‘No, she went home. She said she wasn’t well.’ She has a headache!
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ She glanced momentarily at the football before making eye contact again, ‘Can I sit with you? Do you mind?’ He tried in vain not to look as her skirt rode up her thighs when she slid off the stool. The charming hospitality worker took the seat next to him then asked,
‘You’ll marry Zhana?’
‘Ha, little chance of that’ he said mockingly. Dasha raised her eyebrows. ‘And to give you the short answer, no. She has a fiancé from Germany and I am just a good friend.’ The sound of his own words made him cringe. He wanted to retract them even as he spoke, and caught himself running fingers through his hair.
‘What are you doing here alone? You do not try to meet a nice woman?’
‘I was hoping to meet a nurse… after the brain surgery I’m trying to perform on myself.’
‘That’s difficult… brain surgery on yourself I mean…’ Dasha laughed heartily and her black eyes gleamed.
‘It gets easier with enough practice…’ Bronte replied, pointing to his glass with his eyes. Dasha giggled,
‘Can’t see too many scars’ she said, carefully observing his forehead.
Dasha was good therapy, more than slightly witty and of striking beauty. Her choice of conversation ranged from climate to politics and money, family life, her ambitions and romances. When something even remotely funny humoured her, she giggled with the tender mirth of a love goddess, the unencumbered titter of a free spirit. Bright and stunning in every sense of the word, at the completion of the football Dasha looked at Bronte and with enthusiastic innocence said, ‘Let’s go to your room.’
Inside, she cast a rather thorough look at their surrounds then stated proudly, ‘I gave you a very nice room don’t you agree?’ Before he could answer she giggled enchantingly and pranced off into the bathroom. After some moments he heard the shower. He turned off the light, switched on the TV and for the lack of a decent sofa, stretched out on the hay bale cleverly disguised as the bed. He waited and waited, but there was no sign of her and not a sound from the bathroom. He began to wonder if she’d done a runner. She went out through the bathroom window?
He was dosing when she emerged wearing only skimpy black lace panties, her perfect figure a divine declaration of God’s highest design and finest creation. Towel dried, her gloss black hair was not long enough to cover her erect nipples which sat perched like lords, cheekily overlooking the plump, swollen landscape, still shimmering from the evening rain. Leaning across the bed she covered him and in one movement, turned off the TV and switched on the bedside lamp. She knows that routine he thought. Then she elegantly and gently swiped her damp, sweet smelling and lace covered crotch across his face, sliding slowly down his body to his feet. Holding his gaze she reached up, unzipped his jeans and while pulling them off, began running her wet and rosy tongue up his leg. Then she slid back down to the foot of the bed, this time taking his denims and underwear with her.
Her movements captured the majesty of a ballet dancer trained in the art of striptease. With the touch of an archaeologist handling fragile and priceless antiquities, she made her way back up his body. He closed his eyes and tensed as his senses roared to life, his skin bristling in anticipation of what was to come. Long, slender fingers and nails roamed strategically across his motionless limbs, stomach and chest, occasionally slipping down to caress his groin, ensuring she held his attention rigidly. Her tongue had the grace of an elocutionist with the power of an orator. Actions speak louder than words he thought. She let her mouth do the talking and while he groaned, she never said a word.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
The next day started brightly enough with the southern spring weather on its best behaviour, providing a cloudless blue sky and a warm sun. He was elated after the episode with Dasha, but worried it may have been a setup by Zhana to test his fidelity. Yet it seemed only a remote possibility after Zhana’s news of her engagement the night before. Such inveigling machinations seemed entirely out of character. Or was it the perfect alibi to leave as she did and put him to the prearranged test with Dasha? Her fleeting glances in his direction let him know she was conscious of his presence and on more than one occasion she managed a cheeky smile. Good morning Mr Wake. At ten o’clock he took a call from Zhana and his heart took a leap on the vaulting horse as he answered. But she called only to remind him to go to the agency at eleven, said a quick goodbye and was gone. He grabbed a carry bag, his passport and a woollen zip jacket then wandered outside to find a cab. After his experience yesterday, he knew it could blow in really cold from the southwest in an instant.
