— You’re manufacturing cases.
Vinokurov slowly took off his glasses and polished them with a handkerchief. — Miss, I’ve worked in this system for thirty years. I’ve heard this speech a thousand times.
— Everybody says they’re innocent. Everybody says it was planted. But our tests say otherwise. And the courts tend to agree.
Missura laughed. — See? Even the detective doesn’t buy your story.
— Stop making this harder than it needs to be. Pay the money and walk out. Victoria clenched her fists under the table.
She wanted very badly to stand up and put Missura through the wall. But not yet. Not if she wanted the whole thing exposed.
She needed more. — If I pay, what keeps you from coming back for more? she asked.
Missura stood and came around the desk. Too close. Victoria caught the smell of stale sweat and cheap cologne.
— I do, he said softly. — You pay, we part friends. We tear up the paperwork.
— You go home and forget tonight ever happened. Then he put a heavy hand on her shoulder. His thick fingers dug into her jacket.
Victoria went still with disgust. Every trained instinct in her body told her to break his wrist and drop him where he stood. She forced herself not to move.
— Take your hand off me, she said evenly. Missura laughed again. — Still proud.
— Proud of what? Right now you’re nobody. Just another criminal.
— I can do whatever I want with you. His hand slid lower. Victoria jerked away and stood up.
— Don’t touch me. Missura took a step toward her. Detective Vinokurov kept writing as if none of it concerned him.
— And what exactly are you going to do about it? Missura asked. — Who are you going to complain to?
— We are the law here. Nobody’s coming. Your family’s not here. Your friends don’t know where you are.
— We’ve got your phone. You’re alone. He took another step.
Victoria backed toward the wall. — Tell you what, sweetheart. I’ve got a better offer. Make things pleasant for us, and maybe I let you walk for free.
Vinokurov looked up from the paperwork and gave a nasty little grin. — Lieutenant, that’s one way to negotiate. Victoria looked Missura straight in the eye.
Inside her, a storm was building. She could put him on the floor in three seconds. Both of them in five.
But then the operation would die right there. The racket would survive. These men would keep destroying lives.
— I’m telling you one last time, she said in a voice barely above a whisper. — Keep your hands off me. Missura only laughed and reached for her wrist.
Then a voice barked from the hallway. — Missura! Where are you?
The lieutenant turned, irritated. — Great. Captain’s here. Get her back to the cell.
— We’ll finish this later. He shoved Victoria toward the door. Greer grabbed her arm and hauled her down the hall.
As they walked, she heard Missura calling over his shoulder. — Everything’s fine, Captain. Just another junkie. Doing the paperwork.
Greer shoved her back into the damp cell. The door slammed shut. Victoria leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.
Her hands were trembling now, not from fear but from anger she was barely containing. She had let them go too far. But now she knew for sure: these weren’t just crooked cops.
For money, they would do anything. Assault, blackmail, rape. Whatever it took to keep control.
Lena looked at her with sympathy. — They tried that with me too, she whispered through tears. — Missura said the same thing.
— I’d rather pay anything than go through that. Victoria sat beside her.
— How many others? Lena wiped her face. — I don’t know. A lot.
— Almost every week they bring in someone new. If they can pay, they get out. If they can’t, they go to prison.
— And if it’s a pretty young woman, sometimes they have other plans. Another hour dragged by. Victoria sat in the dark, staring ahead.
Lena finally slept, curled up on the cot. The older woman still hadn’t moved. Then came footsteps again.
The key turned in the lock. The door swung open. Greer stood there once more.
— Up. Lieutenant wants another talk. Victoria got to her feet without expression.
She followed him down the corridor again. He brought her to Missura’s office and knocked. — Come in, a slurred voice called.
Victoria stepped inside. This time Missura was alone. A half-empty bottle of expensive liquor sat on the desk beside a glass.
He was drunk. His small eyes were shiny, his face blotchy red. — There she is, he said thickly. — Our stubborn little guest.
— So? Changed your mind? Ready to pay? — No.
Missura pushed himself up from behind the desk and staggered toward her. Again, too close.
She smelled whiskey on his breath. — I’m done being patient with you, he hissed. — You think too highly of yourself.
— Time to put you in your place. He reached for her waist. Victoria moved fast.
— Don’t touch me. Missura laughed drunkenly. — Or what? You’ll scream? Call your mother?
