White Sasha

by Sasha MacPherson

  Roger chuckled and shrugged. “You know that you wouldn’t have to do this, Sasha. I am making more than enough money for both of us.”

  Sasha smiled and gave her husband a peck on the cheek. “I know, but still I want to,” she said.

  Roger stood up, took Sasha in a firm embrace and kissed her, running his hands down her spine all the way to her butt, while his tongue was probing for hers inside her mouth.

  Without looking, he took the coffee mug out of her hand and placed it onto the table. Never stopping to kiss her lips, cheeks and neck, he gently pushed Sasha back into the bedroom.

  ***

  For the second time today, Sasha swung herself out of the bed and took a long shower before she finally dressed for the day.

  When she came out of the bathroom, she noticed a closed envelope leaning against her nightstand lamp. The words ‘For Sasha’ were written on it in Roger’s handwriting. Sasha concluded that her husband must have placed it there while she was in the shower, before he had left for work. At least Sasha couldn’t remember having noticed it before. Curious, she opened it. There was a banking card and a note in it. The note read ‘I know that you want to continue working, but just to take any sort of imagined pressure off you that you might have to, I have set up a bank account for you. It’s yours and yours alone. Love and kisses, Roger.’

  Sasha shook her head and smiled. She knew that Roger hated having to ‘share’ Sasha with other people. He had kept on trying to persuade her to quit her job since the very day they got married. Sasha had to admit that her job was contributing a negligible portion to their combined income, but she wanted to put in her share anyway, no matter how small.

  Out of sheer politeness towards Roger’s well-meant gesture she put the banking card in her wallet, but Sasha had already decided not to make use of it.

  Suddenly noticing her growling stomach, she went to the kitchen. She still had an hour left before she would have to go to work, so it wasn’t yet too late to get some sort of snack. Sasha had to giggle sheepishly when she saw her coffee mug standing on the table where Roger had left it. The brackish cold liquid inside was now of course undrinkable, so she emptied the mug into the sink and poured a new cup.

  Trotting back to the dining area, Sasha noticed that Roger had forgotten his laptop on the table. It amused her when it occurred to her that she was quite certainly the reason why he had done so. And Sasha knew that it took quite something to distract Roger from his laptop. Roger was obsessed with his computer. His most cherished tool was always with him, wherever he went. But he never allowed anyone other than himself to use it or even look at the screen, not even Sasha. She couldn’t remember him ever leaving it behind before.

  She placed herself on the same chair where her husband had sat earlier and gave the laptop a gentle push to make some room for her coffee mug.

  Sasha hadn’t noticed that the laptop was still switched on, the screensaver just having put it to sleep. Sasha’s push had unintentionally waked it up from its digital slumber. The laptop’s screen went from black to displaying an e-mail client Roger had obviously been working with before Sasha’s appearance had distracted him away from it. The latest e-mail was still opened. When Sasha’s eyes fell on the odd text, she frowned. Her curiosity suddenly sparked, she pulled the laptop back towards her and started reading.

  The mail body consisted of just one line: ‘The problem in Kerrisdale has been sorted.’

  Sasha didn’t recognize the sender’s name at all. When Sasha scrolled down, she discovered a quoted mail that obviously had been sent from Roger’s laptop. It was also just a one-liner: ‘Oliver is still causing trouble in Kerrisdale. Please take care of it at the earliest convenience. Regards, Black Vortex.’

  Sasha had no idea who Black Vortex was - or Oliver, for that matter. The confused woman checked the mail client’s settings. The active mail account was indeed named ‘Black Vortex’, not ‘Roger Brooks’ as she would have assumed her husband to name his mail account. Sasha also knew that Roger’s business office was located in Richmond, and not Kerrisdale. The latter was an upscale Vancouver residential area, and she couldn’t remember that Roger had mentioned recently being there, or doing business with someone from there. But then again, Roger had never talked much about his business at all. All Sasha knew about it from the few bits Roger had told her, was that he conducted import and export trade with some firms in China.

