Chapter 18: Intermission

"Valery, get the door, will you?" Boris bellowed from his office upon hearing the bell ring.

Valery took his time as he wound his way through the stacks of furniture and frames. Reaching the front entry of the shop, he pulled open the heavy door and then spoke across the bars of the security gate.

"Can I help you?" Valery said.

The man smiled slightly. "I don't speak Russian."

"No English," Valery replied. "Eh ... name?"

"Harvey Mitchell."

Valery held up his index finger to him, and then went to the back of the shop. "Boris!"

Boris poked his head out from the office, and peered at the customer through the rows of clutter. Valery quietly told Boris the man's name, and then Boris said, "Let him in. He has an appointment."

As Valery turned to go to the front again, Boris grabbed his shoulder and pulled him behind some shelves.

"Listen, keep an eye on him, you hear?" he said.

Valery nodded, but Boris didn't let go.

"There are enough criminals around here. I cannot afford to have trouble from foreigners as well," Boris said darkly. "I don't know much about this man, but Fyodor vouched for him, so I'll let him in." Boris pointed to his eyes with his free hand, and then let go of Valery.

Valery adjusted his shirt and returned to the gate. Wordlessly he threw the deadbolts open, and then swung the gate for the American man to enter.

Valery watched Harvey as he walked slowly through the shop, looking at the different pieces that were placed all around. A few times Harvey turned to Valery, and Valery pointed the way for him, nodding deferentially.

He has piercing eyes, Valery thought. He is too young, though... ?

Boris appeared suddenly, and Harvey stuck out his hand immediately.

"Boris? I'm Harvey Mitchell. Hopefully Fyodor spoke with you?"

"Yes, he did," Boris said gruffly with his thick accent, eyeing the young man. He made no effort to hide the suspicion in his look.

"Good, I'm here — " Harvey began.

Boris cut him off, looking around as if eavesdroppers were hidden in the dusky shadows of the shop.

"Not here. Follow me," he said.

Boris turned to Valery and spoke in Russian. "Valery, keep an eye on things. Do not let anyone in."

Valery nodded, and then watched as Harvey followed Boris into his office. No sooner had the door shut, than Valery made his way to an old bookshelf and reached behind a few old tomes, and then settled in to 'keep an eye on things.'

A few days later, as Valery was preparing to leave work, Boris called him over.

"Valery."

"Yes, Boris?"

Boris considered something for a moment. "Valery, I need a favor."

"Yes, of course," Valery replied politely.

"Do you have your gun with you?"

"My gun?"

"Yes."

"It's at home," Valery said cautiously.

"I — I need a little help tonight. Do you remember the American man, Mitchell?"

Valery nodded.

"He's coming to my house to pick up ... something."

"From your vault?" Valery said, perhaps too eagerly.

"Yes. Fyodor said he was trustworthy, but I'm not so sure ... There's something strange about this."

"Do you think he will try to cheat you?"

"I don't know," Boris said. "He is bringing the money in exchange for it. If he doesn't bring it, then..."

"If you are worried, perhaps you should call it off," Valery interrupted.

"I need the money!" Boris said, desperation touching his voice. "You know how hard the thefts have hit me! What do you think of him?" Boris suddenly asked Valery.

"He seems a little young, but I didn't get any strange feelings from him," Valery said, shrugging.

Boris sighed heavily and peered around nervously. "Can you help me tonight?"

"Yes, of course, boss. What do you need?"

"Just come to the house at five, and bring your gun. Don't come in; just keep an eye on things while the American is there. He will come at six. If all goes well, it will be as if nothing happened. Of course I will pay you for your help."

Boris gave Valery some more instructions.

"He may be scared off if he sees you, so don't come to the door unless there's trouble," Boris finished. "If this is for real, I need to make this deal."

"I'll be there," Valery said, nodding.

Boris checked his pistol for the tenth time, and then sat on the creaky stool again. There was still an hour until the American would arrive. Despite having Valery outside the house, Boris still felt uneasy. Something was wrong.

Six months ago, things had begun disappearing from his shop. It had been an accidental discovery, at first: a client had come in unexpectedly to pay in full for a long-term layaway item, and it was missing. Valery and his other employee, Ivan, had both helped him search the shop, but it was clearly gone.

Not only did Boris have to suffer the embarrassment of telling the customer that his piece was no longer available, but he had to return a good deal of cash to the man.

One thing missing could be explained by misplacement, but when a second item wasn't found, Boris grew suspicious. Boris spent a night looking at some inventory, and it became clear that someone was stealing things from the shop.

