The Girl with A Past

By Ion Esimai

Murder-suicide mystery, love story, a family chronicle, and a desperate attempt to survive come together in an intriguing and satisfying suspenseful novel. Rumors are best left alone because when you dig, you always end up with dirt.

Jenna Roche, working hard to keep the lights on, care for her sick mother, and buy food, is forced to re-evaluate her plans when she couldn't make ends meet with her current income.

She comes up with an elaborate idea to earn more. But soon, secrets from her recent past put the new plan in jeopardy. Her life is further complicated when she's linked to millions of dollars of missing mob money supposedly under her care.

Jenna is marked for death when her past collides with the present. Will she survive, or has her emotionally charged masterplan all been in vain?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ciparum Press
• Release date: Jul 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781635897234

Ion Esimai

Ion Esimai is the author of The Sleeper’s Mole. An intriguing thriller that sets the stage for a head-on collision between the superpowers of Russia, China, and the US. He lives with his wife and children in Northern New Jersey.

Book preview

Prologue

Rumors are best left alone because when you dig, you always end up with dirt. Igor Toporov did not heed that advice. He dug, and now he was headed home, his pocket weighed down by a newly acquired handgun. When he opened the door, Sascha was already back.

You’re drunk again, said Sascha as Igor stumbled through the door into their apartment. She spoke in English with a thick Ukrainian accent. She sighed as she hung her coat in the closet. I don’t know what happened to you, to us. There was emotion in her voice,

The man grunted and shut the door behind him. He had nothing to say. She was wrong. Yes, he had a few drinks, but he was not drunk.

Her voice broke. Maybe we should have stayed back in Odessa. They would never have found us. I wouldn’t have to do what I do here, and you would still… She stopped, fumbled in her purse and extracted some bills. She threw them at him. Take them.

The man didn’t move.

Do you know what I did to get them? screamed the woman.

The man raised his shoulders to cover his ears, but they wouldn’t go high enough. He covered them with his hands. They didn’t block her screams. What he heard were voices from two hours ago. The groans and moans in response to what she did, and what she allowed strange men to do to her. She yelled them out in Ukraine for anyone around to hear.

Igor stood, shoulders slumped, chin quivering.

We are worse off, said Sascha with tears rolling down her cheeks. She dug around her purse, and brought out more money, tossed it at him, and walked toward the bedroom.

Tears stung Igor's eyes. He’d had a lot to drink, but his mind was clear. He had a job to do. He went into the room and found Sascha face down on his side of the bed, sobbing into his pillow, slamming her fist on the bed again and again. She didn’t look up. Perhaps she didn’t hear.

Igor walked up to the bed, reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out the gun. He picked up her pillow from her side of the bed and pushed it against the back of her head.

Sascha’s hand froze. Only then did she try to get up.

He squeezed the trigger. The gun made a loud pop. Nothing their neighbors would worry about. The woman never saw what hit her.

The man whirled. Running footsteps? Oh God, he mumbled. The door to the bedroom burst open, and a girl about six years old stood there. She looked at him, then at the bed.

Mama! yelled the girl and ran to the woman on the bed. She glanced at him, her eyes wide with fright. Papa? It was a question.

I’m so sorry, the man mumbled in accented English. He pointed the gun at the girl. Tears clouded his vision. His hands shook like a tree branch in a storm. He couldn’t pull the trigger. You were not supposed to be home, he hissed in Ukrainian.

The girl’s eyes widened as she understood. She rose to her feet, her whole body shaking. Her lips quivered. Tears rolled down her cheeks. No, she whimpered and took a step away from the bed toward the door.

The man was crying. Бігати, run! He managed and made a sound that could only have come from a wounded animal.

The little girl dashed for the door.

The man felt his finger tighten on the trigger. His heart pounded like war drums; he squeezed the trigger. The girl didn’t have a chance. She fell by the door. Що я зробив, what have I done? he whimpered in his native Ukrainian language.

His ears rang from the sound of the shot. In their apartment complex, the sound of a gunshot was considered a slammed door first and would be ignored by most people, until it happened again.

Seconds later, he ignored the burning pain from the barrel of the gun when he shoved it into his mouth. He closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger.

1

JENNA

---

Thank you, said the man in the red and blue car that had more dents than a car that had taken part in a demolition derby.

The man’s eyes lingered. Did he recognize her? Maybe, not sure. He looked away as the windows of the fast-food drive-through slid shut.

Jenna knew that look. She took a deep breath and ran her rehearsed response through her head. No matter what happened, she would remain upbeat for the rest of the day.

