Scarlet Rendezvous

When Karina didn't show up for graduation, when the Queens College professor in the fancy academic regalia called her name over the loudspeaker and no one came on stage to receive a bachelor's degree, I started to panic. I immediately left my seat in the stands and began scanning the crowd for my daughter, a sick feeling coming over me that something terrible had happened. She didn't answer the door at her apartment earlier that morning, and she never showed up for our celebratory breakfast at Johnny Brenda's, her favorite diner. Her cellphone was going straight to voicemail, too.

I walked through the crowd, asking random students if they knew Karina Sarsgaard, or if they'd seen her anywhere. No one had any information to offer. As an ex-Navy SEAL and military defense contractor, my mind went into overdrive. Had she been kidnapped in retaliation for my work in Afghanistan? Was it a crime by some random creep, or had she fallen victim to a campus stalker? Karina was extremely attractive, with piercing blue eyes and auburn hair that she wore in a cute bob. She had classic girl-next-door looks which made her appear vulnerable and innocent, especially her slim figure.

But she was far from naïve. She was the daughter of a jacked 225-pound military specialist, after all. She could handle herself if it came down to it. I'd taught her several self-defense maneuvers that could incapacitate the largest of attackers. She knew how to kick and throw a punch with the full force of her body, and how to aim for the sweet spots -- the windpipe, nose, solar plexus, and testicles.

She was also a black belt in karate. At 18, she'd qualified for the AAU national karate championships. She's been preparing for the competition since she was in grade school, working her way up the ranks with a reputable karate instructor who taught out of a studio in Brooklyn.

When Karina wasn't at the studio, she was training with me in our basement at home. Push-ups, sit-ups, board-breaking in the garage, and one-mile runs around the block. We worked on strength and stamina, balance, speed, and of course, mental preparedness. Karina learned at a young age that the psychological aspect of fighting was even more important than the physical one.

The AAU national championships that year were held in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Karina and I made the 19-hour drive from New York in two shifts, stopping in the Washington D.C. area to visit Arlington National Cemetery, and spending a night in Hamer, South Carolina, to visit the famed "South of the Border" to load up on fireworks.

Karina had qualified in the kumite competition, which was light contact sparring -- the kind featured in the original Karate Kid movie. The final match was against Beatriz Barbosa, a seven-time AAU national champion, and reigning WUKF world karate champion. The odds of beating Barbosa were slim to none. She was 27-years-old, and hadn't lost in four years. She was lightening quick and impossible to catch.

Karina got off to a rough start. Barbosa scored 2 points in the first minute, stunning Karina first with a simple jab cross, then with a lead leg counter sweep to jab. Barbosa started to smile. All she needed was 1 point more, or to run out the clock, and she'd be national champion for the eighth time.

The referee brought the two women to the middle of the mat. He raised his hand and signaled for them to fight. Karina streaked across the floor and landed a roundhouse kick to Barbosa's head. The score was 2 to 1.

Karina faked a jab, then hit Barbosa in the face with a spinning hook kick. The score was 2 to 2.

The ref resumed the match. Barbosa danced, jabbed, and threw a roundhouse kick. Karina blocked it. Barbosa was agile and quick, jabbing, crossing, and kicking in various combinations. Karina was on the edge of the mat, back-pedaling and on the defensive.

The clock was down to 10 seconds.

Barbosa went for the kill -- faking a jab, and throwing a roundhouse kick. Karina saw it coming a mile away, and countered with a lead leg sweep, bringing Barbosa to the mat and finishing her off with a jab to the face.

"Oh my god!" Karina shouted, hardly able to contain herself.

The ref brought the two women to the center of the mat, declaring Karina the winner.

Karina shook Barbosa's hand and ran over to me, tears streaming down her face. She jumped into my arms, hugging me tightly.

"You did it honey!" I said to her, a bit misty-eyed. "You're national champion! I'm so proud of you!"

And now she was missing.

The commencement ceremony was over, and hundreds of graduates were exiting the fieldhouse in their caps and gowns, degrees in hand. I kept thinking I would see Karina turn up at any moment, come through the front doors out of breath and explain that she had car trouble, or that she made a mistake with the schedule.

None of this happened.

I called Karina's phone and it went right to voicemail. Again. I tried calling Natalia, my ex-wife and Karina's mother, but she didn't answer, either.

