Little Sister, Don’t You Do What Your Big Sister Done

From the Story Arc: The Death of CCCP

Previous Story in the Arc: Suspicious Minds by Red Saviour (Thursday, March 10, 2005)

Next Story in the Arc: Heartbreak Hotel by Red Saviour (Saturday, March 19, 2005)

(posted Monday, March 14, 2005)

Three hours worth of international phone calls later, Red Saviour laid out four laserprinted photographs. LVPD detectives crowded around the table, puffing at cigarettes and scrutinizing the four scowling faces. An older detective with a full head of wavy white hair offered Natalya a cigarette. She accepted it and puffed it with relish.

“I didn’t know you smoked, mi corazon,” Mosca said from across the room, gathering faxes.

“I only smoke when doing detective work,” she said. “Puts me in right frame of mind. Besides, all Russians smoke, silly.”

He shrugged and went back to sorting and reading the faxed case files.

“So these clowns are all magicians, Ms. Saviour?” The older detective, Whitfield, asked her. “We got a lot of those here.”

“Nyet magicians. Mentallists. Psychics, capable of making you think you are seeing giant Stalin walking down street.”

“Perish forbid,” Whitfield said.

“But are obviously having access to technology to trick your cameras too. I am thinking, however, that can only utilize such when in small space, without large crowd, which is hard to fake. So, there must be video footage of our quarry entering casinos.”

Mosca dropped the assembled faxes on the table. “And, my friends, here is everything Interpol knows about these bastardos. If I may suggest, you will be wanting to check every alias against airlines reservation database and see if you arrive at a match.”

“We’ll find ‘em,” Whitfield said, taking the pictures. “How many Russian psychics can there be in this town?”

“How many Elvises?” Mosca smirked at him.

“One on every damn corner,” the old man said.

“Excellent news,” Mosca said.

“Comrade Whitfield,” Natalya said, blowing a smoke ring, “you and your men are on home turf, but darlink and I are strangers here. However, if Russian mob spots me, they are sure to recognize me. We will keep lowered profile until you score hit.”

“Good idea.” He glanced at the pictures, reading off the labels. “Mindhammer, Hypnosister, Little Rasputin, Apparat. Jesus Christ.”

“Nyet, Jesus Christ is nyet Russian. Is nyet need to search for him.”

“Right. Ah, we got your number. We’ll call you.”

“Spasibo.”



Mosca and Red Saviour, dressed in civilian clothes, their faces concealed by sunglasses and hats, walked out of the Paradise Island Theater. Natalya shook her head and sighed.

“Darlink, that was worst Elvis imitator I have ever seen.”

“It is your first, oh center of my heart. How can you judge?”

She held her hands in front of an imaginary tummy. “He was fat old man in tight white polyester suit. Elvis was never like so.”

“Ah, Elvis went through many phases. In this way, he is the Everyman, representing the great arc of life and death.”

“Govno,” she growled under her breath. “Perhaps we can return to hotel and swimming pool?”

Mosca waived a handbill in front of her. “Look, we are only two blocks from this concert hall. In half an hour, the Mexican Elvis, El Vez, is playing. How can I, a Latin man, pass this up?”

She rolled her eyes. Mosca was obsessed. Taking him to one Elvis show had only whetted his appetite. Still, it was as good a place to hide from the Russian mob as any, and it would make him happy. She had suffered far worse for her love.

“El Vez sounds horosho. Let us get good seats and vodka before show.”



Halfway through El Vez’ show, Mosca dragged Natalya out by the hand. “This show, it is an abomination!” he groused.

“But darlink! I am enjoying! He is dressing as Sandanista Elvis and singing ‘In El Barrio’! Is bolshoi clever!”

“Elvis would never do any such thing,” Mosca said, pushing the door open with a stiff hand. “How can a Latin man mock the King so? The respect, where is it? I am sickened!”

“He is good dancer,” she said.

“Elvis was no chorus girl.”

“He looks very nice in those tight pants,” she said, snickering.

“Enough! We’ll go back to the swimming pool.”

He hailed a cab and gave the driver their address. As the rainbow neon lights blurred by, Natalya’s phone rang. The caller ID showed Lt. Romanov’s number.

“Zadrastvuitye, kollega,” she answered in Russian. “You are having news for us?”

“Da, comrade Spasitel. We have pinpointed our perpetrator. Irina Komatovich, better known as Hypno Sister. Harrah’s has confirmed a sighting of her on their tapes, just before theft.”

“Fast work, comrade,” she said. “I only had to tolerate two Elvises. Spasibo.” She smiled at Mosca and nodded. “We return to our hotel to get our gear. Where is last known location of Hypno Sister?”

“She stays at a luxury hotel, the Five Fronds. I am at lobby now, and she appears to be in her room.”

Natalya frowned. “You are already there? You have backup?”

“It is a Russian matter, sestra. Let us Russians solve it, da? The LVPD can do our grunt work, but care must be taken here. Backup means more targets for her mind powers.”

“Very well. Stay hidden, and we’ll join you as soon as possible.”

“Horosho. Thank you, Natalya. I am relieved to have you here.”

Natalya hung up the phone. Mosca raised an eyebrow at her, and she nodded again. “Romanov has her at a hotel. He wants only us as backup.”

“Not an entire SWAT team?”

“Nyet. I can see why, but… I am surprised he suggested it. I think he wants to benefit from prestige of bringing in Irina. Is distasteful, this ambition.”

“Distasteful, si, but he is not the only ambitious Russian I know.” He put a muscular arm around her shoulders. “He’s not the prettiest, either.”

“Silly man,” she said with a giggle.

“We have ten minutes in this taxi before we must prepare for battle. Are we going to use our time planning tactics, or something more constructive?”

She put her arms around his neck and drew him close. “Let us brainstorm on tactics, darlink.” She kissed him quickly. “Every moment counts.”

“Indeed it does,” Mosca said, kissing her slender neck. “My plan is as follows…”

The taxi driver groaned. The conversation in the backseat had been interesting, up until now. He accelerated, just to get rid of these two lovebirds who reminded him how lonely he was.