Nadejda’s was the kind of beauty resistible only to those who refused to fight, kill or die for anything. How she ended up a prostitute was not truly comprehensible. She should have been living on the top floor. A made woman. But some people are as cranky as goats. They turn up at the crossroads and take the least likely path.
At least she wasn’t poor. Her apartment was not too far away on ul. Uzunjovska. Not a poor person in sight. Not at 5am. She got out of the taxi, turned around and leant back in. “Take me up,” she said.
She could have carried on. Said she was too scared. She could have made something up.
“Why not,” was the only thing Zdravko could think to say.
The apartment door was like any other door. Once you went in, you’d never be the same. Nadejda smiled. But it wasn’t really a smile. It was a challenge. Zdravko stood his ground. “I gotta get to bed.”
“Come on in,” she said. “You probably want to take a look around. I can’t promise anything.”
“What’s to see?”
Nadejda opened the door and went in. “I might be hiding some vital clue,” she said over her shoulder.
Inside the apartment, everything was tasteful and where it should have been. The stereo was on the shelf. Couches were on the floor. The cream and blue patterned curtains had attached themselves to runners. Wine and beer was in the fridge. Grappa was in the cupboard, above and to the left. Coffee was on the bench.
“Pretty nice spot,” said Zdravko once he’d got as far as the window. He resisted the temptation to peer throughout the curtains.
“I gotta take a shower,” Nadejda said.
“I should go.”
“Stay for a while.”
Zdravko made himself tea while Nadejda took a shower. He didn’t rightly know what he was doing in her apartment so he sat down on the dark grey sofa and put his tea on the glass table. The couch had a pull-out foot rest so he pulled it out and rested his feet.
Nadejda came back into the living room wearing a kimono style dressing gown. She stopped. She could hear Zdravko breathing. A policeman asleep on her sofa. She could almost reach over and touch his dreams. He looked like a good guy for a slouch. A good, tired guy at home in a bad, busy world. Then she walked into the kitchen and made herself a coffee.
