The Collector Page 7

Nine months earlier, Luka Rusakov stood before a concrete statue and observed his surroundings, thinking of how much he absolutely despised Americans. Unlike so many of his countrymen, Luka wanted nothing to do with their spoiled western ways. They had no idea what it was like to wake up in the morning and wonder where your next bite to eat was going to come from. Or whether you would be able to survive another paralyzing Russian winter. The kinds of struggles Americans faced were much less worrisome—like deciding how much longer to lease their car before considering it a piece of shit and replacing it with a brand new one. Or what new model of cell phone they should purchase once their wireless contract expired.

  There was only one thing Luka liked about Americans: they had plenty of money. They had more money than they knew what to do with, which was why the wasteful creatures were the way they were. There seemed to be no end to how much money there was for the spending.

  And for the taking. The only thing Luka liked more than Americans’ money was the opportunity to take it away from them. Somebody had to do it, he smiled, and whom better than Luka Rusakov?

  Until recently, Luka had made the bulk of his income dealing with eastern Europeans. They were simple people much like himself with simple needs. If they needed street whores for their brothels, he acquired the women and delivered them in good time for a fair price. On a few occasions, he had supplied Israeli or Arab clients with sex slaves for their personal pleasures. His profession had made him fairly well off considering the horrible economic state of present day Russia—which was to say that he earned enough money to keep food on the table, fuel for his home in the winter and an adequate supply of Vodka in the cupboard.

  But all of that could change if this meeting went well. Martin Fowler was a far cry from any of his eastern European clients and was in fact the epitome of American materialism and capitalism. Yuri had joked that the man was so rich he could wipe his ass with hundred dollar bills and not give it a second thought. He was that stinking rich.

  Which is precisely why Luka was standing here in this cold damp park waiting for his first face-to-face meeting with Martin Fowler. To help separate the rich American swine from his money.

  After arranging this meeting with Fowler, Yuri had forewarned Luka that Martin Fowler was as odd as he was wealthy. And unlike most of the Americans he had dealt with in the past, Fowler wasn’t looking for a whore or a sex slave. Luka personally couldn’t give two shits what Fowler wanted girls for; he was only interested in the vast amount of money he stood to make out of the deal. And if this panned out, as he felt confident it would, there would most likely be other opportunities in America for him to make big money.

  Luka suddenly spotted someone walking toward him. The man was carrying an umbrella and a newspaper, just as he said he would. Luka looked away, trying his best to appear calm and collected, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

  “Mr. Rusakov, I assume?” the man spoke from behind him.

  Luka turned around and was surprised to see how elderly Fowler was. He had to be at least seventy years old.

  “Yes, I am Rusakov. You must be Mr. Fowler,” Luka said, offering his hand.

  The man chuckled. “Oh no, I am Mr. Fowler’s assistant. My name is Branson.”

  Luka suddenly felt very foolish. Of course Fowler wouldn’t meet him in person out in the open like this. The man was too rich and powerful to risk meeting a total stranger dealing in an unlawful trade.

  “I am uh, sorry,” Luke stammered. “I assumed that Mr. Fowler would meet me personally but I now realize how crazy that was.”

  “Russian, yes?” Branson said.

  “Yes, Moscow born and bred.”

  “I know that accent. Very hard to miss.”

  Luka smiled like an idiot. “Still working on the English.”

  “At any rate, Mr. Rusakov, I am meeting you on behalf of Mr. Fowler and hope that my presence will suffice for these negotiations. Mr. Fowler is feeling a bit under the weather but has entrusted me to represent him and his interests.”

  “That is fine,” Luka replied.

  Although he was a little miffed that Fowler hadn’t shown up in person, he was also somewhat relieved. Dealing with this elderly gentleman would be much easier and less nerve wracking. He already felt like a fish out of water just by being here in this strange country. Dealing with some eccentric multi-millionaire could possibly put him over the edge. And the last thing he wanted after traveling over five thousand miles was to blow his first American deal.

  “Shall we go, then?” Branson said, gesturing toward the trail leading to the parking lot.

  Luka nodded as the two men began walking.

  “I know of a nice restaurant that is quiet and has excellent food. Unless you have another suggestion?”

  “No, that would be fine.”

  Luka immediately noticed how Branson seemed to have already taken over their meeting right from the start. This was a bad sign. He was going to have to learn how to be more assertive around the Americans if he had any hope of landing the big bucks.

  They reached the parking lot and Branson led them over to an immaculate black Mercedes parked nearby. He held the door open for Luka before taking the wheel and pulling out onto the main road. Luka had never been in a Mercedes before. He ran his fingers along the fine black leather upholstery and marveled at how quiet the ride was. Much quieter and smoother than his old Volga, and that was an understatement.