Jenna leaned toward the window in her booth and slid it open. Here you go. She stretched out her hand and gave the man a paper tray with four drinks. That completes your order.

The man grabbed the tray and squinted. Can I have more ketchup?

Sure. Jenna leaned back, grabbed a fistful of sachets from the ketchup bin, and handed them over.

Have we met before?

Jenna pretended not to hear and let her face muscles go lax. What’s that?

Um… your face looks familiar, said the man.

I hear that a lot, said Jenna as she wiggled her fingers with her palm held in front of her. I have one of those familiar faces. Heart pounding, sometimes she felt they recognized her. She’d learned not to give them a chance to get there. She believed that once they confirmed, they’d tell their friends, who would then become a parade to her job.

Are you sure?

Jenna leaned forward and said in a low voice. Did you ever see Undercover Boss?

The man’s forehead furrowed. No. What’s that?

It's a TV show where a millionaire that owns a business chain works in one of his stores incognito and spies on the workers and the customers.

The man looked at her blankly, then smiled. He was one of the smarter ones. It took him almost two seconds to process.

Get out of here, said the man laughing. Find yourself a modeling job. Those eyes alone seem to look right into my heart. He waved and took off.

Jenna heaved a sigh of relief. She knew she wasn’t supermodel pretty, but okay. Her posture and toned body from years of dancing did help. It was getting more and more dangerous to work at this fast-food restaurant drive-through. One of these days, someone will recognize her for sure and make a loud scene that would get her noticed—or maybe fired. She didn’t need that type of notoriety. Recognition brings around prying eyes. Jenna did not want any of that.

She looked up at the monitor hanging above in front of her to confirm the next customer's order. Four cheeseburgers, a large vanilla shake, and large fries. Almost two thousand calories. And that's just one meal or a snack. Jenna could only imagine the amount of exercise one would need to burn that much. She seldom ate any of the stuff they sold here. If she wanted to continue to earn money dancing, she needed to keep away from all those foods.

Jenna Roche! yelled a voice.

Jenna spun around to see a bunch of envelopes held by a rubber band trust in her face. It was the store manager. Oh, thank you. It was her pay stubs. She never bothered collecting them.

I’m making next week’s schedule, any preferences? The manager batted her eyelids and thrust her chest forward. I can make it,emm, happen.

It works for me, said Jenna.

"Okay, let me know if you change your mind.

The manager spun around and walked away.

Jenna looked at the wall clock. She had been on her feet for two hours straight. She had thirty minutes before heading out to her other job.

Thirty minutes later, Jenna left and walked to the gym, where she was a member, located halfway between her job and the subway. Jenna went to the changing room, put her things in a locker, and headed for the shower. Once she was done washing the stench of sweat and fast food away, she dried herself and got dressed. She swapped her Fast Burger restaurant cap for her own. Having her hair covered did double or triple duty. It worked as a disguise, kept the smell of food away from her hair, and kept it hidden from sight. Once she got to the second job, all she needed to do was shake it out, run her fingers through it, and she would be ready.

Jenna’s large, oval, green eyes popped with just the right amount of makeup. She had naturally thick lashes, which she accentuated with mascara and an eyelash curler. Her makeup was always on the light side. She put her smelly uniform in a bag and tied it off. She put on her leather bra and thong, a tee-shirt, and then stepped into a pair of jeans. Her boots remained in her backpack. She was ready.

Jenna walked the half block to the subway. Sometimes she would notify customers of the fast-food restaurant, but most of the time, they were in a hurry to get somewhere, and she was out of context.

Jenna walked fast. At the station, she took the escalator to the bottom and hurried to her platform, head bowed. The train pulled in five minutes later. She pushed against traffic coming off the train and found a seat.

Jenna got to Poles and Girls Bar on time with a few minutes to spare. She walked straight to the DJ and gave him a twenty-dollar bill.

You got it! said the DJ with a smile.

He would play her regular songs, familiar and complementary to her moves. Jenna headed to the changing room and, once inside, said hello to the girls already in the room and sat in front of her mirror. Jenna took off her clothes and was now in her underwear. She shook her hair free and slipped into a pair of six-inch hooker boots, which added tenfold to her five-foot-nine frame.

Jenna had an athletic build with long legs kept in shape by dancing over the years. Her mother, a dancer, had introduced her to ballet as soon as she could walk. Jenna watched the girl on stage, doing her thing on the platform, hugging the pole. Once she finished her routine, she would get off the stage and walk around the guests, hoping to score a private dance. No sex was involved, but anything might happen behind closed doors. Only when it was non-consensual did others get to know.

Jenna watched Aurora Double D’Light, a tall brunette with large breasts, shake her chest and do a split that got the men screaming. She would end up in a private room, and Jenna was sure she made a lot more from her private room sessions.

