‘I’m not moving another centimetre… so come on, just hurry up and get it over with you drunken bastard.’ The darkness of the night sky was so oppressive that Viktor could have already had the gun positioned 20 millimetres from Bronte’s head and he wouldn’t have seen it. Suddenly Viktor laughed loudly and with it, leaned forward and hugged Bronte with what felt like genuine affection.
‘Oh man, I was not going to kill you - that was never the idea… not at all. You really believed we wanted to kill you? Ha! We were only messing with you.’
‘Give me a break Viktor…’
‘We just wanted to test your mettle, see what you were made of… see if you had balls, and hey, Kangaroo has balls!’ Bronte was speechless. And he couldn’t see Viktor’s face to just sock him. Besides, he still had a gun.
‘Most guys go to pieces when you pull that one, you know beg and plead and all that grovelling shit. But not you… you are cool Bronte; Class, all Class…
‘Viktor get real… you can’t be serious?’
‘We’re out here to get more vodka, that’s all… but hey, it was really funny seeing you sitting on your ass back there, stuck on that fence.’ Viktor was still laughing when they arrived back at the cottage with the vodka procured from people farther down the road. Sasha laughed loudly,
‘Kangaroo, good joke eh? You agree? We had you going didn’t we? Come, let us drink.’
‘Piss off Sasha… give me the key.’ Dirty, sore, cut and bruised, Bronte went to bed, his beloved watch still on his wrist.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Somewhere in another place, a man sat with head in hands, distraught. He could not feel any lower; impossible that he could sink to any greater depth of depression and isolation than he now was. His head was already dissolving into his palms, his heart descending by the second into the pit of his stomach, his thinking into the gutter. On another day he might find the strength to walk in front of a train or jump from a bridge into the Rhein but right now, Willy could not even find the strength to get up from his computer.
His breathing was that of a drowning man. He found himself holding his breath then gulping for air. He was awash with the hollow feelings and turbulent emotions of frustration, anger, hurt and self pity, known only by those who have tasted betrayal. His universe had collapsed on him in one conglomeration of a moment. Now, burdened with the weight of his world swept from under his feet, he felt quadriplegic. It was that indescribable, horrible emptiness that only those cheated by their most trusted companion can know. As if sick in pregnancy with the offspring of deception, he considered throwing up. He was quite simply a broken, shattered wreck of the individual he had been an hour before reading the letter still open on his screen.
Dear Willy. This is an anonymous friend of your fiancée, Zhana Lycherovna. Forgive I write to you, we do not know each other, although I know all about you from Zhana. You should think carefully before you commit to marriage with her. She has other men behind your back. Right now she entertains an Australian man. He stays at her house. Please do not be upset with me, I only think for the best and she should be stopped. It is not right that she does this to you. Good luck.
Eventually he managed to extract his head from his hands. Sitting motionless his mind paced the floor incessantly, searching for the best way to shift from this bruised reaction state to one of constructive action. He picked up his phone, knowing he had no reasonable alternative other than to have it out with Zhana. Had he been so wrong about her? He really believed their relationship was true and honest. Now the contents of this letter seemed out of character. He believed she was not a good liar so he would ask her straight up if the Aussie was with her. He’d know from her reaction and tone on the phone. He pulled up her number then glanced at the time. It was 12:40am in Germany and too late to call. Already 2:40 in Russia, she would be asleep – but with him, the Australian bastard!! Damn, if this was true he had to know, had to catch the little bitch out. He pressed dial and waited. ‘The mobile you are trying to call is either switched off or out of radio range’. He hung up stunned, empty and angry. That never happened. Her phone was always on, even at work. She was with him and had turned it off. Bitch, damn bitch!