I went to the police and explained my situation -- that my daughter had been missing since this morning. The police didn't seem too concerned.

"She'll show up," the detective told me. "I wouldn't jump to any conclusions."

***

Tiffany wanted me to tie her up, but I wasn't at her college apartment to play her kinky games. This was not a role play, or the exploration of some sex fantasy. She needed to know I meant business. I grabbed her by the back of the head, gripping her blond hair tightly in my hand and shoving her face into the mattress.

"Where's Karina?" I asked again.

"I don't know," Tiffany said.

"Where is she!"

"I don't know!"

I rolled her over on her bed, kneeling on her petite chest with my full weight. Her face was flushed and her blond hair was matted to her forehead. She was wearing a mint-green nightie and panties. Her small tits were falling out of the top. I woke her up out of a deep sleep at 6:00 a.m., startling her. She was home alone in her apartment and started to panic, but realized it was me and then smiled.

It was still a game to Tiffany, and I was losing patience. Karina had been gone for over a month now, and I was getting no closer to finding her. It was obvious that she didn't want to be found, and that she hated her father. Her disappearance was clearly a rebellion against me, a big middle finger that said I could no longer tell her what to do, that she was a grown woman and could make her own decisions. The way she stood me up at breakfast before the commencement ceremony was heartbreaking. She packed up the little that she owned and vanished -- poof -- right off the face of the planet.

It was excruciating to lose her that way, to not know where she was or if she was safe. I was certain that she'd been abducted or killed, being that all traces of her stopped -- credit card activity, cellphone records, bank transactions. Her mother knew the truth, of course. Her whacky Russian mother who'd been stripping in New York clubs since she was 18. She knew where Karina was, and maybe even helped her relocate. I was clearly the asshole and odd man out. Why? Why would Karina do this to me? We'd been making amends and things had been going so well between us, or so I thought. So I let it go. Let go of trying to find a daughter who didn't want to have anything to do with her father.

Then I came across that porn video of her on the internet, and completely lost it.

Tiffany was grinning, looking up at me from the mattress. I grabbed her by the wrists and pinned her arms over her head. She was clearly getting off on the whole thing, having a ruggedly handsome ex-Navy SEAL man-handling her like a ragdoll.

"Where's Karina?" I asked.

"I don't know."

I ripped open her nightie, exposing her tits. I pinched and twisted her pink nipples, amazed at how much pain this petite blond could take. She was into so much perverted shit it wasn't even funny. I shoved a hand between her legs and slid two fingers inside her pussy, fingering her with one hand while grabbing her around the neck with the other. I pulled my fingers out and stuck them in her mouth. She sucked on them and moaned.

"Where's Karina? Who's she with?"

"Fuck me," Tiffany said. "Fuck me and I'll tell you."

Trusting Tiffany was a gamble. She was a master conniver and manipulator. I hated the girl the minute I met her, the first day of her freshman year at Queens College when I was introduced to her as Karina's roommate. Natalia loved her immediately, of course. The two would eventually turn Karina to the dark side, working together to corrupt my beautiful little girl who once loved her father and wanted to teach web design to high schoolers and be a martial arts instructor.

"Fuck this shit," I said, and got off Tiffany's bed. "I shouldn't be here."

"What? What's wrong?"

"This is fucked up. It stops now. If you don't want to help me find Karina, fine. I'll leave. But you and I are done. Our little fling, or whatever you want to call it, is over. You've got to get it through your head."

I was walking out of her bedroom to leave when Tiffany mumbled, "Sasha."

I turned back around. "What? What was that?"

"Sasha," she repeated. "He's a Russian video producer who lives in Florida. That's the only thing I know. Please don't tell Karina I told you."

***

My ex-wife Natalia had a restraining order against me, but I didn't give a shit at this point. I went to the Four Aces, the strip club where she worked. We'd met there 23 years earlier, when Natalia was the hottest dancer in any club in Queens. A lot had changed since then, a whole lot. She was now the manager and co-owner of the club, and had made sure the entire staff -- including the bouncers and local police -- knew that I wasn't allowed to set foot in the place. It was a good thing I no longer gave a shit about her or the club. All I cared about was finding my daughter.

