The Upside of Death

Tracking the Russians. Part 10

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One thing Zach knew as he drove back to Keera's house: Shirley's reveals might have been frustrating and incomplete but she'd supplied the first lead. And Bardo. She couldn't have made that name up. It made the rest of her information worth investigating.

Bardo, Keera's spirit guide. Who, as she complained, mostly kept his counsel to himself.

"Not performing, eh?" Zach had said, laughing. "Ask to speak to his superior."

"Very funny. I know why he seems unhelpful sometimes: he has a different agenda to mine. It's like a parent-child relationship. A three-year-old can't understand why it can't have chocolate all the time, but the parent can. It brings a bad outcome: poor health. Likewise when Bardo suppresses information it's for a reason that I wouldn't grasp. He takes a longer view than I can and if I have to pass through uncomfortable times then it's tough but necessary."

"How uncomfortable? Uncomfortable like dying in a preventable accident that he could have warned you about?"

She didn't seem concerned about the idea. "If it's my time, then it's my time. What can I do?"

It wasn't Keera's time tonight or Bardo wouldn't have come. That was some relief. Would have been more helpful to supply a damn address. Weren't details important in the afterlife?

He thought of what he could tell the cops. Hey, Sarge, I saw a medium, she told me my girlfriend is somewhere in 55th Street. Bad guys holding her there. Can you get on it? Guess not. Whatever he had, he was alone with it.

Once in Keera's kitchen, he switched on her laptop and opened Google Maps. Searched for appliance repairs on 55th Street. Found two. Selected Street View. Only one had a roll-up shutter. Noted the address, swung the street view through 180 degrees.

An apartment block. Like Shirley had said. Holy God.

The place was about fifty years old, four levels and a down ramp to the car park. Maybe 50 or 60 suites.

"Shirley," he said aloud. "I seriously apologize for my ingratitude." He scribbled the address down, grabbed his car keys and made for the front door. Stopped, returned and pulled his hoodie, t-shirt and sneakers from Keera's closet. Swapped them for his work wear of jacket, jeans and leather shoes. Best to be dressed for action, leave room for movement. There might be an altercation coming up. Just might be.

Paused at the living room, surveyed the mess on the coffee table in there. The Stoli bottle, the handbag contents. Looked like the crime scene it was. But not a murder scene, thank God. That was something.

Zach took it slow along 55th as he approached the building numbers he had noted. Passed a strip mall, all stores closed except for a laundry, a Spanish grocery and Carlo's Liquor Store. He found the appliance place further up. Battered lettering on the shutter door declared proudly, if ungrammatically, All Brands Repairs. It was the same dump, no question.

Across the road was the apartment building. Four floors high. "Quest Serviced Apartments" announced a placard fixed to a scrubby patch of grass in front. Somewhere in there was Keera. If Shirley was right about the appliance joint, she was right about Keera's location. That's the kind of crazy logic desperate men cling to, and he was no different. He blew out a long breath and sketched out a plan.

Started with the basic information. A drive sloped down to an underground parking garage guarded by a steel grille. Alongside, steps led up to the main entry. Past that was a lobby behind glass doors. No concierge that he could see by the interior lights; the intercom unit on the wall connected directly to the tenants.