I’d read that squatting gopnik-style was essentially born in Soviet prisons, where during free time convicts had no place to sit and relax. They were forced to squat and learned how to do it for a long time without their legs becoming numb.
To my surprise, the limo stopped right in front of the Gopniks, giving me a closer look. It must have been eight men, wearing caps and different colored Adidas tracksuits. One took a swig from a small bottle of vodka while another smoked a cigarette by him. On the ground, sunflower seed shells scattered under their feet.
Misha lifted my hand and gently kissed my fingertips. “Let’s go.”
Oh. We’re going to where the Gopniks are?
We left the limo.
The Gopniks glanced our way, spotted Misha, and returned to their conversation.
I looked at the building in front of us. A sign read, Bones Bar.
This looks dangerous as hell.
As if hearing me, Misha guided us forward and said, “Don’t worry. Everything is safer than you think.”
“I trust you.”
He smiled. “Excellent.”
A huge man stood out front. He nodded at Misha, moved out of the way, and pushed at the heavy-looking door. It screeched open. I glanced over my shoulder. Maxwell and Naveen followed with several of Misha’s and my guards.
We entered Bones Bar.
The décor matched the name. Different sized bones covered the walls—femurs, vertebra, and more. Two big skull chandeliers dangled from the ceiling. Tossed bullets covered the ground. I stepped on several of them as I walked next to Misha.
Tons of people crowded the place—all Gopniks dressed in tracksuits and caps. Many chugged their drinks and chattered with each other. Some glanced our way and kept their mouths closed. It was clear no one wanted any problems with Misha. That made me more comfortable.
I guess this is well hidden. No sane person would ever think a wealthy man lived here.
We continued past the bar and into a long hallway. A purple glow bathed the space. Another guy sat at the end. He saw Misha and rushed to open the door. “Hello, sir. It’s been a long time.”
Misha didn’t respond as he guided us through the door and down two flights of stairs.
Okay. Now I’m seeing why Misha kept saying underground. He really meant it.
A silver door stood at the bottom of the stairs. A large A had been carved in the center. A circle surrounded the letter. It was unlike anything from the bar above us. Misha placed his hand on it. A beep sounded. The silver door slid open. And then we went down more stairs.
O-kay.
I swallowed my fear and held his hand tighter. When a hallway appeared at the end of the stairs I was relieved to not find any more stairs. Blue lines of light covered the dark floor as if there were glow sticks embedded in the cement.
The glowing hallway led us to a massive warehouse full of high-end technology full of several people with headsets, typing into their computers. It looked like something one would see in a movie scene depicting a NASA command center. It was a severe room painted silver, including desks and several chairs of tubular metal and dark blue canvas. The floor was carpeted in silver. A half-open door revealed part of a tiled bathroom.
All the walls lit up with large screens displaying various electronic maps of the world, stock figures, or the news. I scanned the area. There must’ve been fifty people in here—all with three or four screens at their desks and quite a few keyboards. Several had these electronic black goggles covering their eyes. Others talked into their headsets. Most kept their gazes glued on their laptops.
A tall skinny man with bleached white hair walked toward us. He wore grey pants and a black t-shirt with the same circled A from the door drawn in white. A red towel hung from his pocket.
Misha stopped us. “Give me a minute, Ava.”
“Okay.”
Misha went to him.
“Oh, we’re not doing that. I see you all the time, Mikhail.” The man shook his head, walked past Misha, and stopped in front of me. “I would rather meet your ballerina.”
Misha growled behind him. “We don’t have time for that.”
“We pretty much control time.” The man extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ava Jones. I’m Circuit.”
“Hello, Circuit.” I shook his hand. He kept the hold and didn’t let go. His skin was stiff and cold. Something hard was along his fingers.
I looked down at them.
“Oh, sorry. My grip is odd for people who don’t know me.” Grinning, Circuit let go of my hand and showed me both of his palms. “The shake might have been weird. You can probably feel the chips.”
I studied his palms, noticing rice-shaped objects embedded under his skin. There were several sticking up from his palms. “Those are chips?”
“Yes. I’m a biohacker.”
“I’ve never heard of that.”