So far, Jenna had refused to go over to the dark side of pole dancing yet, but the pressure was mounting. Rent, caregiver for her mother, food, saving to go back to school one day. Her thoughts got disrupted as the loudspeaker crackled.

And the next performer will take you to hell and back in a heartbeat. Please put your hands together for the next performer-Hell in a heartbeat!

Helena Heartbeat. Jenna was on.

The stage was one place where Jenna forgot all her worries. She strutted her stuff, did amazing splits, and flips while hanging onto the pole. Jenna spent the next six hours at Poles and Girls, dancing and hanging out in the changing room. When her shift came to an end, she headed home.

Tonight, she caught a bus to the train station. Other times she would have taken the subway. Dangerous for this time of the night. At the station, she was the only passenger. Others had gotten off on different stops. She turned to wave at the bus driver as she strode into the station, he too was finished for the night. He turned off the interior lights, and the not in-service lights came on as he drove away.

The coach she entered had only three passengers as it rumbled to New Jersey from New York. The thought of her many problems kept her awake as the train made its stops. She didn’t want to fall asleep and miss her stop. At this time of the night, it would be a nightmare to get back to her town.

Next stop, New Clapham. New Clapham! belched the loudspeaker.

That was Jenna's stop. She massaged her throbbing calves to get them ready for the walk home. She brought out her phone to text ahead to Monica, who cared for her mother, that she was almost back. Call failure. It always happened whenever she got out of the station. She shuddered as she wondered what would happen if, God forbid, she had an emergency.

Jenna winced as she walked through her neighborhood toward the high-rise apartment complex she called home. It had a peculiar smell with garbage strewn around the walkway. In their part of New Clapham, New Jersey, it was either the authorities paid them little attention, or the neighborhood produced a ton of garbage.

Jenna thought it was a little of both. She longed for the day she would find a guy who would rescue her from this place. Or she made a pile of money so she and her mother could relocate. A rat scurried in front of her and foraged through a ripped garbage bag. Jenna was unfazed. She was just tired.

Ahead of her, two men stood talking. She tensed. She would have to pass them to get to the staircase. She kept her head straight and walked on. Jenna relaxed a bit. One of the men was someone who had always lived here. The other was a stranger.

Wow, that’s a sight for sore eyes, said the stranger.

I don't think she has any room for love in her heart. At least not for guys like us.

Jenna kept ongoing, brushing off the comment.

Wait! Jenna? Jenna Roche! said one of the men.

Jenna froze. In all the years she’d lived there, she had never told anyone her full name.

Wow. You look different. We were in middle or high school together. It's me, Michael.

Michael? Jenna walked back, squinting as she looked at the smiling face. Michael Rose? Rosen!

Yes! You remember. It’s been a long time.

Yes, it has, said Jenna. You live here in Jersey?

No, Pennsylvania. I moved after high school. I’ve been all over the place. Brighton Beach, Long Island, Jersey, and now Pennsylvania.

There was an awkward silence.

Anyway, nice seeing you again Michael, said Jenna. I’ve had a long day. Jenna walked away. Anyone hanging around in an apartment complex stairwell, particularly late at night, was up to no good.

One thing was sure. She had no room for guys like that. They’d hit the nail on the head. At twenty-four, she’d had more than her share of hardship and bad luck. She was going to pull herself out of this shit hole, and her eyes for love weren’t fixed that low on the totem pole.

2

PETER

---

Peter raised his head from the pillow and stared at the door. Who’s there?

Pete, it's Olivia! Open the door.

Peter let his head fall back to the pillow. He grabbed the two ends and pulled them over his ears. He wanted to scream but knew that would only get him more positive thinking remarks from his sister, further pissing him off. It’s easy to be positive when things work in your favor. Right now, he felt like the opposite of Midas. Everything he touched turned to shit.

Olivia was lucky. Or rather, she was prepared when the opportunities presented themselves. She’d always been interested in journalism. As kids, she used to play at being a journalist, interviewing family and friends. Now she had a popular blog making six, seven figures, thought Peter.

Are you done thinking? asked Olivia.

Peter lay on his bed, pondering what to do. It'd been a year since he graduated from college and had yet to find his dream job. He laughed. Any responsibility. His parents and sister have been pushing him to join the family business, but he has resisted and resisted. He wanted to be his own man. He needed to engage himself in what he loved. His main problem was he had no motivation. He took the same approach to everything—lackadaisical.

Peter?

Go away, Olivia. Your constant bickering makes it hard for me to focus.

"Okay, okay. I’ll come back later.

