Page 21 of For a Price

The vodka slides down my throat, quenching my thirst like water. I slam down the empty glass and reach for the bottle to pour more.

The door to the den opens and in waddles Uncle Leonid. He leads with his round gut, his shoulders sloped and pushed back, his eyes small and shifty. The gold chain around his neck glints in the light, matching the gold cap he shows off when he grins.

“Zver?*,” he croaks in his guttural voice. “Naley mne vypit?*.”

“You’ve been drinking. Your eyes are red.”

He grinds his teeth together. “Nu i chto? Zamolchi?*.”

“This is America,” I say, pouring the drink he’s requested. I nudge it toward him on the countertop. “You need to speak English.”

“Says who, durak?*? I make my own rules.”

“Says Vladimir. If you are to ever conduct business on his behalf.”

“With the Italian bitches… or the Japanese?” He grunts, unimpressed as he curls fat fingers around the glass I’ve poured him and swallows it whole. “I will speak to them how I wish. They will listen to me. I am… I am…”

I cock a brow at him as he struggles to find the word. “Yes, Uncle? You are what?”

“Imitating,” he says. “I am very imitating.”

“Intimidating,” I correct, stepping toward him, demonstrating how easily I tower over him. I steal the glass out of his hold and slam it down on the table. My face has gone blank. My eyes cold. It’s the same look that terrifies men. Even Uncle gives an audible swallow. I turn away, having proven my point. “You are not intimidating, Uncle.Iam intimidating. You are fat and greasy.”

He laughs as if I’ve told a joke. “Shut up, Zver. We are not all shallow pretty boys like you. Women like big and fat muzhchiny like me.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” I give a throaty laugh like he’s told the joke this time.

“What of this other woman? This woman you brought here,” he says. “Where is she?”

“She is still asleep in a room. She is subdued.”

He grunts. “We can have her first. Both of us together, Zver. Then pass her to some boyeviks?* before selling her. Much money will be made.”

“She won’t be sold.”

“We have too many whores for the family. We do not need any more.”

“She won’t be a whore for the men.”

“But for me? I get her sometimes?”

I give him a severe look of warning. “You won’t have her either.”

His bushy unibrow lifts higher. “Oh? Explain, Zver. How will you not sell her? She is not a whore? What use will she have? You will keep her… for yourself?”

His laugh that follows makes me scowl. I’m tempted to snatch the glass I took from him and shatter it over his lumpy, bald head.

The only reason I hold back is because Father would likely bitch at me. He won’t like his younger brother being hit over the head, even if it’s by his son. I’d be lectured for days.

I’d rather not deal with the dramatics.

Uncle Leonid’s laugh turns into a cough. His eyes bubble out of their sockets as he almost chokes on his own spittle.

I would not save him if he did. He must know this, because he huffs out a breath and calms his laughter.

“If you keep her, why her?” he asks. “There are other women, Zver. Prettier, more… you know, feminine.”

He makes an hourglass shape with his hands to emphasize his ideal female body shape.

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