Michal

 

I'm looking down at Alina and she's terrified. She doesn't know what to make of me standing here. I can see rapid computations behind her gray eyes, her fight-or-flight instinct doing its internal calculus. Tears are running down her face and her mouth is opened slightly.

 

At this moment, she looks just like all of the other girls.

 

But as I stand there in front of her, I catch myself feeling something—something more than the simple annoyance that I typically feel when dealing with this situation that I've handled dozens of times already: I feel protective. Part of me wants to put my arm around her, tell her everything's going to be alright, and drive her far, far away from here. But as soon as the feeling wells up within me, I push it right back down.

 

Time to start the show.

 

"What happened?" I ask, putting my hands on her shoulders.

 

"I-I don't know," she stammers. "Your …father, your father, told me to meet him here …"

 

She sniffs and frantically wipes her tears away.

 

"He told me to …"

 

More tears.

 

"Not here," I say, looking around. "Come with me."

 

I take her by the hand, and she follows me along without protest. I breathe a small sigh of relief at this, but it annoys me to no end when I get the occasional girl who tries to make a break for it. I've never had a problem chasing them down, scooping them up, and carrying them to my car, but it's still a major pain in the ass. Girls like Alina who're overwhelmed with fear are much more manageable.

 

Popping open the passenger door to my jet-black Audi, I help her in. As soon as the doors shut, I can hear muffled sobs through the window. As easy as the criers are, it doesn't mean I like to deal with the tears.

 

I slide into the driver's side and shut the door, seeing that Alina is now suddenly composed. She's drying her eyes with tissues from her purse and taking slow, deep breaths. She's still scared, clearly, but I can't help but feel impressed at how quickly she was able to get ahold of herself.

 

"We're going to go to the office," I say. "Tell me what happened in there."

 

I start the car and pull out of the parking lot and onto the road.

 

"Your father …he told me to meet him here," she says, rubbing one hand with the other as she looks out of the window at the passing industrial buildings. "He told me to meet him at the warehouse. And when I arrived, he wasn't there. So, I walked in and started looking around."

 

"You shouldn't have done that," I say. "When my father says to meet him somewhere, he means it in the most literal sense. Meaning, arrive out front and wait for him to come get you."

 

"But I didn't know …I didn't know …" she says, shaking her head.

 

I think that she might start crying again, but she quickly composes herself.

 

"Tell me what you saw," I say, my voice clear and firm, sending the message that this is serious business.

 

"There …there was some kind of meeting happening. It was your father and another man—a man named Alex."

 

"Alex …" I repeat, my affected tone suggesting to her that this was a man of grave importance.

 

I realize that I'm getting too good at my acting; I'm starting to incorporate little improvisational flourishes. A count of how many girls, exactly, I've put through this same scenario starts going in my mind, but Alina begins speaking again before the number can rise too high.

 

"Yes, Alex. And there were men there—maybe a half a dozen—all with guns. It seemed like things were getting tense. And then …"

 

She trails off, and I can tell that she's hesitant to tell me exactly what she saw next. But she has to; it's the most important part.

 

"What did you see?" I ask, my voice still stern.

 

"I saw …drugs. Lots of drugs."

 

I take in a sharp breath through my nostrils, letting her know that she did, just like she thought, see something that she absolutely shouldn't have. In reality, it was the precise thing that we were hoping she'd see, but she won't ever know that.

 

Just like all the others … I think once again.

 

"Then what did you do? Did they see you?"

 

"No," she says quickly. "But I think they knew that I was there."

 

I say nothing as I drum my fingers on the leather steering wheel, pretending to really think about what needs to be done. But I already know: I'll take this girl back to the office, my father will arrive, and he'll let her know about the price of seeing something that she wasn't supposed to see. Then the same process that I've seen unfold so many times before will begin once again.

 

Those same lifeless eyes appear in my mind's eye once again.

 

"That's …what I was afraid you'd say."

 

"What's going to happen to me?" Alina asks, her voice carrying a tinge of fear.

 

"That's for my father to decide," I say, my tone grim.

 

I wonder if I'm laying it on a little thick. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Alina tuck her legs close to her body as she looks out of the window, and I wonder what she thinks is in store for her.

 

I pull into the building parking lot and into my private space. My father's own space is still empty, and I hope that the deal with Alex is going well. There shouldn't be any problems; Alex has been a loyal business associate for years, and I'm sure that the tension that Alina was referring to was nothing more than an act for her.

 

At least, I hope.

 

I kill the engine and look over at her. She's still making herself small and her eyes are locked on some far-away spot in the middle distance.

 

"Look," I say, placing my hand on her shoulder, finding her skin cool and smooth. "My father's tough, but he's reasonable. Just let him know exactly what you saw; the only thing he doesn't abide is lying."

 

"Okay," she says.

 

I'm hoping that I'm striking the right balance between serious and reassuring. I want her scared, but not “pants-wetting” terrified. Taking one last glance at Alina, I note that she seems to be holding up remarkably well, all things considered. Her tears have dried, and she seems fairly composed.

