Exploitation: Third Floor
© 2020 by Walter Reimer


Thumbnail art by Stock Footage


By this time, I wasn’t sure what the hell I was going to find on the third floor. So far I had run into hermits, pornographers, prostitutes, ghosts, Communists (a type of ghost, I suppose), spies and hoarders. Seriously, what’s next?

The elevator doors opened and I stepped out warily, almost yelping (again) as the door nearly closed on my tail (again).

Ugh. Late Soviet Industrial Awful décor. Well, there might be something here, and I am under contract, so I started down the hallways. I had only got about a third of the way down the hall before both of my ears went straight up and I started flagging at the sound of angry voices in Russian.

“Ya zhe skazal tebe, ZAPAD!”

“VOSTOK!”

“ZAPAD!”

“VOSTOK!”

There was one fellow, looked like a wolf, leaning against the wall and listening to the argument. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and a pair of trousers, and his ears flicked and he turned as I walked up. “Dobri dyen,” he said. From his accent, I think he came from somewhere west, maybe Pskov.

“Good day,” I replied. “What’s going on?”

He barked a soft laugh. “They’re arguing again. Which way to face toward Mecca,” he amplified.

My ears dipped slightly as I glanced into the open room and saw an Islamic flag tacked to one wall. I stepped back and asked quietly, “Isn’t Mecca sort of south of Moscow?”

He nodded. “Try telling them that. These guys insist on facing west – from Pakistan, they are – and they’re declaring war on the rest of us for being apostates.”

See what I mean? I was reminded of a few people I’d met in Pakistan, and in other places.

I started to edge backward. “So . . . um . . . jihadis?” I ventured.

The wolf nodded equably. “Welcome to the Glorious Islamic Caliphate of Moscow.”

Just then another wolf trotted up and said enthusiastically, “We’re small, but we’ll grow, you’ll see!” He had a box of Lyubatovo™ dry cereal in one paw, and was munching pawfuls of the corn flakes like popcorn. Without another word he ducked into the room and the argument ramped up again. The fellow I was talking to just sighed and shook his head.

“Your – “

“Cousin,” he said. “His mother asked me to look after him.” He rolled his eyes. “If I’d known he was going to join up with this pack, I would have told her to go to hell.”

“You seem awfully – “ I refrained from saying ‘sane’ – “forthcoming.”

The wolf shrugged. “It’s not like any of them have made a big secret of being here. I’m surprised that the politsiya haven’t swept us up before now.” He smiled politely. “Which brings me to you. Are you with the police?”

“Hardly,” and I launched into my spiel. I’d said it enough times that I had it pretty well memorized by now. Maybe I could just record it onto my phone and play it back for the last two floors. When I finished, he looked a little crestfallen. “I’m sorry to bear bad news,” I said.

He waved this off. “Eh, I should have expected it, really. This place is, what, a hundred years old? High time for it to come down, and it might be funny watching us relocate. Hey, Vanya!” he shouted into the room where the verbal civil war was going on. “Tell those idiots to shut up, I’ve got some news.” Things quieted down a little, and another argument erupted after he told them.

“My name’s Volodya,” the wolf said as he came back, rolling his eyes again. “What’s yours?”

“Alice.”

“American, eh?” He nodded. “Figures. Americans are always trying to tear things down and build new things.” I thought that this wasn’t very fair, but kept my mouth shut. My boss for this job was based in Frankfurt, but was originally from New York City; no sense in starting an argument. “Have you actually found anything here?”

I was almost tempted to tell him about the pair of hoarders and their disassembled T-34, but decided against it. “A few things,” I admitted.

“Oh?” I showed him the portrait of Brezhnev I had in my bag, and he chuckled. “Not going to make much money off that. Tell me,” and he leaned in a little, “would the very pretty American contemplate letting me take her out to dinner tonight?”

I blinked, literally not believing my ears. This guy was with a group of wannabe terrorists, and he was asking me out? I actually started thinking that I had gone crazy in this old hotel. “I – Yipe!” I exclaimed as something furry brushed against the back of my right ankle. I leaped to my left, almost plowing into Volodya as a feral cat ran past me.

A thin bear was running after the cat, with what looked like a scrap of cloth in his paw. “Come back here!” he yelled as he ran past us, past the room where the civil war was descending into personal insults (I know some Urdu, and I could feel the inside of my ears start to burn), and around the corner into another hallway.

Volodya, to his credit, had put out his paws to catch me, and as I steadied myself he asked, “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” I said, a little breathlessly. “Who the hell was that?”

The wolf chuckled. “That’s Achmed. Never mind him, he’s crazy.”

“I hope he’s not going to hurt that poor cat.”

He waved this off. “He’s trying to rig them to carry bombs into the Kremlin.” He shrugged. “Never works, the cats are too smart for that.” Considering that the cats were feral, I took this as an indictment on Achmed’s intelligence, not necessarily his sanity.

“Well,” I said, “I doubt there’s anything here that I can tag for salvage,” and I started to turn to leave when he tapped my elbow.

“Can I take you out tonight?” he asked. “I’m really not a bad fellow.”

So we traded phone numbers, and I told him that I’d call him after I finished surveying the rest of the hotel.

I breathed a sigh of relief as the elevator took me downstairs.





<NEXT>

<PREVIOUS>

<FIRST>