I went inside, surprised at how nice the place looked. It had been what, two years since I trashed the joint? Two years since I came back from Afghanistan and found out Karina was working there as a stripper the summer after her sophomore year in college? Sure, I went fucking ballistic, but what father wouldn't? And then there was Natalia, justifying everything. There was nothing that crazy Russian bitch could say to make things right. Nothing. That was the last straw. The impending divorce had become final.

It was only 10:30 a.m. on a Tuesday, but there were still girls dancing on stage. They were the third-stringers, back-ups to the back-ups, but fully nude nonetheless. There were no pasties or panties at the Four Aces. I wasn't even sure Natalia was going to be here, but I figured I'd take a chance.

"Holy Christ," a voice said from across the room. "Kyle Sarsgaard."

It was Jimmy Reese, the bartender. I actually started to get a warm feeling seeing him. We were pretty good friends at one point, before my big blow up in 2021, that is. He'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and ended up getting his nose and eye socked busted in the melee.

"Yo Jimmy," I said, shaking his hand and hugging him. "What's up brother?"

"Same shit, different girls." We gave each other a once over and smiled. "You know what they say -- we get older, but the girls stay the same age."

"You know it," I said, and laughed.

Someone was coming out from the back. It was Natalia. The expression on Jimmy's face changed. He started washing glasses in the sink behind the bar.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Natalia said to me in nearly flawless English, with only the faintest hint of a Russian accent. She'd been taking business classes at community college, among other things.

I smiled, hoping to disarm her. "What's up, babe. You look great. Did you lose some weight since I saw you last?"

"Fuck you, Kyle. You know you're not supposed to be here."

"I know," I said. "I'm sorry about that. But I really need to talk to you. It's about Karina. I think she might be in trouble."

"What do you mean? What's happened to Karina?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out. I haven't seen or heard from her in over a month. Not since she stood me up at breakfast before her graduation at Queens College. She just up and left, Natalia. Poof. Gone. I sat there for two hours. I called the fucking cops. She didn't even go to her commencement. I really thought she went missing. Do you know what that feels like?"

"She's not missing, Kyle. We've been over this."

"She's making porn videos, did you know that?"

"Kyle--"

"Yeah, that's right. I was surfing the internet last week and I saw one, Natalia. It was her. It was Karina. Same Bugs Bunny tattoo on her hip. She was doing anal, for fuck sake."

Jimmy was listening from behind the bar. We made eye contact and I gave him a sarcastic smile.

"Come on," Natalia said. "Let's talk in my office."

We went into the back room and shut the door. Natalia cleared stacks of papers off a wooden chair and told me to sit down. She sat across from me behind a large desk and started fooling with a bunch of file folders.

"Sasha," I said to her, crossing my arms.

"What?"

"Sasha. Lives in Florida. He's a Russian video producer. He's the one sex trafficking our daughter. I wouldn't be surprised if he has ties to the Russians in Afghanistan. Even though they killed Rick, they never got their money."

Natasha shook her head. "Kyle, I know you don't want to hear this, but you're totally paranoid."

"Am I? Really? So Tiffany made this whole thing up?"

"You talked to Tiffany about this? Oh my god, you're unbelievable."

"Yes, I did. This morning. Right before I came here. I know what's going on. I saw the video, too. There's probably more."

"Did you have sex with Tiffany this morning? I'm just curious. When she told you about Sasha?"

I didn't say anything. I'd had a small fling with Tiffany right before Karina's graduation. I was lonely and emotional, and drinking way too much. I was at the Purple Orchid one night -- a night club across the street from the Four Aces -- and Tiffany was there. One thing led to another. Apparently, Karina found out I had been fucking her roommate and that's why she left town early, skipping our breakfast and her own commencement ceremony.

Natalia stood up and went over to the safe behind her desk, knelt down. She shielded the combination from my view. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you. I just can't." She paused, and then said in Russian, "Вы пожнете то, что посеяли."

My Russian was a bit rusty. "What the fuck did you just say?"

"I said you will reap what you sow."

I felt my anger boiling, just below the surface. I pictured myself flipping over Natalia's desk, file folders scattering everywhere. I let the thought go. Natalia closed the safe. She was wearing a short skirt and chunk heels -- her legs a little past their prime. She had a toe ring and tattoos on both ankles. Her light brown hair was longer than normal, the way she used to wear it years ago before she got pregnant with Karina. She was still attractive, though a little haggard. The sex industry will do that to a person.

