Lost(7)

“That’s my big brother.” She slapped me on the back. “Have you started throwing all those quotes at them? You know that’s annoying, right?”

“Maybe a couple of quotes. It’s one of the few skills I can show off.”

“I can tell the kids already trust you. Sounds like tonight will be lots of fun. Sorry I’m gonna miss it.”

“Why? Can’t you cancel whatever you’re doing?”

“Nope—I’ve got a date. You’re on your own tonight with both Mom and the kids. Are you okay with that?”

“It depends on who you’re going out with. If it’s Blake, the idiot PE teacher from your school, then no, I’m not okay with it. He has a man-bun. If it’s Melvin the accountant, I’m reasonably okay with it.”

My sister cocked her head and gave me the same look she’d been giving me since she was a kid. “Funny. But if it were either of those two, I wouldn’t have told you I was going on a date. I don’t want to hear shit about dating Blake just because you think he’s a slacker. And I don’t want to be encouraged to date Melvin just because he’s got a good job. Besides, last time Melvin was here, all you guys did was talk about the University of Miami and Florida State.”

“Our alma maters. At least we have college degrees.”

“And Melvin even uses his degree in his job.”

“Ouch. That hurt.”

Lila smiled and said, “I think having the kids around will be good for Mom. At least for one night. Where’d they come from?”

“I already told you. From all over the world.”

“You’re an ass.”

“That’s the word on the street. Hey, what did the doctor say this afternoon?”

Lila shrugged and brushed her light brown hair away from her pretty face. “Nothing new. He gave me a little notebook to keep track of when Mom loses her grip on reality. He told me to cherish the days that she’s lucid. Big help, huh?”

“He obviously didn’t go to the University of Miami’s med school. He probably went to Florida’s.” I looked over at my mother, who I loved so much and missed at the same time. She was talking with the kids, who’d gathered around her like she was giving away candy.

I saw my mother smile, and suddenly all the problems I’d had today just faded away.





CHAPTER 8



Amsterdam


HANNA GREETE LOOKED out the wide bay window of the apartment she’d converted into an office. She and her twelve-year-old daughter, Josie, lived in the apartment next door. She’d spent a small fortune to purchase both apartments and have a door installed between them so that she could go from one to the other easily.

She stared down at the tourists rushing around on the street below. Hanna liked living in the De Wallen District of Amsterdam, the old town quarter, because of the nice apartment buildings and safe streets. Tourists loved to tell people back home that they’d wandered through the red-light district and looked at the canal from Oudezijds Voorburgwal, just below her window. There were even organized tours of the red-light district, with guides and everything. The guides always said how great the young girls in the brothels had it. How they chose their own hours. Took only the customers they wanted. Didn’t mind showing off their bodies in the windows. The charade made Hanna sick. She knew what these girls really went through. There was no glamour in prostitution. Not unless you controlled a whole stable of prostitutes.

But the tourists ate it up. They’d take photographs around the sex shops and tell their friends back home about how they’d seen real-life prostitutes. Big deal. Amsterdam was a city that had historic sites in every form, but all the tourists wanted to talk about was legalized marijuana and prostitution.

Hanna had just finished speaking to someone in the United States. She made a quick calculation in her head and realized the six kids she’d been trying to smuggle into the U.S. had cost her about eleven thousand euros so far, and that wasn’t even factoring in Hans’s expenses and salary. She didn’t like letting him sit in jail in Miami, but she wasn’t in a position to bail him out. She hoped he’d understand.

There were other issues with the failed operation, the load. She’d borrowed money to cover expenses and then had essentially gone into business with Emile Rostoff, a local Russian gangster who had more than fifty thugs working for him in and around Amsterdam. But Hanna had heard that was a fraction of the men Emile’s older brother, Roman, employed in Miami. The two were known as the Blood Brothers for reasons Hanna preferred not to think about. She had seen what happened to people who disagreed with the Rostoffs—missing ears, severed fingers, and scars from beatings. The local criminal population was a walking advertisement for why you shouldn’t cross the Russian gang.

One of the worst punishments Hanna had seen was meted out to a young woman who hadn’t paid her “tribute” to the Rostoffs to sell heroin to tourists and who’d mocked a Rostoff lieutenant. Now she had Emile Rostoff’s initials carved in her cheeks, one letter on each side, and the end of her nose was missing. The girl was a tourist attraction all by herself.

Now Hanna had to explain to these same people why she couldn’t make a payment on her loan.

Hanna turned and saw the three young women she employed as administrative assistants staring at her. She understood the fear in their eyes. The loss of the kids was a major blunder. Someone on her staff was responsible. Someone had talked too much.