Page 58 of Triplets for the Russian Boss

Kostin

Sun bakes me, inside of the black rental convertible, as I idle outside of the address I have on file for Bonnie Summers. It’s a small house, nothing special, but it’s not the house I’m interested in. It’s what’s inside of it that gets my heart leaping up into my throat.

There are two cars parked outside. One of them belongs to Bonnie. She’s mentioned it to me before, a lime-green Civic that would probably get pulled over just for looking like something a psychedelics dealer would drive.

The other car isn’t one I know about, a much more mature vehicle. It’s nothing special, and certainly not as nice as anything I’ve driven, but the fact that it’s there bothers me. It could belong to her secret boyfriend.

I try to breathe normally, but it feels like my lungs are frozen in place as I scan the front yard. There’s nothing to note, but I do see movement from inside of the house, which tells me someone is currently living there.

Why wouldn’t Bonnie’s boyfriend know about what’s going on? How would he be okay with her disappearing for weeks without visiting? What kind of fucked-up story has she told him, to keep him in the house for this long without raising alarm?

She’s had my cock inside of her twice already. I’ll tell it to that motherfucker’s face, if I see him, but I don’t intend to go inside. I’m not looking for a confrontation, only the truth. I need to know what Bonnie has been hiding from me.

I step out of the car, twirling the keys around my finger like I’m coming back from Home Depot with a pile of lumber in the back. I have nothing of the sort, but I don’t want to look as though I don’t belong here.

Maybe the car was a mistake. It’s too nice for a neighborhood like this.

I want to walk right up to the house and knock on the door, but it’d be better to go around to back and see if I can get a look inside. If anyone asks, I’m checking the meter.

I laugh to myself. I should’ve dressed differently, if I was going to pose as a public servant, but I live in a suit. I hate wearing anything else.

I resist the temptation to light up a cigar and really give myself away, but this looks like the type of neighborhood where most people are away during the day. I’m actually surprised to see that someone is home. I’d have thought Bonnie’s boyfriend would be at work.

Unless she’s the primary breadwinner, and then this situation with her calling the shots makes a lot more sense. He’d be a fool to let his girl run around with a man like me, knowing what I could do to her.

What I’ve done to her, and what I will do when I get back. Boyfriend or not, this woman belongs to me. I already decided that, on the flight over here.

I trudge through the side yard of the house, keeping a close eye on the windows of the house next door. It doesn’t appear as though anyone is home, but you never know. I’ve witnessed my fair share of the elderly peeking through blinds at all hours of the day and night. They’re the biggest risks you must watch out for, when committing crimes.

The second I reach the backyard, I know something is amiss. There’s a little plastic bicycle toy in the grass, faded yellow and blue from the sun. It must belong to a toddler, but that doesn’t mean that toddler belongs to Bonnie.

Then again…

The reflection of a TV catches my eye in a window in the back of the house. It’s next to a screen door leading inside, but the secondary door is also closed. Nobody is coming in and out of the backyard right now. It’s safe for me to get closer.

Thankfully, there’s a fence around the house, or I wouldn’t be able to get much closer to the house without raising alarm. As it stands, I’m able to creep all the way to the window and take a quick look inside.

I lift up my phone, using the camera as a periscope to get a view through the window without putting my entire face for the occupants to see. They shouldn’t notice such a small shape from the corner of their eyes, if they’re sitting on the couch watching TV.

My heart hammers in my chest harder than the time I snorted an entire 8-ball of cocaine when I was nineteen. They say you grow out of doing stupid shit like that, but peeping into Bonnie’s house feels like a similar level of teenage stupidity.

I just want to get this over with.

I move my camera slightly to the right, and I’m surprised to see a young woman sitting on the couch. She’s not looking at the TV, rather at something at her feet. She’s smiling and moving her hands, laughing with a joy you don’t see in many people these days.

I tilt the phone down, and my heart nearly stops. Sitting there at her feet, aren’t one, aren’t two, but three identical toddlers. They all have blonde crops of curls on their heads, and the same bright-blue eyes.

Who is this woman in Bonnie’s house, and why does she have her babies here? Did Bonnie rent the house out to someone else, or do I have the wrong address?

And then, it dawns on me. Those three blue-eyed babies watching TV are mine. I don’t know how, or why, but the resemblance to the picture I’ve seen of me as a baby is unmistakable.

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