 

"Let's go," I say.

 

We step out of the car and take the elevator up to the floor where my father and my offices are located. The floor is quiet and still, no illumination but the halogen lights on their lowest settings down the halls. I lead Alina to my father's office, directing her to one of the chairs across from the desk as we enter, and I flick on the lights.

 

"What's going to happen to me?" asks Alina.

 

"Hard to say. I know my father isn't going to be happy that you saw what you did, but I know that he likes you quite a bit; can't say the same for most of the girls around here. We'll just have to wait and see."

 

The ornate grandfather clock on the far end of the office is ticking as we sit. I'm in my father's high-backed, leather chair, Alina sitting across from me, looking down in front of her. She seems almost resigned to whatever her fate might be.

 

"A drink?" I ask, getting up and walking over to my father's bar.

 

I look back at her and she simply shakes her head. After preparing a small tumbler of ice and some of my father's expensive, single-malt scotch, I walk over to the window and look out at the orange and white lights of the city beyond. Above, thick, gray clouds are roiling and swirling; it looks as though a storm might break out at any moment. I collapse back into my father's chair, taking a sip of my drink as I look over the expensive appointments of the office.

 

I'd be lying if I said that being in this position didn't appeal to me.

 

Then, the door opens, and my father steps in. I stiffen in my seat, and Alina's eyes snap to him. My father is wearing a serious expression on his face, and like always, he manages to control the room simply by standing and looking into it.

 

"Out of my chair," he says, breaking the silence.

 

My drink in hand, I stand up and walk over to the other side of the desk, taking a seat next to Alina. My father walks into the office with slow, measured steps, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two of us. I almost feel like Alina and I are a young couple getting caught sneaking out in the middle of the night, and my father is about to tell us that we're not to see each other anymore.

 

"What did she see?" my father asks me, his eyes still on Alina.

 

"She saw enough."

 

My father takes in a slow draw of air through his nose. We've done this little routine plenty of times, so we can play off each other quite well by this point. He walks over to the desk, his feet thudding against the soft carpet as he walks.

 

"Helping yourself to the good stuff, huh?" he asks, looking at the caramel-colored liquid in my round tumbler glass. "Make me one of those, why don't you?"

 

A smirk crosses my lips and I proceed to do what he asks.

 

Always pulling rank, I think to myself as I pour him a measure and place it on his desk.

 

"What are you going to do to me?" asks Alina, getting to the heart of the matter.

 

"My dear, you saw something that you weren't supposed to," says my father, leaning forward in his seat. "But I realize that I can't help but share some of the blame for the events of this evening. But, regardless, we cannot undo what has been done."

 

"Are you going to kill me?" asks Alina. "Just shoot me right here?"

 

My mouth forms into a grim line.

 

Yes, he's going to kill you, I think. But in a little more roundabout way than you're expecting.

 

My father's eyes go wide. "No!" he says, feigning shock at the thought of such a horrid idea. "Perish the thought. Never, never."

 

I can see Alina's body lose some of its tension.

 

"Then …what?"

 

My father lets a moment pass before speaking.

 

"I have been thinking on the drive over about how to handle this little …situation. I like you, Alina. I think you are a fine worker and a young woman who will go far in this country. However, the fact remains that you have seen something that you weren't supposed to see. And while part of me wants to simply let bygones be bygones and trust that you will not reveal any …delicate information to authorities, I've been burnt too many times. Blind trust isn't a good trait to have in this business."

 

"The …drug business?" she asks, as if confirming.

 

My father says nothing, letting his silence do the speaking for him.

 

"So, I believe that I have come up with a little arrangement that will be of benefit to us both, if you're interested to hear it."

 

Now it's Alina's turn to let the silence speak for her.

 

"I'll take that as a ‘yes.' What I propose is that you do a little work for us. Work that is …off of the books."

 

"What kind of work?" Alina asks.

 

"Well, moving product."

 

"You mean being a drug mule?" she asks, her tone firm.

 

Feisty, I think to myself.

 

"That’s a more indelicate way to put it than I would prefer, but yes. You would make one trip per weekend up to New York City. Nothing difficult—just driving a car carefully for a few hours, making a drop-off, then coming back free and clear. Once a week for, oh, let's say, six months, and then not only will I let you off the hook, I will sponsor a long-term visa for you. And pay you a slightly increased salary on top of everything."

 

I want to shake my head. He promises them the world every time, and they can't help but agree. If only they knew that in the years that my father and I have been pulling this little routine, not a single girl has seen it through to the end. They either end up dead or so hooked on drugs that they might as well be, an overdose following soon after.

 

Those lifeless eyes appear in my mind once again.

 

"This way, you are …well, let's say, not entirely free of the stain of criminality, should you decide to go to the police. Not that I think a girl like you would ever betray us in such a way. But, like I said, trust doesn't get you very far in this business."

 

He takes a slow sip from his scotch and sits back in his chair, the city sprawling out through the window behind him.

 

"So. What do you say?"

 

When she finally murmurs a "yes," it comes as no surprise. After all, it's not as though she really has a choice.