revolver and silently nod. The good news I had planned to tell Leah was that I found out where her hometown creeper was staying in the city. I was planning to pay him a visit tomorrow but, with Leah missing, I have to move up that timeline and go there now.

The little creep was smart enough to stay out of the downtown hotels. It’s too easy for us to get a list of registered guests from there. He rented a room on the seedier side of the city where crime is so rampant that the desk clerks have a see no evil, hear no evil attitude.

In some cases, they don’t even ask for identification from their customers. We practically have to threaten weekly raids on their establishments in order to get them to cooperate and that’s exactly what I did. I called every drug den and halfway house in the five boroughs until one of them confessed that a guy matching his description had been staying with them for over a month now. He stood out to them because he was better dressed than most of their tenants and never seemed to be intoxicated or under the influence of anything.

As I embark on the thirty-minute drive, I consider calling in a favor and seeing if there’s an officer closer that can get there before me, but I want this guy all to myself. I don’t need any witnesses if things get out of hand. The closer I get, the more I see red, the road in front of me becoming almost indiscernible. Good thing the traffic is light this time of night because my tunnel vision is making my driving less than stellar.

I arrive at the place and look around at the seedy, lower side of town. The street is vacant save for the two or three homeless people sleeping on the sidewalk and the prostitute who disappeared around the corner when she spotted my patrol car.

I exit my vehicle and step onto the trash-lined sidewalk. The thought of Leah being in a place like this further fuels my rage. I step up to the bar-covered entrance and pull the battered metal door open. There’s no one inside the grungy lobby or behind the front desk, so I step behind it and pull the extra key for room 17 off the wall.

The stained hallway carpet sticks to the bottom of my shoes and the smoke and grease-stained wallpaper peels from the walls. A foul mixture of burned food and body odor assaults my nostrils, and I cover my face with my gloved hand. This is nowhere for Leah to be, and the man who brought her here is going to pay dearly for it.

Room 17 is the last room on the first floor. I place the key in the lock and turn it gently and hold my breath as the cylinder clicks inside. I grip the door knob tightly in my hand and turn it slowly then allow the door to inch open just a bit. I hear no noise in the room, so I raise my sidearm and leap over the threshold.

“Police. Come out where I can see you,” I shout and wait for any sign of life in the room but no one is there.

I flick on all of the lights and inspect the room for any sign that Leah has been here, but I find nothing. If this Jack character took her, he didn’t bring her here.

I leave the room and walk back to the front of the motel without stopping to close the door. If Jack comes home to a ransacked room, so be it. My shouting must have roused the desk clerk because he is standing beside the desk when I arrive.

“You weren’t supposed to go back there without checking with me first,” he shouts.

I look him up, down, and sideways then throw the key to room 17 at his face.

I pound my fist frantically into the steering wheel of my patrol car and scream. I need to find my girl. I told her I would protect her, and now she’s in danger. Where the hell could he have taken her? She could be hogtied in the trunk of a car headed back to her hometown by now, and I don’t have a clue how to find them.

I lay my head down on my hands and close my eyes for a moment when it hits me. There’s one other place in the city where they might be. I lift my head and turn the key. This better be it. The clock is ticking.

12

TRUE CONFESSIONS

LEAH

The smell of charred wood and soot permeates my senses as I try to adjust my vision. The pain in my head is making it hard for me to focus, but the room slowly comes into view. It’s the tattered, scalded remnant of my old apartment. I look up and see the moon through the newly added hole in the roof. My head is swimming in an ocean of confused terror. How did I get here? Why would I come here? I try to move and realize that my hands are tied behind my back.

A figure moves toward me from the kitchen. I struggle to free myself from my bindings, but the pain in my head worsens with every move. The man kneels down in front of me, shines a light on my face, and smiles.

“Jack? What are you doing? Let me go,” I plead.

“We have some things to talk about and this seems to be the only way I can get your attention. Your big, bad Russian cop roommate doesn’t let you out of his sight, does he? You know, it’s really not safe being with someone that possessive. I imagine he packs a mean punch,” he shrugs his shoulders. “Who knows how badly he might hurt you in a jealous rage?”

“No, he’s not like that. He’s sweet and kind. He’s not…not like you.”

“You have no idea what I’m like, Leah. You never took the time to find out. You just wouldn’t give me a chance, would you?”

“I’m getting a pretty good picture of what you’re like right now, Jack. Do you actually think you’ll get away with this?”

“Without you, it doesn’t matter. What are they gonna do to me that you haven’t already done?”

“I haven’t done anything to you.”

“Nothing?” he smacks his hand on his knee. “Oh, that’s rich. You led me on then when I fell for you, you dumped me and ran away. I’ve been a hostage ever since. You’ve made me a prisoner. I lost my job. I’m homeless, and I’m down to my last ten bucks. That’s your fault. All of it.”

“I didn’t do any of that to you. I barely even know you. You have to let me go. I won’t tell anyone about this, I promise. Just let me go.”

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