As the taxi approached the entrance to the agency apartment building, he noticed a shiny battleship grey Volga with dark glass parked just ahead of the doorway. It had an air of familiarity and he wondered whether he’d seen it at his complex the other night. And it was unusual to see a car parked in such a place. He went upstairs and rang the buzzer. The numerous locks began unlatching and as the inner door opened the music “Slave to the rhythm” by Grace Jones grew louder. Alessiya literally peered around the door.
‘Come in’ she said. He ducked through the half open doorway and she closed the thing behind him. She wore a sheer hot pink satin-like dress which was so tight, it gave the impression she had been poured into it. The dress barely covered her private parts which were barely covered by pink stringy things of a matching colour, allowing a full view of her secret places and the soft cream coloured garter belt she wore. Her makeup was rich and luxuriant and her shoes were five inch clear plastic platforms. She stood almost as tall as Bronte.
‘I thought we should spend some time together and resolve our differences,’ passing him champagne as she spoke, and rolling her eyes as if to glance at his crotch.
‘I must say it’s not what I expected’ Bronte replied as an understatement and annoyed that he’d just caught himself running his fingers through his hair.
‘Rita is only a girl. I thought I should apologise. It was an insult to cause you such trouble…’
‘And string me along to meet the wrong girl. I won’t even mention all the lies… or duping me out of my money for her bloody nose.’ Alessiya leaned back against the desk and wiggled her skirt down.
‘Rita saw an opportunity because Zhana did not want you. She wrote to others instead and forgot about you.’ She flicked her hair back to reveal diamond tear drop earrings which twinkled as they swung with her movement, catching the light through the balcony doors behind her.
‘What? That’s rubbish… who told you this?’
‘Rita saw your letters and thought she very liked you, so she kept writing in the hope that you will like her.’
‘Alessiya that’s crazy… you know Rita couldn’t care less about me. Besides, your fake Zhana is too young.’ Alessiya was now moving slowly towards Bronte, who had not moved since parking against the back of the sofa.
‘You are a smart man Bronte and… yes, you are right, Rita is young. But you shouldn’t be upset.’ She sipped her champagne and then slowly put an index finger in her mouth. ‘You need a more experienced woman and you are lonely here… so I thought you might like some of my company… and this.’ She started arousing her own nipple, clearly visible through the satin.
‘Alessiya, you look sensational, really. I mean, if I … I only came here for the…’ Grace Jones sang, ‘Never stop the action, keep it up, keep it up…’
‘Don’t speak. It’s okay.’ She put her finger to his lips. Now she was so close, he could feel her breathing on his face, her luscious, pouting mouth glistening with gloss highlights. As she moved in and pressed against him, she licked his neck and bit his ear lobe. She ran her hand down his chest, over his stomach and onto his crotch.
‘Come on Bronte, relax. It’s obvious you want a little pussy.’
Taking hold of his hand, she placed it on her breast. Licking his neck, she slid his hand down onto her buttocks. Bronte pulled
away and put his glass down.
‘Listen Alessiya, I am flattered you wish to throw yourself at me, but I think you and I know that is not the reason I am here and should not be the reason you come on to me.’
‘How dare you!’ She threw her champagne in his face. Bronte wiped the sweet smelling stuff and licked the excess from his lips.
‘I’ll pretend you didn’t do that. Look I am not trying to be rude, only take Zhana’s money and leave, thanks.’ Despite the cold champagne running down his neck and into his clothing, he felt good, knowing even Lena would have been proud of him. His mother would have been prouder.
‘You are a stupid ignorant gay man. What you think you are doing here in my house, you asshole, you bastard, you son of a bitch you….’ Alessiya was coming unglued. As suddenly and as unexpectedly as a toothache she flew off at Bronte, charging at him like a raging Siberian tiger, her long claws slashing all in her path and screaming at the top of her voice. They wrestled and struggled in a whirl of hair, nails, shirt, breasts and pink stretchy stuff. She fought like her life was at risk. It really wasn’t, but if she kept on screaming, everyone, the entire neighbourhood would think it was. He knew it and wanted to shut her up without straight up bashing her in the mouth.
