The afternoon was slowly turning into evening, and the sky became orange, with purple clouds creating a mosaic above the trees. If Radek was lucky, he could be out of the valley before it got completely dark. It wasn’t like his mom used the old piece of junk, so he might as well drive it to Cracow and then maybe pay someone to bring it back to Dybukowo.
He was about to head toward the asphalt road to Sanok when his gaze caught sight of the fox fur farm to the right. Looming on the horizon close to the woods, it dared him to approach. Even though half of the business belonged to his family, and Dad had sometimes stopped by, leaving Radek in the car, he had never stepped through the gate. Mom insisted he shouldn’t go when he was still a kid, and he never developed much interest in it later. Once Dad died, his business partner, Mr. Golonko, took care of the day-to-day running of the company, and all Radek needed to know was that money would continue landing in his account once a month.
But Yev had wounded his pride by claiming some horrific stuff was going on at the farm, so he’d check up on the business. Next time—and there would be a next time—he could tell Yev how clean his hands were with a clear conscience.
He stomped on the gas pedal and drove to the small crossing where the farm’s driveway began, and followed it toward the collection of fenced-off buildings while the setting sun drenched the hills in blood-red light. It was as if the world beyond the valley was on fire.
So late in the day, most of the workers would have long gone home, but that suited Radek best. He wasn’t here to socialize. He’d just enter, see for himself that nothing out of the ordinary was going on, and be on his way.
His nose picked up a strange smell halfway there. It was musky, but not in a pleasant way, like the raw scent of a man. No, this was reminiscent of the odor present in his ferret-owning friend’s apartment after she hadn’t cleaned everything up for a few days too long.
The concrete slab fence was taller than Radek and topped with barbed wire—to ward off misguided animal rights activists—and the single way in, a heavy steel gate, was shut and wouldn’t open automatically when he stopped the car in front of it. It did make sense, but he was eager to get this over with as soon as possible
He honked once, twice, thrice, and only then a light illuminated the dusk on the other side. Moments later, the gate opened partway, and an older man Radek had seen in the village many times popped his head out.
“Who’s there?” he asked, squinting as if he badly needed glasses.
Radek leaned out of the SUV so the lamp inside the property caught his signature hair. He was the sole natural redhead in Dybukowo, so that should give the guard an idea of who he was.
But the man huffed, moving his lips up and down. “Lady, I asked who you are! This is private property.”
Right. Long hair. That guy really needed glasses. What was his family name? Gawron?
“I’m Radek Nowak, your boss, Mr. Gawron.”
Gawron grabbed the back of his head. “I thought that car looked familiar! What is it that you need? I thought Mr. Golonko is head of operations? Though if you ask me, it’s his daughter who runs the show. Never seen a man more under his wife’s thumb than Golonko is under his daughter’s.”
Radek groaned. He wasn’t here for gossip. “I’m leaving for Cracow today, but wanted to have a look at the farm before Christmas.”
Gawron seemed lost for a second. “What is there to look at?”
Radek’s thoughts exactly, but he could waste a precious fifteen minutes of his life to prove Yev wrong.
“I won’t be long,” he said and drove into an uneven, muddy yard in front of a small building made of naked brick, which was partially open, revealing a tiny television Mr. Gawron must have been watching.
Gawron gave him a sceptical look but shrugged. “Tell me if you need anything.” He pointed to the open door to the shed of a house.
Radek didn’t bother to answer and drove in farther, toward a large truck, to park the SUV. He scowled when the wheels sank into the mud, but Gawron was here to help him out if needed.
The stench of musk and feces hit him like a shovel to the face the moment he stepped out of the vehicle, and only the fact that he was holding on to the seat saved him from an unwanted slide to ground that had the consistency of dirt-flavored buttercream.
Disgusting.
He slammed the door with more anger than this situation warranted, weirded out by how quiet it was. Weren’t foxes nocturnal animals? They should be getting more active about now.