  Still pondering the odd e-mail, Sasha’s gaze fell on the opened newspaper lying next to the laptop.

  And her jaw dropped when she read the local headline, written in thick bold letters.

  “PUB OWNER DIES IN KERRISDALE GANG SHOOTING”.

  Sasha snatched the newspaper and started reading. It was a report about a pub owner named Oliver Miller, who had been shot in the head by a yet unidentified shooter. Police suspected the so-called ‘Stinger’ gang behind the targeted shooting. Notorious for its brutality, Stinger seemingly tried to get a foothold in the western part of the city of Vancouver, pressing pubs for protection money and expanding their territory for drug business, money laundry and human trafficking.

  A shiver ran down Sasha’s spine, when she read the underground pseudonym of the Stinger gang’s leader: Black Vortex. The real identity of the person was unknown to the police. Nobody had ever seen him or her, not even a vague description existed.

  In that moment she heard the apartment door going and she flinched, almost dropping the newspaper in surprise.

  “It’s me, Sasha. I guess I forgot my laptop,” Roger shouted from the entry hall.

  And Sasha’s husband walked into the kitchen, where Sasha was staring at him from the table, the running laptop in front of her. One of her trembling hands was still holding today’s newspaper.

  Roger Brooks’ eyes narrowed when they wandered between his wife, the opened mail on the laptop’s screen and the newspaper.

  “Roger...?” Sasha whispered. “What is going on here?”

  ***

  “I see you have been sniffing around in my life,” Roger coldly said.

  Sasha shook her head, and her voice was near breaking point when she spoke. “Not intentionally, but that’s not the point, Roger. Have you...done this?” she said and held the newspaper up, with the gang-shooting article for Roger to see.

  Roger crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Why are you asking me this, if you already know the answer anyway?” he said sternly.

  “Because I want to hear it from you Roger,” Sasha whispered.

  Roger’s hand motioned across the expensive apartment and the pricey luxury furniture and accessories assembled in it. “Did you really think that a small import business would generate enough revenue to pay for all of this, Sasha? This is a four million dollar apartment, you knew that, yes? And the designer dresses you’re wearing? The trips to Europe you loved so much?”

  Sasha hung her head low and stared to the floor. “So it’s true...I am married to a gangster,” she muttered more to herself than Roger.

  “I am a businessman, Sasha. Nothing more, nothing less. I am doing business in an area that has very specific and very harsh rules. This guy there...,” Roger said, nodding towards the press article about the dead pub owner. “This guy broke them. I did what I had to do in the sort of business I am doing. That’s all.”

  “Roger, you killed him. Or at least you had him killed. Whatever you call it, but it was murder,” Sasha said firmly.

  “You don’t know much about me, Sasha. I have killed dozens of men. I was in the army long before we met. Special Forces. I used to be a sniper. One of the best there were. Some of the wars they sent me into were mentioned in the news and some didn’t appear there at all. The army just told me who to shoot, and I did it, no questions asked. I am still doing the same line of work now - only that this time I get to keep the profits. I consider that only fair, after all these years I have done their dirty work for a lousy pay.”

  Sasha rose and slowly walked to the window, starin
g at the city below. “You’re right, Roger. I guess I don’t know you at all. Because this doesn’t sound like the man I believed you to be,” Sasha said, her back turned towards her husband.

  After a long moment of silence Sasha turned around, her eyes firmly locking into his. “Did you ever love me at all, Roger? Or was I just a convenient part of your disguise as an honest, hard-working small-business owner?”

  Sasha kept staring at Roger, but no answer came.

  “I thought so,” Sasha whispered after a few seconds.

  Like in slow motion, Sasha reached for her hand bag and trotted to the door.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Roger demanded.

  “What does it look like?” Sasha said, without turning around to him.

  “You can’t honestly think about leaving, after all I have done for you, can you?” Roger shouted in anger. “I gave you a much better life than someone like you could ever have hoped for. Money, dresses, jewels. You have it all. Are you forgetting where you’re coming from, Sasha? You are nothing but a cheap waitress, who’d still rot at the near bottom of society if not for me. What is your damn problem?”

