The door opened again and it was the same routine from King Kong. First, the growling “get up”, then the grab and throw into the chair. This time he anticipated what was coming and managed to save his aching shoulder from further aggravation. The French doors remained shut and Alessiya was not to be seen, but he could hear her on the phone. He shuddered when he saw there was now gaffer tape and rope on the table. With no sign of guitars or rigging, it was obvious the apes weren’t roadies or truckies about to leave for work and for a moment he started to panic. He was half way down the line for sure and he’d better do something fast.
He, Zhana and Katya had completely underestimated what Alessiya was capable of. The bitch was crazy, wicked even. If he remained at the mercy of her whims and fancy, God knows what roadside pit he’d finish up in. His mind was racing, his heart pounding and his body hot flushing in a tide of sweat as he searched for an idea that’d get him out of the trap he’d fallen in. It was difficult but despite his head thumping savagely he forced himself to think clearly. His life might depend on it. The doors opened and Alessiya appeared, still in conversation on the cordless. She looked directly at Bronte and he guessed the conversation was about him. Her stare had the cold disregard of a nuisance pile of rubbish in the middle of her living room. By the time she closed the doors and disappeared back into her office, he was desperate to find something - anything that might help get him out of there and save his bacon.
He kept thinking of his mobile lying on the coffee table. He needed to get it and turned back on. Still hazy with headache, he recalled it flying to pieces when it launched across the room during the scuffle. There was also a glimmer of hope they’d left it on after they’d reassembled it. He had no idea of the time but if enough time had elapsed, Zhana would call and he could alarm her. In a casual and disarming movement he tried getting up to snatch the phone, but before he barely got his backside off the chair, the hand of King Kong restrained him. Darts of pain roared through his shoulder, each stab a reminder he was closer and closer to the winter of his dilemma. When he tried asking for his phone, the two men shook heads in a gesture of no. He regarded the open balcony doors, sizing up where a sudden dash for them might get him. But the thought of the six metre drop onto the pavement with his mashed shoulder eliminated that idea. And when the hands of King Kong had restrained his attempt to get his phone, he realised he wouldn’t even make it out of the chair. Besides, even if he managed the escape, the leap would probably result in smashed limbs and he’d be recaptured broken and bleeding below. Then it occurred to him. The solution had been sitting there all the while in his bag. He needed to get his bag sitting on the sofa near Mister Beanie.
‘I just need to get my…’ the hand of King Kong shoved him straight back into the seat when he reached out to try and take it.
‘Please, I only want my bag… over there… on the couch.’ They said nothing, only stared at each other while one continued scratching at his beanie.
‘My bag please, I only want to get my bag…. bag… bag-gage… my bag-gage.’ The baby talk worked and the gorilla signalled Mr Beanie to throw over the bag. They’d already checked it over. Bronte unzipped it and hastily pulled out his jacket, unfolded it then held it up for them both to see.
‘Police… Look! I am police.’ Pointing at the crest on the front pocket,
‘Who do you think you mess with here?’ The two thugs just stared at each other aghast.
‘You think you are safe? You think I can do nothing? I can tell you, it’s Alessiya who knows nothing… nothing at all about me. I am here as an undercover agent with Interpol to find bad police in Krasnodar. Let me go now or you will have police all over this place - and your asses. They know every move I make… through my mobile telephone… even if it is not switched on. They can track me right here to this apartment. And if I don’t check in tonight, they’ll come here asking a lot of questions.’ Bronte used a lot of hand signals, repetition, sign language and baby talk and they seemed to catch on. Dumbfounded, they exchanged worried looks and began talking to each other sharply and quickly.
This might just work Bronte thought though there was still no sign of Alessiya. She hadn’t seen the crest emblazoned on the breast of the black woollen zip jacket. Nor did she realise the subsequent impact that sighting the logo had on her goons. This was a favourite, well-worn jacket given to him years prior by members of the L.A. SWAT team. It had the gold LAPD crest on the front and on the back, embroidered letters also in gold which read “Internal Affairs.” He’d met the team working on a film of the same name in Los Angeles starring Richard Gere and Andy Garcia. Bald King Kong began to remind Bronte of a spectator at the tennis, his gaze moving in rhythm from Bronte to his partner and back to Bronte. Apparently the gorilla said something like, I already told you what happened after you sent him to the bar the other night… I was going to rough him up after he insulted me… but he was waiting for the MP’s…they left together…It makes sense…I believe him… it isn’t worth the risk… this guy could be heavy. I’m out…And with that, Mr Beanie pushed open the doors to Alessiya’s office, marched inside and slammed them behind him.
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Zhana was seriously worried. Finally caving in to her unsettled instincts, she called Bronte. The line was dead. She’d heard nothing from Bronte and it was now three hours since he was due to meet Alessiya. What had happened and why hadn’t he called? Now she had two men she was caring for, except Willy could take care of himself. But in this strange country and without knowledge of the language, she wasn’t so sure about Bronte.