  They spoke very little during the short drive to the restaurant. Luka followed Branson inside and the two were led to a table in the rear area of the main dining room. Both men ordered coffees before settling down to business.

  “I must tell you now that Mr. Fowler has very particular tastes. He also does not like to waste time with negotiations. I will tell you what he is looking for and offer you a price. You can either accept his offer or decline. Martin’s primary interest is in the merchandise, so to speak. He must be assured that you can deliver it safely and in a timely manner while being totally discreet in the process. Once the goods have been delivered, you must never make any attempt to contact either Mr. Fowler or myself. If we need to speak with you again, we will contact you. Is that clear?”

  Luka was flabbergasted by the elderly man’s directness. It took him a moment to compose himself before replying.

  “I understand. But I must tell you that my services do not come cheap. The risks involved and the expense of delivering merchandise overseas to this country will be, what is it you would say? Appreciable. The fee for such a transaction will be very considerable, I must warn you.”

  Branson’s eyes narrowed as he smiled. “I can assure you, Mr. Rusakov, that the amount Mr. Fowler is willing to pay you will be quite acceptable. As you may or may not already know, money is of little concern to Mr. Fowler. That is why I have told you that he is not interested in petty negotiation of price. He is quite confident that you will accept his terms so you needn’t worry about that matter. What you should be more concerned with is your ability to deliver what it is he seeks.”

  Luka watched as Branson reached into the breast pocket of his coat and pulled out an envelope. He reached inside and produced several photographs and then placed them face down in a small stack on the table.

  “Before I show you these photographs, I want to explain what specifically Mr. Fowler is looking for. You see, Mr. Rusakov, my employer is an artist. He is seeking young women to model for him. I must emphasize that this is all that Mr. Fowler wants these women for.”

  Luka shrugged. “Excuse me, but it makes no difference what his purpose is for. The price will be the same no matter what.”

  Branson grinned at Luka in a patronizing way. “I am not, Mr. Rusakov, attempting to negotiate a lower price by telling you this. I am simply making it clear up front what it is that Mr. Fowler wants these girls for. What I am driving at, quite frankly, is that Martin does not want common whores or diseased street girls. On the contrary, he is seeking girls that are healthy and in peak p
hysical shape. Do I make myself clear?”

  Again, Luka realized that the old man was making mincemeat of him. So much to learn! He needed to start showing some backbone or this deal would be off before it ever began.

  “Yes, I see. But let me just say that I deal with all kinds of women every day. Short ones, tall ones, ugly ones, beautiful ones with large breasts, small breasts, some with fat asses, and so on. I am quite confident that I can deliver whatever it is that Mr. Fowler desires.”

  “That is very good to hear, Mr. Rusakov. You came to us highly recommended so I have little doubt that you will give this your best effort. Here, take a look at these.”

  He handed the photos over to Luka. Luka looked at the first one and nearly gasped out loud. It was a painting of a young ballerina by one of those impressionist painters. The style looked familiar but he had no idea who the artist was—he had had no formal art training. He shuffled through the remaining pictures—all paintings of young ballerinas in various poses.

  “These are photocopies of paintings. I don’t understand—”

  “That is what Mr. Fowler wants the girls for. To model for him exactly as you see in these paintings.”

  “But they look so very young.”

  “I would suspect that they are around thirteen or so—young adolescents. Are you telling me that you can’t acquire girls of this age?” Branson challenged.

  Luka replied, “Oh no, as I told you before, I can get anything Mr. Fowler wants. It’s just that—the price is going to be very high for one like this.”

  Branson reached over and took back the photos from Luka. “Mr. Fowler is not wanting just one young girl, Mr. Rusakov. He wants as many as you can get him up to a half dozen.”

  Luka’s heart skipped a beat. Six girls! He would be able to retire after this! But—but was it even possible to do?

  “Are you, uh serious? I mean, surely he must know that this is going to be very difficult and expensive. Six girls, so young, will not be easy to find.”

  “So you are telling me that you are unable to do this?”

  “I can do it. I just don’t—how soon does he want them? I mean, it would take a very long time just to get two or three girls this age all the way to America.”

  Branson took a deep breath and stared directly into Luka’s eyes. “Mr. Rusakov, perhaps we should call this off immediately. It is obvious that you do not have the resources available to fulfill Mr. Fowler’s wishes. I am sorry, but you have apparently wasted my time—”

  “I can do it!” Luka shouted. Both men looked around to see if anyone heard. Then Luka managed to pull himself together.

  “I am sorry for my outburst. I have not wasted your time, Mr. Branson, for I can assure you that I indeed have the resources, as you say, to deliver what Mr. Fowler seeks. It is just that it will take time, perhaps a very long time, to make this all come together.”

  Branson sipped his coffee. “How much time are we talking about?”

  Luka thought. It would take several weeks just to round up a couple of girls this age and start the paperwork if he were lucky. A thought suddenly occurred to him.