  Sasha turned around, a single tear running down her cheek. “That’s all I am to you, isn’t it? A stupid little girl you picked up from her restaurant to shower her in money so she could be your trophy wife. Well, I will tell you what my problem is: I don’t enjoy expensive apartments, designer dresses and jewels when they’re paid for in blood. If you have believed that, then you don’t know me very well either. Goodbye, Roger.”

  “If you close this door behind you, you won’t be able to come back,” Roger sternly said.

  Sasha stopped for a second. Then her hand reached for the door handle.

  “And if you tell anyone about who I really am I will kill you,” he added.

  Sasha opened the door, stepped through and closed it behind her.

  ***

  When the police knocked down the door to Sasha’s former home a few hours later, Roger Brooks was nowhere to be found. But they had now a name and face to associate with the phantom formerly known only as Black Vortex. He would not be able to live under a civilian disguise anymore.

  January 3rd, 2011

  Sasha was happy, as most people tended to be on their birthday. She went down the stairs to the ground floor, whistling her favourite song, when the door bell rang. Sasha shot a glance at the clock. Jennifer was half an hour early, but that didn’t surprise her. Her best friend had a habit of always being too early, so Sasha had made sure that everything was prepared ahead of time anyway.

  Sasha opened the door and looked into Jennifer’s bright smile, before her friend took her into a firm hug. “Happy birthday, sweetie,” Jennifer said and handed her a huge bouquet of flowers. They were of course pink, as well as Jennifer’s dress. Whenever Jennifer had to choose a colour for anything, the result was pink. Without any exceptions Sasha would be aware of. To say pink was Jennifer’s favourite colour would have been an understatement, as it was more an obsession to her. But Sasha had to admit, that the dress looked great on Jennifer, nicely complementing her coffee-brown skin and pitch black hair.

  Sasha bade Jennifer in and poured her a glass of champagne from a bottle already resting in a cooler on the coffee table. The two women toasted to Sasha’s thirty-first birthday.

  “Thanks for the invitation, Sasha,” Jennifer said, giving the exquisite liquid an appreciative nod, before letting her gaze wander around the room. “I see you’re finished moving in to your new home?”

  “After four months of shuffling around furniture to find the perfect place for each piece, I better be,” Sasha chuckled.

  “It’s a cute little house,” Jennifer said.

  “Thanks, Jen. My parents helped me a lot with it, including a part of the mortgage. I wouldn’t have it without them.”

  “Anyone else will be coming today?”

  Sasha shook her head. “No, it’s just the two of us. You know me. I am not a fan of big crowds.”

  Jennifer rolled her eyes. “No need to remind me. I tried for how long to persuade you to come clubbing with me? A year?”

  Sasha laughed. “More like two, I guess. You tried to convert me into a barfly since we first met. You just paused for a bit, while I was married to Roger.”

  “Oh well, you’re just denying yourself a lot of fun. The boys would be swarming around you like bees around honey, as beautiful as you are.”

  “I can do without that. I have had enough failed relationships for the time being.”

  Jennifer sat her glass on the table and sighed. “Look, I know your marriage was a mess, Sasha. And it must be terrible, finding out that your husband is a gangster boss and a murderer. Nobody of us serving this guy on a daily basis had the slightest idea who Roger really was. He even threatened you when you found out and divorced him, did he?”

  Sasha nodded. “He’s gone since the day I left him and reported him to the cops. The court divorced us in his absence, given the circumstances.”

  Jennifer put her hand on Sasha’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “I can understand why you would feel about men and dating the way you do. But, let’s face it...you are not going to stay young and beautiful forever. You’ve got to secure a good guy for you while you still can, Sasha. Girls like us...we have to use our looks as a bargaining chip on the market, you know? We are both neither rich nor smart, but we sure look pretty damn good. Don’t waste your chances, ok?”

