| Subject: À la Vie! - Chapter 50 |
Author:
Diane
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Date Posted: Thursday, November 11, 07:03:08pm
In reply to:
Diane
's message, "À la Vie! - Chapter 41+" on Friday, November 05, 11:09:31pm
Michael’s 34th birthday was a subdued affair. Julie and Adam would be leaving at the end of the week to stay with Julie’s relatives in Ireland. Nikita consoled the little boy by telling him that he could learn a new language, Irish, for Daddy. She side-stepped his questions about when he would see Daddy again.
Michael had contacted Helmut Volker. The assassin, he learned, was a man named Suba. He was employed by the Russian mafia for a number of positions, his personal favorite being that of killer. Even when a job had been cancelled because a deal had been brokered, Suba followed through on the hit, claiming he had never received the message. He was a sick and twisted bastard, Volker had warned, and was on their Yellow list.
* * *
Roberta thought Suba was kind of handsome, if you went for that pony-tail look. It didn’t do anything for her personally, but it didn’t look bad on the man sitting across from her at Nikita’s kitchen table. Besides, he was talking about a humongous amount of money, and a sum like that could make the ugliest of toads look handsome to Roberta.
Half a million bucks! The guy was talking half a million bucks. And all she had to do was tell him where Michael Samuelle was staying. I mean, $15,000 was a lot of money, and she was living trouble-free, but for 500 thou she could quit her job, move to Miami and live large for the rest of her life. She wouldn’t need Michael or Nikita. Never really wanted a kid, anyway. Only reason she never got married. Guys would take one look at a kid and run hell for leather.
Resentment for Nikita growing, Roberta made up her mind. Besides, she didn’t even know Michael. She didn’t owe him a thing.
* * *
The Russian mafia was tired of Salla Vacek. His whining and complaining had been going on for over a year. The kid was gone—suck it up and move on. Besides, Vacek hadn’t told them that the kid was with his dad. The dad was family—where was the injustice? Salla Vacek was not that important to their organization that they felt the need to waste any more time on him or his problems. They contacted Suba and rescinded their order for a hit on Michael Samuelle, and told Vacek he would have to settle his personal problems on his own time.
* * *
Michael and Nikita went with Julie and Adam to the airport. As they were leaving the hotel room, Nikita suddenly plucked a long, blonde hair from her brush and placed in between the door and the doorjamb. “Saw it in a detective movie once,” she smiled lamely. Adam sat on Michael’s lap, his head buried in Michael’s shoulder all the way to the airport. Nikita could see that he wanted to cry, but wouldn’t let himself. Her heart went out to both of them. Michael reviewed with Julie the technique for putting an ad in the San Francisco Chronicle whenever she wanted to contact them.
Good-byes were short and sweet, and took place out by the curb. Michael had no idea if anyone was watching the airport, and although Julie was wearing her black wig and Adam’s appearance had changed drastically in a year, he and Nikita were too recognizable to risk going into the terminal itself.
Michael was back in the taxi before Julie and Adam had even entered the building. It was just too painful for him to prolong. Nikita grieved with him, and it was a long, silent ride back to the hotel.
Michael started to put his keycard in the door, when suddenly Nikita jerked his arm away. “Look,” she whispered, pointing with a shaky finger. Michael had no idea what she was pointing at. “My hair,” she reminded him. Michael stooped down and picked the golden strand off the floor.
“Someone’s been in our room,” he whispered back.
“Or still is! Let’s get out of here.”
They turned silently to walk back down the hall and had just reached the elevators when their door flew open and two muffled shots rang out.
Michael shoved Nikita in the elevator and pressed the top floor, as well as the seventh. He didn’t know if Suba was taking the stairs or the other elevator, he had no idea where they would meet up again. Focus, Michael. Focus. Think of Adam. Think of Nikita.
Exiting the elevator on the seventh floor, Michael grabbed Nikita’s hand and ran for the other set of elevators on the opposite side of the building. He pressed LL to take him to the laundry room. Suba may be a trained assassin, but Michael and Nikita had lived in this hotel for seven months--they knew every nook and cranny. Suba didn’t.
* * *
On the other hand, Suba hadn’t gotten where he was by being stupid. He hadn’t fallen for Michael’s ‘up button’ routine, and had immediately gone to the kitchen. When he assured himself that there was no feasible way out of there, he made his way to the laundry room.
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