  “You mentioned that the girls had to be young, healthy and not whores. Will it be sufficient if they are just that? I mean, the girls look small and very pretty in these paintings. Do the girls I get have to look like that?”

  Branson laughed heartily. “I am going to try and forget you even asked that! Of course they have to be slim, petite and pretty, Mr. Rusakov! Have you ever seen a fat, ugly ballerina? No, of course you haven’t. Your question is absolutely absurd!”

  Luka strained to laugh but it wasn’t easy. “I guess I wasn’t thinking, Mr. Branson. It must be the long flight over here—I’m still tired and am not thinking straight.”

  “Listen, Rusakov, let me present you with an alternative proposal. Considering all of the specifications I have given you, how long, approximately, would it take you to deliver half of the order?”

  Luka thought this over for a moment before replying. Three young and pretty girls would be easier than six for certain. If he played his cards right and recruited all of his contacts, he just may be able to acquire three girls, obtain the paperwork and smuggle them out as far as Germany in a couple of months. Then it would another week to get them into the States. This was assuming that he could find the appropriate types Fowler was wanting and that there were not setbacks along the way. It wouldn’t be easy but with a lot of luck, it was doable.

  “Two months, give or take a couple of weeks.”

  “Very well. If all goes well and Mr. Fowler is satisfied with his purchase, you can then fulfill the remainder of the order, yes?”

  Now it was time to be assertive. “Certainly. And I have no doubt that Mr. Fowler will be pleased with his purchase.”

  “That is what I like to hear! I must say, Mr. Rusakov, you had me a little nervous there for a moment. This is not a job for an amateur and I needn’t remind you how much is at stake here. Mr. Fowler will be placing his trust in you to not only deliver your end of the transaction but to keep his good name out of the picture should something go wrong, god forbid. You have shown me that you are realistic about Mr. Fowler’s request, and that makes me feel confident that you are aware of not only the risks involved but the absolutely necessity that your merchandise will be up to the high standards he is demanding. Now, on to the matter of price.”

  Ah, this is the part he had been waiting for! How much would the filthy rich Yank be willing to part with for six lovely young girls?

  “What is your offer, Mr. Branson?”

  “Before I tell you the price, there is one component of this deal that I think you will find quite desirable. Mr. Fowler only wants to borrow the girls, not keep them. You may have them back after six months or so to do with as you see fit.”

  Luka couldn’t believe what he was hearing!

  “Are you telling me that Mr. Fowler is willing to pay me for six girls then turn around and give them back to me to sell after six months?”

  Branson nodded. “That is correct. Mr. Fowler has a project he is working on and only needs the models long enough to complete his project. Then he will no longer have any use for them. You may have them back in six months time to do with as you please. I would suspect that you could make quite a bit more money with such a commodity.”

  Luka was dumbfounded. He stood to be paid twice for the same merchandise! He could easily find pimps who would pay very well for girls as young as this. Virgins, no less! This was almost too good to be true. But he had to make it appear to Branson that this prospect was not as sweet as it was.

  “I see. So how much is Mr. Fowler willing to pay for six girls for six months?”

  Branson smiled. “Ninety thousand. That’s fifteen thousand apiece.”

  Ninety thousand dollars! Just for renting them! He had died and gone to heaven.

  “Is that his final offer?”

  “It is his only offer, Mr. Rusakov. Take it or leave it.”

  “I would have to demand payment up front, of course,” Luka said, testing the waters.

  “Surely you will be paid a retainer in advance, Rusakov. You will be given ten thousand today in good faith and then receive the balance when the goods are delivered.”

  Sweet.

  Luka said, “I must admit that this is an offer too good to refuse. I must ask, though. In the event that something happens and I can’t deliver the girls for some reason, as unlikely as that would be, what would become of the down payment?”

  Branson stared coldly into Luka’s eyes. “That isn’t an option, Rusakov. You will deliver and you will be paid for your services. If you are foolish enough to fail, I’m afraid you don’t want to know the consequences.”

  “What do you mean?” Luka asked, realizing that his voice was quivering.

  “Let’s just say that Mr. Fowler doesn’t like to be let down and leave it at that.”

  Luka suddenly realized that there would be no turning back if he
committed to this transaction. He knew what Branson was getting at and had not doubt that he would be killed if he failed to complete his end of the bargain. Yuri had told him that Fowler had a lot of connections, and that probably included hired assassins.

  “You have yourself a deal, Mr. Branson,” he declared as firmly as he could.

  Branson pulled another envelope out of his breast pocket and handed it over to Luka. “Ten thousand dollars cash. I expect to hear back from you in two weeks with your progress report. Agreed?”

  Luka stole a peek into the envelope and saw a neat wad of crisp green American dollar bills. He had no doubt that it was all there before he replied.

  “Agreed.”