Her recent success with the club just added resentment to my anger. She'd turned Karina against me, against her own father. It was bullshit. Just like the fact that Natalia allowed Karina to strip at the club when she was only 20, the summer after her sophomore year at college.

"Who's Sasha?" I asked Natalia.

"Nobody," she said.

"Who the fuck is he?"

"Jesus, Kyle. You really want to do this? Right now?"

"Yes. I do. Karina made a porn video. Don't you care?"

"Of course I care. Which is why I helped her get out of New York, and start fresh."

"And make porn videos?"

"And be a part of an incredible start-up business opportunity."

"Making porn videos."

"It's much more than that. She's a director. She's a part owner and investor. Do you have any idea how much money the porn industry makes? Billions."

"You need money to invest," I said.

"Karina has money."

That's when everything suddenly became clear. Natalia was part of the so-called investment, too. She most likely took money out of the club and put it into whatever fucked up adult video production company Karina was working for. She was pimping out our own daughter, plain and simple.

"You are one fucked up bitch," I said, standing up. "You gave our daughter money to star in a fucking porn video so you could make money off of her."

This got Natalia's attention. She stopped fidgeting with her paperwork and looked me right in the eye. "Yeah, I gave her some money, absolutely. To get out of New York and get away from you."

"Fuck you," I said.

"She hates you Kyle, didn't you know that? We all hate you, everybody in this club. All the girls and even Jimmy. You broke his fucking nose and eye socket, for Christ's sake. You're a loose cannon. You don't give a fuck about anybody except yourself and your defense contracting company."

"Karina doesn't hate me, Natalie. Don't say that."

"She hates you, Kyle."

"No she doesn't."

"Fine. She doesn't hate you. She just left you sitting at a booth in a diner before her graduation, like a total moron. How long were you waiting for her? Two hours? And she changed her credit cards, and her phone number, and her bank accounts so you couldn't find her. Good for her."

"You shouldn't have encouraged her. That's not right. I'm her father."

"And you were driving everybody fucking crazy. For years! You have no idea what it was like living with you. You were home, then you were away. You did four tours in Afghanistan, for god sake! And this was after Karina was born."

"I came home for 15 years, Natalia. To be with you and Karina. I quit the SEALs, too. Or did you forget?"

"But then you started up again, with your defense contracting business."

"I needed a job. I made us a lot of money."

"Us? I didn't see a penny of it. God only knows where you're keeping it. But then you disappeared again. For another fucking year."

"Rick got kidnapped. What was I supposed to do?"

"Let the government handle it."

"Fuck that. You never, ever, leave a man behind."

"Don't I know it," Natalia said. "But it's cool to leave your family behind. And then reappear like a psychopath a year later, off your fucking rocker, scaring the shit out of everybody!"

"Fuck you."

"I have things to do. I think it's time for you to go."

"Fine. I'm leaving. But know this: I'm going to find Karina, and bring her home where she belongs. And if this Sasha mother fucker, or anybody else tries to stop me, I'll fucking kill them. Mark my fucking words."

***

I left the Four Aces and did what I should have done over a month ago -- hired a private investigator to track Karina down. Truth be told, I could have found my daughter within 48 hours of her initial disappearance, being that I was an ex-SEAL and still had numerous contacts in the intelligence community. I could have called in a favor and pooled my resources, and gotten a location on her pretty quickly. Deep down I didn't want to find her, being that she clearly didn't want to be found. I was ashamed of her running away from me, and was afraid of what she'd say to me if I did track her down. Better to let her go her own way. She was safe, after all. Natalia had told me as much.

Then came the porn video.

After getting nowhere with Natalia, I paid a private investigator who was ex-military, and who also dabbled in defense contracts specializing in intelligence gathering. He had access to a whole bunch of neat gadgets that were off limits to your average person, civilian PI's included. Although there were laws that forbade the use of such gadgets without certain court orders, he was willing to bend some rules and help me out. For the record, he hadn't done anything illegal yet -- the key word being yet. If Karina were in real danger and needed help, he wouldn't hesitate to do all he could to intervene. I'd already lost Rick to a gang of Russian arms dealers, and I wasn't going to let something like that happen again.