Inga

Twenty minutes after he discarded his phone, Ivan pulled the Dodge into a wrecking yard on Kedzie Avenue. He drove past the small used car lot out front and followed the driveway, weeds poking through its cracks like the hair from an old man’s ears, up to the rundown portable building that served as an office.

To the right, a wall of rusting cars at least ten high muffled the sound of the busy road beyond. They pulled up in front of the building, and Ivan turned to Inga.

“Stay in the car, yes?” he said, placing his hand on the one she had resting in her lap.

It was so warm and soft that he had a hard time reconciling it with the steel he had seen in her open wounds.

“Yes, Myfriend.”

She smiled a smile so humanlike that he couldn’t help but shake his head as he opened the door.

It had been much easier getting into the low-slung car than getting back out, and the big man struggled to do it without looking clumsy. He didn’t quite succeed.

He locked the car and walked to the office. The whole building creaked as he climbed the metal steps and squeezed through the open door. A man of about sixty looked up from behind the counter. His head gleamed under the last vestiges of his hair, which was slicked across his skull as if to hide the baldness which had clearly won its war a long time ago.

As Ivan placed his hands on the counter, the old man took a final drag on the thin cigar hanging from his lip and blew a smoke ring casually into the already hazy air.

“Dolph Lundgren, I presume?”

“What?” Ivan asked, his face serious.

“You look like Dolph Lundgren.”

“Who?” Ivan asked, his face blank.

“Dolph Lundgren – you know – Rocky IV?” Ivan’s face was blank. “Hmmm never mind. A very old movie. What can I help you with, Mister?”

“Where is Pieter?”

“Long gone. I bought the yard from him two years ago.”

“Oh…”

The man stood up and looked over Ivan’s shoulder at the Dodge. Apart from the slight damage to the side, it looked a beauty.

He stuck out his hand.

“I’m Stan, is there something I can help you with?”

Ivan shook the proffered hand.

“I want to sell my car.”

“I see... let’s take a look,” said the old man, his eyes narrowing.

They returned to the office after Stan had taken an in-depth look at the vehicle, not to mention a good look at the beautiful, smiling girl in the passenger seat. He didn’t fail to notice the bruise and scrapes on her face and hoped the big guy wasn’t beating on her. None of his business, though, and he didn’t think she would have looked so happy if he was.

“Is it hot?”

“Yes,” Ivan said. He didn’t see any point in lying.

“Okay,” said Stan, nodding. “As long as you’re up front with me, I’ll be up front with you. I’ll give you five G for it.”

“Okay, sold,” said Ivan.

Stan was taken aback, he had been willing to go as high as ten, and the ease with which the other guy caved bothered him. Either he was an idiot or the vehicle was really hot. Stan’s eyes narrowed as he thought it over. He had the nagging feeling he should reject the offer, but greed won out. The guys at the chop shop would easily pay him three times that amount, and make double again by rebirthing it. Greed won out.

“You have yourself a deal, Mister…?”

“Just call me Dolph,” said Ivan, deadpan. They shook hands and a few minutes later, Lewinski accompanied ‘Dolph’ out to the car and watched appreciatively as the girl stepped out.

What a pair of legs! He might even have whistled if the big guy hadn’t been within arm’s reach.

Ivan handed Stan the keys to the Dodge and scanned the used car lot in front of the wrecking yard. His eyes settled on a brown hatchback.

“How much for the Hyundai?”

Stan looked at him. He liked to think of himself as a good judge of character and decided he’d made enough dough off him for one day.

“Five hundred oughtta do it.”

Ivan counted out five hundred dollar bills into the old man’s open palm.

“I’ll get you the keys.”

Five minutes later they were headed to Chicago’s Croatian quarter, the Village.