One morning he arrived early to find Ivan with some electronic equipment in hand. It was a setup to listen into Boris's office, he quickly discovered. He almost threw Ivan out right then, but Ivan pleaded his innocence vehemently, saying he had found it when looking for the missing pieces.

Boris's mistake was trusting Ivan. The thief couldn't be Valery: he had been a loyal assistant for years. No one else had access to the shop, that he knew of, except Ivan.

When Boris asked Fyodor for advice, Fyodor said "I don't know Ivan, but I'll put my hands in the fire for Valery." Unfortunately, before Boris had a chance to fire Ivan, a few more things disappeared.

Things had returned to normal since Ivan went away, but Boris still felt like someone was watching him from dark corners. The ordeal had thrown a dark cloud over Boris's already dark life.

It made waiting for the American, and his sum of money, almost unbearable.

Harvey Mitchell had arrived a little early to the neighborhood where Boris lived. He drove by the dilapidated house once, and then parked the car a few blocks away. Despite promising Boris he would not arrive until six, he wanted to get this business over with. He would feel much safer with the sculpture than with the suitcase full of money.

He waited in the car for a little while, as it was too early. Fyodor would have passage for him late this evening to exit the country. If all went according to plan, in two days he would have the sculpture as the centerpiece of his collection.

Harvey had been nervous perhaps once or twice in his life. Now he could make it three.

He started counting slowly to clear his head. When he reached three hundred, he would go close this deal.

A noise made Boris jump up out of his chair. He checked the clock on the wall. Still forty minutes until he should be here, he thought.

Another noise made him quietly slip to the foyer. It was the stairs creaking; someone was coming... down?

It was Irina.

What is she doing here?! Boris thought.

"Irina?" he blurted out. He stood frozen in panic. She was supposed to be at the conservatory.

"Is everything all right?" she asked, stopping fearfully on the stairs in response to the look on Boris's face.

Before Boris could answer, there was a knock on the front door. Boris looked at the door like it was about to explode in his face. "Who is it?" he yelled.

There was no answer.

"Irina, go upstairs. Do not come down until I come up and get you. Do you understand?" His voice was almost violently urgent.

Irina looked at him, fear crossing her face. Then she nodded and went up the stairs hurriedly.

Boris waited until he heard her door shut, and took his gun in hand. He peeked out the window, frowned, and then opened the door.

"You're not supposed to..."

The last thing he saw was the dirty floor from a few centimeters away.

Why did Boris have his gun? Irina thought, her heart racing as she closed the door to her room. Was he making a deal tonight?

Irina heard Boris open the door and say a few muffled words. Then there was some strange noise and a heavy thud. The sounds made her heart stop for a moment. She listened desperately for any sign of what was happening downstairs, but heard nothing.

There should be talking!

A few footsteps thumped downstairs and stopped. Dread swept over Irina. Something was terribly wrong.

The things got blurry as blood rushed through her ears. The fear was threatening to overwhelm her. She had to ... to ... hide. She crept slowly to her closet. A few slight creaks on the old floorboards made her wince and hold her breath.

She slipped into the closet, and closed the door. Just as she arranged the clothing in front of her, she heard the sound of measured footsteps on the stairs. They were not Boris's, and yet they seemed somehow familiar.

Panic erased all further thought from her head.

Valery was amazed at his luck. Besides being invited to the premises earlier in the evening, Boris had also already taken the art piece out of his vault. The fool! He had left it standing on his kitchen table. Not only would he collect the money from Mr. Mitchell's dead hand, but he would also have the sculpture, now. Perhaps Fyodor would exchange his part of the money for the piece.

All in all, things had turned out well. Better than Valery had ever imagined six months ago when Fyodor had first spoken to him about the American. Even that meddler Ivan hadn't ruined everything. Admittedly, Valery got a little overeager in removing things from Boris's shop, but Ivan's convenient discovery of the electronics had put the blame squarely on his shoulders. Before Ivan ever made it to the police station, Valery made sure he became irrelevant. Like Valery, Ivan had no family and few friends. He would not be missed for a long time.

But the really unexpected surprise was finding Irina here, this evening. He had wondered if he would be so lucky, although he thought it unlikely Boris would have her in the house during a business deal of this type. It was only her footsteps creaking that gave her away. Otherwise, she would have missed all the ... excitement.

She had always looked at him suspiciously, from the first day he met her. Those pretty eyes never gave him any room for an advance. Her voice never harbored any warmth, when she addressed him on rare occasion.

How often he would look at her slender body and wish he could just once touch her. He was fatally attracted to Irina from the moment he set eyes on her, and yet her first look told him he would never have her.