  Sasha knew that Jennifer secretly regretted her lack of education. And that she hated to be a waitress and wished for another life she would label as a ‘better’ one whenever they would talk about the topic. On these occasions, Sasha wanted to tell her friend that she has never been happier in her life than she was now, after having exchanged her former life as a university professor for this simpler one - which had made her both Jennifer’s co-worker and her friend. She wanted to tell Jennifer about her secret: That she had two Ph.D. degrees hanging in a locked den on the first floor of her house. That she was genetically altered, giving her an IQ over 180 and a self-regenerating body. And that she had magic powers so strong that she could topple a battle tank just by concentrating hard enough on it. She wanted to tell Jennifer that being smart, in Sasha’s case, meant that she had been ridiculed and rejected all her life by high school bullies and jealous co-workers who couldn’t accept that Sasha was much smarter than they were. And that only now, after Sasha had completely left her old life behind, making use of neither her intellect nor her magic anymore, she was happy and had found her place in society.

  But of course she couldn’t tell Jennifer that. And thankfully, the oven beeper offered Sasha the perfect excuse to end the discussion. “I will be right back,” she said, winking at Jennifer, and then strode to the kitchen, relieved about the convenient escape.

  A quick glance into the oven confirmed her fear that she had to give the Shepherd’s Pie a few more minutes of time. Her grumbling stomach urged the pie to finish baking, but she knew that like with all things cooking, it would be done when it was done, not a moment earlier.

  Bored, Sasha looked out of the window. On the street she spotted a black pickup truck slowly driving down the road towards her house. She could swear that she had seen this same vehicle passing through her neighbourhood earlier today, but she wasn’t aware of any of her neighbours owning a car like that. But then again, she wasn’t that much interested in what possessions her neighbours had, either. Sasha was hardly materialistic to begin with, and her marriage to Roger had done its own part to reinforce that view.

  Sasha’s curiosity turned into mild suspicion when she saw the vehicle slowing down and coming to a halt right in front of her home. The passenger door opened and a muscular figure jumped out. An oddly familiar figure, although Sasha couldn’t quite place him. The man jumped on the truck’s bed, removing a cover from an odd, barrel-shaped object that seemed to stand on a tripod.

  Then Sasha recognized the man and cold shivers pu
lsed down her spine. She had seen the face before - on a police mug shot, a while back when the police had interviewed her about her ex-husband’s gang and had shown her photos of a few of his lieutenants, to see if Sasha would recognize any of them. Pietro Zampano was working for the Stinger gang and was Roger Brooks’ best assassin.

  In the same moment she instinctively realized what was hidden under the cover and what was about to happen. But it was already too late. The man squeezed the trigger of the Browning M2 heavy machine gun mounted on the pickup’s bed. A split second later, dozens of 0.5 calibre explosive rounds tore into Sasha’s home.

  Sasha shrieked in panic, but possessed enough survival instinct to throw herself down to the floor, moments before the machine gun rounds shredded her kitchen counter to pieces, showering her with wooden debris and pieces of destroyed appliances. Sasha covered her ears in a futile attempt to shield her ears from the deafening concussions, and screamed in pain as hot shrapnel from the machine gun rounds tore through her thigh and hip, ripping her flesh wide open.

  Only in that instance it occurred to Sasha that she still possessed magic powers.

  Drawing on the dormant, unused magic inside her, she conjured a protective shield around her. Not a moment too soon, for she felt multiple impacts of the 0.5 calibre rounds assaulting her shield that would have killed her for sure if they had directly hit her body instead.

  The barrage seemed to last an eternity. But Sasha knew it couldn’t have been going on for more than a few seconds when it stopped and she heard the pickup speeding away. Still dazed from the mini-grenades exploding all around her, Sasha removed pieces of debris from her and pulled herself up, barely able to suppress another scream as her wounds sent jolts of agony through her body.

  The devastation was complete. The explosive rounds had torn off most of the outer wall. The gaping hole to the outside was almost as wide as the entire room. Her kitchen had ceased to exist. Shattered furniture was mixed with broken glass and shards of dinnerware, distributed almost evenly across the entire floor. Where the sink used to be, a fountain of water was spraying uncontrolled over the debris, forming a large puddle on the floor.