If he was in trouble of some kind she’d dumped him right in it. And if the current trend of events in the relationship was a guide to go by, he was probably up to his neck in trouble. She dialled his number again and got the same answer from the recorded message. ‘The mobile you are calling is either switched off or out of radio range.’ She tried to drag her mind away from imagining the worst by telling herself that his battery was flat. Yes, his battery is flat. Little did she know, his battery was indeed flat but not the one in his mobile phone. Yet no amount of reasoning could calm her rattled sense. She didn’t know why, but something didn’t feel right.
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Of course Bronte couldn’t understand the ensuing discourse between Mr Beanie and the harlot but he could certainly hear it. From the moment the beanie had stormed in there he started shouting. If Alessiya had still been on the phone, she wasn’t now because she was firing phrases back at him and as she did, the man got louder and louder until he had the final say. Then the doors burst open and out he marched with Alessiya in rapid tow.
Passing the coffee table he took Bronte’s mobile and wallet and handed them to him. Then, with a jerk of his head motioning toward the door, said, ‘Go... You… please go.’ Bronte collected his things and as if suddenly mindful of his discomfort, the bald ape lumbered to the hallway and opened the door. Standing in the exit, Bronte had to almost push past him to get out. As he struggled through Alessiya added her farewell greeting.
‘You think you are smart but you know nothing. Anyway I don’t care if you are police… go to the police all you want. This is Russia and it was lucky my friends were nearby… they were witness to your assault… and they saw you tried to rape me. But I’m telling you… whatever you do is a waste of time. They will not help you… here, the mafia is the police. Now run along home like a good little boy… before you get killed, you foreign fool.’
Bronte ignored her concerned words of caution and staggered off down the stairs not bothering to look back.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
On the street, he thanked his lucky stars he escaped. He shuddered to think how close he may have been to becoming a missing person file back home: The mysterious disappearance of the runaway son who’d probably eloped with a Russian girl and for reasons unknown to lov
ed ones, never returned home or contacted family again. Licking his wounds in the afternoon warm, Bronte saw the two ape partners barely look at him as they sped past, slunk low in their battleship Volga. It was farcical that they should suddenly appear concerned with concealing their identities.
Bronte’s hands hurt, his knuckles felt smashed, his forehead stung, his back ached, his shoulder had been wrenched, his neck had been twisted and his head throbbed from the egg adorning his skull. He had cuts, scrapes, scratches and bruises from head to hands. Sunglasses aside, he was sure he looked like something a cat straight out of the African savannas dragged in. He turned his phone on and called her number,
‘Hi Zhana.’
‘Bronte! I’ve been so worried about you, why didn’t you call me? You’ve been gone more than 3 hours.’
‘I was tied up at Alessiya’s agency. She had a couple of thugs drop by who wanted very much to convince me Russia was not my home… and I should leave without the money. I got worked over.’
‘They what? Say that again…’
‘She had some mafia mugs there… I got bashed…’ There was momentary silence, then,
‘No no… oh my dear…’ there was a lengthy silence. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Rather shaken, but not too stirred’ he replied. ‘I’ll be okay.’
‘I am so sorry Bronte… I feel sick. You didn’t get your money?’ Zhana’s voice was shaking as she spoke. Bronte detected sniffles.
‘No! Of course not! That was a joke! She didn’t pay. She had no intention of paying. She wanted to screw me for my trouble.’
‘Bitch….’ She trailed off into silence again. ‘And what about you? Do you need a doctor?’ Zhana crying was now audible.
‘I’m okay… really Zhana, just sore and the worse for wear and… well I’m lucky to have got out of there.’
‘I am so very sorry Bronte… this is a nightmare,’ she said sounding distressed.
‘It’s okay…’ Bronte didn’t like hearing girls cry. ‘Really, it’s okay…’
‘Horrible bloody bitch… I feel so terrible… I am responsible. I’m just glad you are ok…. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you’d been hurt. You know the Amphitheatre right, it’s near your place? Please, go to the Amphitheatre, can you do that? I will call you in five minutes.’ She hung up, just like that.
Bronte began dragging himself to the stated location. He was approaching the entrance when Zhana rang as promised.
‘Where are you? Can you see the flag pole in front of the movie theatre? Please go there and wait. I called my friend for help and she will meet you there. Her name is Tanya and don’t worry, she is a very good girl and will help you.’ Without pausing, she spoke like she was on hyper-drive. ‘I’ll join you as soon as I can but for now, go to the flagpole. Okay?’
He promptly reached the landmark but there wasn’t anyone within fifty meters of it. A café with an approximate view of the pole sat at the edge of the woods. Bronte staggered in and took a seat in a strategic place. There was only one other couple there and they eyed him cautiously as he laboured past. He ordered a beer and bought a packet of smokes and when he caught his battered reflection in the window, he wanted to curl up and sleep until the nightmare ended. He wished he would wake from this dream at home, with his animals grazing peacefully on the carpet beside him. Ten minutes passed, then twenty minutes and still no one waited at the flagpole. After two beers he felt more stiff and sore by the minute and it got to where he had been peering out at the pole so frequently, the other couple got up and left. He was sure they’d gone for fear gangsters who were probably after this curious fugitive would finish him off there in the restaurant. Perhaps they feared they’d get hit in the crossfire.