Peter sat up and walked to the window. He looked outside his parents’ home in Madison Park, Washington State, enjoying the tranquility. Peter had lived in the same neighborhood all his life, spending weekends and vacations at his grandparent's farm nearby. Peter more or less knew everyone in the town. He’d never had his own place except when he was in school. Peter knew what to do, but lacked the motivation to stay at it for long. He’d taken a hard look at his life. He’d read enough books and biographies to figure out that his continued living at his parents’ home inhibited the drive he needed to push himself to succeed at all costs. Adversity is the mother of positive personal growth.

Peter Butch knew his history. He had gotten his love for stories from his grandfather, who would take him fishing or hunting in the forest and tell him stories about his youth and about history as they took in the scenery. That love for ancient stories had prompted Peter to pursue a degree in medieval history.

A useless degree, his father, Peter Butch senior, had called it behind his back.

But that was what Peter found interesting. His father had always preached ‘It’s essential to follow one's passion. When the going gets tough, only your love for whatever it is you’re doing will keep you motivated to continue’.

And believe me, it will get tough, Peter senior would say.

And Peter followed his passion. Now he was being told he should have followed it with caution and done something more productive like pharmacy, engineering or medicine.

Peter randomly recalled the conquest of Spain in 711, when Tariq ibn Ziyad from North Africa crossed a narrow body of water that connected the Mediterranean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean, called the strait. He landed on a monolithic piece of limestone with seven thousand soldiers and ordered his troops to burn their ships. There was no going back. They had only one choice: to conquer their enemy. That piece of rock was named in Arabic Jabal Ṭāriq, which is known today as the Rock of Gibraltar, meaning Tariq's Mount.

A knock on the door pulled Peter from his thoughts. Yes?

Pete? said Olivia in a loud whisper. Mom and Dad are coming. I hope you have an answer for them. Just say yes, okay, and work in the office until you find what you want to do.

Peter got off the bed and opened the door, startling Olivia who was crouched with her ear pressed against the door. He stared at her.

Olivia straightened. I know you can do it-

It’s easy for you to say, said Peter. You wanted to be a journalist, and you did. You wanted to learn Russian; you did.

I’m only a blogger.

Yeah, a high six-figure blogger. How many doctors make that much in a year?

Olivia raised her eyebrows. Yeah? But I busted my ass too. Remember all those years when I used to run around town whenever there was a crime in the city to interview people? Well, that was my training on the job period. I earned it.

We’re saying the same thing. Things have worked out for you. It's easy to be positive when everything you touch works out. Do you know how tough it is to be positive when you try and try and still fail?

Olivia had a blank look on her face. Pete, just say yes to Dad.

Peter looked over Olivia's shoulder to the sound of approaching footsteps, just as Olivia did too. It was their father, followed by their mother.

Young man! said Mr. Butch in his deep baritone voice. You’ve had enough time to look for yourself. I hope I’ll see you at the office tomorrow?

Hi, Dad… hi Mom, said Peter. Yes, I have reached a decision.

Mr. Butch clapped his hands together. About time! The frown on his face gave way to a broad smile.

Oh, Pete, said their Mom. I’m so proud of you. So, you’ll drive with us to the office tomorrow?

Peter decided that whatever direction he went, it would be under his own terms. An introduction from any of his parent's networks to a job in New York would be preferable. He would burn his boats as Tariq had to ensure that he pushed himself as hard as he could to succeed. He told them what he wanted to do

Are you sure? said Olivia.

There Dad exhaled and nodded. He slapped Peter on the shoulder. Okay, works for me.

Fair enough, said their mother. As long as you have your cell phone and will take our calls. Your grandfather will miss you.

The next morning Peter sat on the train heading to New York. He had wanted to take the bus, but when he found out it would take longer than three days by bus, he opted to go by train. Peter had been scared when his father didn’t try to talk him out of it, now he was committed to seeing it through.

Is this your first time to New York City? asked the old man at the ticket stand.

Yep, said Peter trying to be confident.

It's money well spent to go by air, but by train, the scenery is amazing. The man shook his head. It sure is a long trip, but worth it. The man winked at Peter and then printed the tickets. Striking out on your own?

Peter nodded. He hoped the man would stop talking. He was making him nervous.The old man handed Peter the ticket and held his gaze. Be true to yourself, and the Big Apple will give you all the desires of your heart. Have a nice trip.

3

CHAD

---

Chad Split hung up the phone and the rage built up inside him. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Why must he always get stuck with all this babysitting? As the manager of Rogers Ad Agency, Chad was too busy and too senior to hold the hand of some kid who fumbled his way through the agency or through New York City. There are other jobs for college kids and interns.

