Page 17 of Cruel Demands

“I am aware.”

“You are always aware. You are never present.”

I run my tongue over my teeth and walk past her to answer Arkady. “Speak.” I leave my plate and Mama and walk toward my bedroom to finish getting dressed.

“There was a problem on the eastern freight corridor.”

Mama follows me into my bedroom, her feet pulling her along the hallway, the rubber of her wheels squeaky against the marble floors. She watches me from the doorway. “What kind of problem?” I ask as I stand in front of a mirror and button my shirt all the way up.

“Two vehicles moved through the Lyubertsy depot using our permits and warehouse access.”

“Whose vehicles?” I kiss my mother’s forehead and walk away into the closet to choose a tie and cuff links for the day.

“We are verifying. Sergei Antonov reported it.”

I know Antonov. He oversees transfers through that section of the route. Quiet. Competent. Six years without requiring my attention. “What did he see?” I walk back out to my mirror and watch myself throw the tie over itself to begin the knot.

My mother pulls herself over to me to help, and I wave her away.

“Did you have to be quite so rude to that Olga woman?” she asks. “Your father never would have approved of speaking to a woman that way.”

Arkady says, “He thinks he saw one driver he recognized. A man who works for Orlov.” Viktor Orlov controls his own region, his own men, and more government contracts than a criminal should be able to obtain without becoming conspicuous. He is not my subordinate. He is not my ally.

Until now, he has not been my enemy. There are understandings between men like us. Not friendship. Never trust. Boundaries made useful by the cost of violating them. Orlov knows which routes belong to me.

“He is sure?” I ask.

“We are confirming. You can come see for yourself.”

My hand tightens around the phone as a chill runs through me. “What do you mean?”

“We took him.”

I still in the mirror and glance at Mama. She notices and stiffens. “Misha, what? What is wrong?” she hisses.

“Politics, Mama, leave me to it. You should go lie down. You seem tired.” To Arkady, I ask, “How?”

“We let the second vehicle continue. Once the first cleared the depot, our men forced it off the road where there were no cameras. It will look like mechanical failure until someone goes looking closely.”

Mama says, “I’ll have plenty of time to lie down when you’re at work. I want to see my only son while he is home. It seems so rare these days.”

“Does Orlov know?” I ask Arkady, and cover the mouthpiece to whisper harshly, “Please don’t make me feel bad. I’m trying to see you as much as I can. I had you moved in here, didn’t I?”

“Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was such an imposition,” Mama snaps, turning away from me.

“Not yet,” Arkady says.

“The shipment?” I ask. To Mama, I say, “Mama, you are not an imposition. I am asking you not to make me feel bad for being busy. I hate to disappoint you. You know that.”

“Secured.”

Her eyes shine instantly. “You could never disappoint me, Misha.”

I bend down to kiss her cheek and return to my tie. I finish the knot, looking into my own eyes in the mirror. I see the same emptiness I used to see in my father’s eyes. The same dull boredom. The same calculation moving behind the glass. “What was it?”

“Cocaine. Enough to make the violation deliberate.”

Not an accidental crossing. Not a driver confused about which men had been paid. Orlov has moved narcotics through a route protected by my permits, my officials, and my police. If the shipment had been discovered, the risk would have belonged to me while the profit returned to him.