All of a sudden, the apartment door burst open. Two men charged into the room like bulls, the distraction catching him by surprise and with that, Alessiya smacked him in the mouth. The geek in the beanie came at him without saying a word. Bronte managed to sidestep quickly and as he did, lashed a right punch. He heard his knuckles crack and then the thump sound as the head in the beanie hit the floor. But it only seemed to stimulate the goon, and in an action reminiscent of Gumby, he jumped straight back to his feet, grabbed hold of one of Bronte’s arms and literally threw it up behind his back. Bronte yelled as he thought he might have dislocated his shoulder but before he had time to find out, his gorilla partner punched him in the stomach. It hurt so much he wanted to vomit or pass out or both. As he came at Bronte again, he managed to raise a knee and crunch the gorilla in the scrotums, seeing him grimace, wince with pain and double over. Dropping to his knees, the primate knocked a plant stand onto a computer which then fell to the floor with a loud crash. In the melee, Bronte wrestled to get free and it worked. He swung left from his captor just in time to walk into her punch again and this time, straight between the eyes. He fell back and then bang; stars, that’s all he could remember.
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Zhana was busy, barely finding time to give a conscious thought to her love life, especially in the upside down state that it was. At one stage, she had women three deep at the counter all waiting to pay for goods. The sudden burst of warm weather had brought ladies scurrying for new outfits or accessories to accentuate their spring mood. Yet all the time the dilemma that had been dropped on Zhana was gnawing away and as she glanced at the clock again, she saw it was now 12.10. Why hadn’t she heard from him? It seemed strange, but she was probably being a typical woman and worrying for nothing. Come to think of it, in the space of thirty six hours, she had gone from thinking only about Willy in Germany to worrying about Bronte in Krasnodar! Thoroughly perplexed, she’d already tried pinching herself to see if she was dreaming. What was going on in her life? Good thing she was busy because the answer to that question was completely unknown and now, she had to serve more customers.
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When Bronte came to he felt sore, stiff and cold. He had no idea where he was or what had happened. He recalled a meter maid in a bikini serving jugs of beer near a man playing drums, and when he looked closely at him he had horns and a horrible, frightening laugh. He was looking at Bronte, pointing with a drum stick and scoffing wildly. In a crowd he saw the FSB guy briefly, what was his name again? He was drinking heartily and dancing lewdly with a drunken Dasha. Alessiya and Rita even came to him in tears while Zhana stood and mocked. It was horrible and he shook his head as a test of his own existence. A sharp, sickening pain told enough. He was alive. Then, he fell back into unconsciousness.
He drifted in and out of this strange and nightmarish state for what could have been days even though it had only been 45 minutes. He sat up and took stock of where he was. He could hear voices behind the closed door and they sounded like Alessiya with those men. Where was he? Recalling again the men in black, he realized it had been the gorilla from the bar after all. His fate had been decided days ago and he had only prolonged the inevitable, to die at the hands of this maniac. And he also knew the other ape, he just couldn’t for the life of him think how or from where. It was obvious now they’d had tabs on him. He should have guessed that and not ignorantly pretended it was nothing when he saw them in the hotel lobby the night before.
He remembered getting clobbered by Alessiya. He was in the apartment bathroom. He staggered to his feet and looked in the mirror at the gash on his fattened lip. The bloody cut and egg above his eye bearing testament to her blows. ‘Don’t tell the mates’ he mumbled, ‘I was clobbered by a woman.’ He ached all over, but most of all, his head hurt. He felt the back of his skull to discover a lump the size of a golf ball. It was becoming clearer now, all coming back. He’d staggered from her blow and fallen into the bathroom, hitting his head on the wall cabinet on the way down. He recalled actually seeing stars, just like the cartoons.
He wondered what he would do, why they held him and what they had planned for him. He tried the door but as expected it was locked. The bald gorilla would want his blood he was certain, recalling the knee to his scrotums, the grimacing face in front of him and the crashing plant and computer. And no doubt the other one would be happy to help, as he recalled punching the head in the beanie. Then he remembered Mr Beanie was the helping hand deciphering Rolf’s map at the taxi. No wonder he never found Rolf or the band that fateful night!