This wasn’t the head office where interns could help use the copier, deliver mail, or buy coffee for the hundreds of people who work there. This was a small, three-to-five-person, efficient office and not a place to fool around. Chad exhaled. Well, for the kids, it could be. They come as interns to the big city and their job is to have fun all day long with their stipend fueling their excesses.

Chad had no choice but to make good use of Peter. He had to kiss ass to climb that corporate ladder because he was not the best at creating award-winning ads. His ads do well, but he’s more an expert at socializing and meeting people, especially when it's going to advance his career.

At twenty-eight, his star was really bright at Rogers Ad Agency. His big break had come when one of his coworkers came up with a cute slogan and design for a startup Internet company during their Kick-starter campaign. The ad had gone viral, with the company exceeding its projected revenue by so much that the founders would become millionaires once they fulfilled the orders. People loved the ad copy, and that had propelled the Internet company from two guys in a garage to a multi-million-dollar company. But what everyone forgot is that they had an excellent product which the market was hungry for.

Propelled by an influx of new cash, they then struck a retainership deal with Chad’s branch of Rogers Ad Agency. Chad had been tempted to quit, form his own company, and take the business for himself, but he was smarter than that.

That was only one client, and the original idea wasn’t even his. His coworker later left the firm before her design became successful. She lived somewhere in Canada and had married for love. Chad would never be caught in that trap. Until he reached his goal of six figures in his savings account by age thirty, marriage would not be in play. At this stage of the game, buying lottery tickets made more sense, or finding himself an heiress. He’d let her do her charity thing, giving him a free hand to run around with the girls.

A few days later, Peter Butch showed up at the office. What an idiot, thought Chad. He’d come to the Big Apple on a train from Seattle. Didn’t he know he could have flown? Chad was glad at least he wasn’t one of those college kids they kept sending over who needed handholding to stop them from sticking their heads up their asses. This one must have gotten this opportunity from one of those spoiled kids who would rather be in Europe partying, rather than spend time at a job they didn’t like.

Peter allayed Chad's fears. He appeared eager to work hard and wanted to learn everything about the agency. Even more ass kissy than Chad himself when he started at the agency. Chad knew what he would do: train Peter to know everything inside out to become his assistant. And if any of his crazy deals should go south, he would have Peter as a fall guy to take all the blame.

Chad wanted a little fun before his next meeting. He picked up the phone and called the pretty young thing he had hired several weeks earlier.

Chad spoke into the phone. Do you have a minute?

Do you need my help again? purred the female voice on the other end of the call.Chad inhaled. His pulse raced. Blood left every other part of his body and rushed to the region below his belt. Yes. His voice sounded like someone had their hands around his throat to smother him. Come to my office right away.

4

IGOR

---

- Ukraine 1994 -

---

Igor Toporov looked up as the door to the drug room opened. He nodded at the newcomer.

I called your mobile. You didn’t answer, said Viktor. I thought I’d come in and help. What can I do?

Igor knew Viktor hadn’t wandered in. Something was on his mind. He pointed to the closet where they kept gloves, face masks, and hairnets.

Like a child told to go to the corner for misbehaving, Viktor shuffled towards the cabinet. Sweat glistened on his shaved head, lit up from light dispersed by the long fluorescent tubes hanging from the ceiling. His six-foot frame was the same height as the closet. Fat and thick like a bull, when he reached to open the closet door, it looked like he was about to assault it.

Igor waited for him to put on his gear, then walked over and showed him a few things to keep him busy. He went back to his machine, fiddled with it, and waited for the real reason to come up.

This is easy work, said Viktor. I don’t know why you always complain. He dropped one pill into each hole, took the label from the printer, and peeled off the back to expose the sticky surface.

Igor looked up. Be careful, make sure it's aligned perfectly before you press down.

Viktor didn’t reply. He remained focused at the task, his tongue sticking out from the corner of his mouth.

Igor watched him place the label over the blister, eyeballed it to make sure it was aligned, and rubbed his hand over the surface to press it down on the plastic.

Viktor let out a deep breath. Phew. That was demanding, took a lot of energy from me. Yeah, I’m now a chemist!

Igor smiled. A quack. He nodded and figured he should practice his English on Viktor. Thanks for the help, he said in heavily accented English.

What did you say? asked Viktor giving an upward nod and looking every inch of his twenty-six years of age.

Igor smiled. I thanked you in English for the help.

You sounded like one of those whores in downtown Zaporizhzhya, trying to impress me with curse words in English.

Of course, you would know, said Igor reverting to Ukrainian.

Viktor raised both