Partly it was his appearance. He was of unimpressive height and build, with a face so bland that, though he kept his eyes constantly narrowed and spoke with a sneer, he simply did not look tough or threatening. There was also the fact that his voice was high-pitched, verging on whiny. Said with that voice, his words inspired not fear but ridicule.
Yuri must have read something in Rachel's face that enraged him, because his expression turned ugly and, without warning, he hurled the empty beer glass at her.
"He didn't hit me," Rachel Weiss said. "The glass flew just past my left ear—" she raised a hand to within two inches of her face, showing me how close it had been "—and shattered on the wall behind me. After that, I no longer found him ridiculous. Now I was terrified of him."
She paid him what he wanted, without hesitation or argument. She could hardly think straight with the fear that had gripped her.
"He told me he'd be back the following week and to have the money ready for him. He warned me not to go to the police. 'The police won't be able to help you, and I'll know about it if you blab to them,' he said. 'I have friends there. If you open your mouth, I will hurt you. Understand?' This time I understood all right. So I kept quiet. Maybe I did not fully believe it had really happened. Maybe I convinced myself that he would not come back again."
"But he did," I said.
"Yes. He did. Exactly when he said he would. And I paid him again. He laughed when I handed him the money. I felt humiliated. That was worse than having to pay him."
I took a sip of coffee and chose not to articulate what was running through my mind. Yuri had laughed, I believed, because he knew he had just vaulted over his steepest hurdle. He himself had not been certain what sort of welcome would be waiting for him that day. But once Rachel Weiss had meekly handed him her money the second time, he knew that he had broken her resistance. This was now an established routine. He could count on her paying him every week. He might even be able to raise her weekly payment without the need for much arm twisting.
And that was what happened for the next two weeks. Twice Yuri came and twice Rachel paid him. This might have gone on for some time had he been satisfied with only money.
Three days before Rachel and I met, Yuri had come to collect once more. Rachel had handed him the money without argument. He pocketed it and then grinned at her. "You're sort of pretty, you know." His voice had taken on a different texture, like something slimy. It made her shiver. He reached for her and caressed her cheek with his full palm. The shiver evolved to a shudder. "Yes. Pretty." He lowered his hand and ran his eyes over her. "Soon we'll get to know each other a bit better. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"And then he left," Rachel told me, her eyes lowered, her cheeks flushed a bright red of shame. A tear cut a line across each inflamed cheek, and she began sobbing silently.
I did not try to comfort her. It was hard enough for her to tell me all this, a stranger. I did not wish to augment her embarrassment by intruding on it. But at that moment I swore that Yuri would pay a heavy price for his deeds. I hated all bullies, but those who preyed on women I hated more than most.
When she had ceased crying, Rachel said, "Him doing that—him touching me and threatening to do more—was like a spell had been broken. Doing nothing was no longer an option. I had to do something to stop him."
So she had come to me.
Greta had made the connection. The two women were friendly, and Greta was the sort of woman people confided in. As I had once helped Greta get rid of a similar problem, she suggested Rachel speak to me about it.
"Do you think it's true what he said," Rachel asked, "that he has friends in the police?"
"Maybe not," I told her. "It seems like a lie he would tell."
"So should I go to them?"
"Not if you want a solution to your problem. Because the most the police would do is take him in for questioning. Apart from your word, there is no proof that he did anything wrong, and he'll be able to produce witnesses who will swear up and down that he was with them on the nights in question." I paused, turned my coffee cup ninety degrees clockwise, and continued. "Even if the police arrest him, they won't hold him for long. So far, he has hurt no one and did no real damage to anyone's property. Once free, he can get back at you. He doesn't need to get close. He can throw a brick through your front window or torch your restaurant. The police won't be able to prove it was him."
Rachel turned pale. Her eyes were starting to well up again. She looked hopeless and helpless. So far, speaking with me did not make her feel any better.
"What you can do is pay a police officer to get a little physical with him."
"Get physical?"
"To rough him up a bit. To hurt him."
Rachel grimaced. "I don't know if I want to do that."