He wandered outside for another look and as he crested the last stair to the level of the pole, she emerged. She’d been waiting on the dark side of the giant alloy toothpick.
‘Tanya?’
‘Bronte?’ Lifting her large sunglasses as she spoke, she looked like Astro Boy’s sister. Tanya had the biggest set of green eyes this side - the human side - of Japanese anime. Her rich brunette bob cut glistened in the afternoon sun and made perfect parentheses around a smile that filled her entire face. It struck Bronte that her bright olive green skirt with contrasting orange print top suited her eyes and hair perfectly. Petite and slim, Tanya wouldn’t know how to spell obesity. After showing her to his place in the café, she explained they had to wait for Zhana’s call, regardless of the fact she did not know why.
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If Zhana had been questioning the absurd string of events in her life, only blocks away, her adversary was a seething, raging mess of emotions, also thanks to this Australian’s emergence on her scene. Alessiya had never had such drama and problems from any client and now, even her attempts at reconciliation via sexual advances had been rejected. That had certainly never happened before and this was probably eating at her the most. She was proud, almost narcissistic and prior to that episode, had never known failure when she really turned it on. He may as well have outright slapped her in the face as far as she was concerned. She thought Zhana’s life was now rosy, full of passion and hard fought romance. But if Alessiya had known the facts, the Australian’s arrival in Krasnodar had created a dilemma of similar proportions for Zhana.
As she whisked along on her way to Tanya and Bronte, Zhana considered that all remaining sensible and uncomplicated things about her life could be placed in a frame no larger than the greeting card size view of blue skies visible through the car window. While Alessiya was trying to solve getting busted for swindling money from Bronte, Zhana needed to solve the strong feelings she still harboured for him while she had a fiancé. It was almost ironic that they both shared entirely different emotions and dilemmas stemming from the same situation with the same foreigner.
As Alessiya straightened her rather upside down looking apartment in an attempt to resume business as usual, she cursed aloud, again contemplating her actions, the consequences of the last few hours and the ensuing events. She hoped she could still offer payment to shut him up. There could be no other form of recompense now, given he didn’t take her up on the offer of some erotic playtime. Keeping her goons in the background as possible witnesses to attempted rape had flared into a burning urge to exact revenge. She’d planned to keep Bronte detained ‘til dark, then have the goons drive him miles out into the snow in his underwear. He’d have probably frozen to death before reaching any help.
She was also running out of time considering she had to meet number eight of her nineteen boyfriends in Moscow in two days. She grabbed her mobile, determined that the principal culprit in this entire scandal should pay her dues. Dialling Rita’s number and without any niceties snapped,
‘We’ve got a problem. Meet me out the front of the Civic Centre in thirty minutes,’ and without even allowing for a response and devoid of a goodbye, hung up.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Bronte was feeling slightly better thanks to Tanya’s insistence he drink no more beer and instead, vodka. Experienced with the many assets of her national beverage she knew it would have more of a numbing effect. She was right. A few shots later and Tanya took the call from Zhana. When she rang off, Tanya stated,
‘We should wait on the street. She’ll pick us up soon…’
‘She has no car, right?’
‘In someone else’s car… she didn’t mention the driver.’ They got up and made their way to the rendezvous on the street. Bronte was thankful for the help with his luggage.
‘Hello and good to see you again.’ Sasha shook Bronte’s hand and looked him over. Bronte grimaced as the FSB-firm handshake took its toll on his smashed and bruised hand. Go easy on the macho Bronte thought behind locked teeth.
‘Quickly, in the car, we must go’ Zhana ordered. They climbed into the FSB Skoda and Sasha floored it. In less than ten minutes, they arrived at a local pol
ice station. It was large and may have been the head station for the district. It also happened to be the station where Sasha had friends from his days at the academy. Bronte was ushered into a small room and asked to wait alone. There was little of anything in it other than a desk, three chairs and an old 386 desktop computer with a screen that surely dated back to the late 80’s. The mouse looked like a Tonka toy.
Two officers appeared, one a woman with camera supporting a large flash that resembled an overhead halide from a football field. She had the blondest hair with the blackest roots he’d ever seen, prompting him to wonder why most blondes dye their roots dark. Sasha watched from the doorway while each inspected his injuries and took relevant photos. By the time Blondie finished, Bronte was half blind from the solar flair each time she snapped a pic. Still reeling from the squiggles in front of his eyes, it was lucky Sasha instructed Bronte to follow him back up the hall into a larger office. Zhana sat giving a statement to another officer. It was all being taken in hardcopy, the policeman writing furiously. Judging by the computer on his desk, his job would forever require more skill with a Bic than with Microsoft. Bronte wondered about their ability to information share with other police stations and government agencies alike, at least in less time than it would take a carrier pigeon.
Kill Cupid: Internet dating just got dangerous Page 17