He squat back on the floor with his arms wrapped around his legs. He’d been unduly careless to walk so blindly into a trap. But why had they picked on him? He should’ve heard alarm bells when she opened the door dressed like a callgirl. Then again, it would’ve been so simple to have sex with Alessiya, take the money and run. He should have been smarter. ‘Woulda coulda shoulda are the last words of a fool’ he mumbled.
But of course sex with Alessiya was out of the question. He didn’t want to give her the satisfaction and power. Besides, her attitude would be that he should pay her rather than give him his money. And if he had any chance at all with Zhana, sex with Alessiya would’ve utterly derailed that train. The bitch would make sure of it. When he turned his head quickly, it hurt like hell and lying there on his back on the tiles, he nodded off again. The sound of the door opening and the sight of the gorilla coming through it woke him. The man was so large, so wide, he only just managed to pass through the doorway. Grabbing Bronte by the arm he growled with the tone of King Kong,
‘Get up’, and then shoved him out of the bathroom and into a chair placed in the middle of the living room. The pain to his shoulder was excruciating. He did his best to disguise this from the two primates, not wishing to appear in worse shape from their bashing than they were from his. Of course he was, but from her blows not theirs. Mr Beanie stood against the other wall, directly opposite Bronte while the gorilla stood behind, standing over him. The two seemed disinterested in conversation, the one scratching his beanie every ten seconds and mumbling as he looked towards the makeshift office with the closed doors. Bronte noticed his phone and travel document wallet were sitting on the coffee table and then recalled seeing his mobile fly from his pocket during the scuffle.
Suddenly, the French doors the ape had been regarding opened and out walked Alessiya. She’d managed to slip into something less comfortable and after she hung up from her call on the cordless, spat words to her comrades. He gathered it was something like ‘Get him out of here, I’m not ready yet’ because the muscle bound oafs ma
nhandled him back into the bathroom and locked the door. Bronte lay there wondering what it said about people who had locks installed on internal doors which could be locked from the outside.
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It was now more than two hours since Bronte’s appointment with Alessiya, but still Zhana hadn’t heard a word. The damn clock on the wall had been barely noticed in all the months she had worked in the shop, but that afternoon she found herself looking at it every five seconds. She was sure he would contact her promptly with information about his venture to the agency, ‘though from past experience, his silence didn’t seem out of character.
Still, it was disturbing he hadn’t called and odd that his phone was switched off. She couldn’t imagine why or what could have gone wrong. All that was required was the stop at the agency, collect the money and leave. Was he off spending his loot? Or maybe he was so disappointed with her words the night before he’d decided to get drunk? Was he deliberately acting Mister Cool so she would fret and call him first? Yes, that seemed to be the likely answer. After all she was fretting, so if it was the reason for his silence, it was working.
She attended a customer who’d tried on about a dozen blouses before settling for the first one. Zhana kept telling her the first looked great, more in an effort to get her out of the shop. She tried to hurry the payment procedure as fast as she could and offered no conversation. She wanted to phone Bronte again. That’s all she was interested in. That’s all she could think about.
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Meanwhile, Bronte lay solemn and beaten on the floor and by more than just the thugs during the scuffle. He’d done a good job beating himself up for walking into this situation and even going to Russia in the first place. Having no backup, no phone, no weapon and no realistic defence, things were undeniably worse than he had bargained for. Why didn’t he listen to mum? He was completely at the mercy of his captors and believed he was almost certainly doomed. No one, only Zhana knew he was there, and she could be made to keep quiet. That would be easy. Her beloved son Alex would represent great bargaining power if it came to it. Meanwhile Bronte had no one, so they could bash or shoot him, drive his body to the mountains and bury him in six feet of snow and who would know? Even Rita wouldn’t know. Alessiya feared she’d talk too readily if prodded, so told her in no uncertain terms to stay away. It would take weeks or months, years even, before authorities from Australia traced his whereabouts. He lay motionless on the cold tile floor, empathising with clubbed baby seals.
Kill Cupid: Internet dating just got dangerous Page 16