---------- * * --------------------- * * * ------------------------ * * ----------
Not much was spoken between Sasha and Bronte during the course of the three and a half hour drive back to Krasnodar. Sasha did his best to pretend all was as it had been driving there. It wasn’t, not as far as Bronte was concerned. He couldn’t wait to see the tail end of the Audi and Sasha. Where Bronte came from, only boys played with guns, and when they did, they usually wore headdress with feathers, hero costumes or gunslinger belts. And the guns were made of plastic. When they went bang, it was because the assailant made the noise with his mouth or the powder cap went off. Sasha and Viktor hadn’t acted out any of these familiar scenarios while playing with him and from what he could see, the weapon wasn’t plastic. Nor were the men under the age of ten.
He tempered his disfavour for the two, Sasha in particular with the certainty that the outcome of the game had resulted in winning their respect and at least terminated the Kangaroo nomenclature. More important, Viktor - who’d stayed up all night drinking after Sasha had fallen asleep on the couch - came looking for him early the next morning, cutting a slightly tragic figure. When he approached asking could they speak privately, Viktor’s eyes said he could have been crying - or crying drunk, they were so red. Whatever, he needed the sunglasses Bronte had given him. They sat in the morning sun by the partially frozen river, Viktor perched on a rock outcrop a metre or two from shore.
‘I hope you can forgive me for last night… I had too much vodka. Today… well I am not proud of my actions toward you.’
‘Yeah, well you both did a pretty convincing job of it. I really wasn’t sure what you had planned… A gun at the head and feigning a gang style execution is hardly the way to gauge a man’s mettle… at least not where I come from.’
‘And not where I come from either. I should have had nothing to do with it and known better… I never thought about injuring you, honest. I never wish to harm anyone. God knows… I’m sorry Bronte.’ He noticed a tear break and run a twisted course through the stubble on his face.
‘Hey, it’s okay Viktor… I understand you had a lot to drink, too much in fact… but I’m okay… really.’
‘No it’s more than that Bronte… and now, I swear I will never do such stupid things again… I deserved to be smacked in the mouth… it’s honourable you didn’t…’
‘I think you’re forgetting you had a gun…besides, I’d have probably missed. I couldn’t see shit out there’ Bronte laughed. The miserable Russian looked up from playing with a stick.
“I swore myself an oath once that’ I’d never point a gun at anyone again… okay it was in jest… but I still did.’
‘Seriously Viktor its okay, I accept your apology and frankly, I’m glad I’m still here and able to do that! I had no bloody idea where you were leading me in the dark out there. But what do you mean by again? This sort of pantomime was common?’
‘I served with the Russian army in Chechnya for five years as a sniper. It was terrible… I shot more than fifty men - and some women. In the end I was discharged… I couldn’t rest from the nightmares… I left the army…’
Unlike Viktor there was absolutely no need for remorse or apology as far as Sasha was concerned. And the only reason he hadn’t punched Sasha in the mouth had been his large frame and his FSB badge. Bronte knew it was not in his best interests to get offside with a member of the Heavy Boys’ Club, a strapping lad quick to play with his weapon. Besides, he might come in handy again, the five hundred in his pocket a decent reminder he’d come in handy already.
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It is common knowledge to all inhabitants of earth, excluding females, that man has only two basic causes for stress throughout his life.
These are women and money. The two are inextricably linked as the prime motivators of the male species. It matters not whether single or married, the root cause remains the same. If a man has woman problems, he can not think about making money. If he has money problems, he can not think about being with his woman. Now, Willy had woman problems, and he could not think about getting to work on time, getting on with his roster and what it would entail to get the jobs done. It was impossible to think about his daily source of income which was not ideal, considering he was on call in the morning, Sunday at 8am. He might manage to get through his day on a degree of auto pilot, but he was sure he’d do a mediocre job at the installations or repairs he’d encounter. It would be too hard to disguise that he felt suicidal or that his world was about finished. He had been thoroughly convinced Zhana was genuine and sincere, although he was the first to admit - at least to himself - that she’d never told him she loved him. His head told him that was just Zhana and that it was quite acceptable after actually spending only one week together. But now his guts argued another case entirely.
All the warnings and third hand horror stories about misleading and mismatched foreign marriages haunted him since that email. He desperately wanted to believe that the letter was a hoax or a set up or even a practical joke, but its nature and content were altogether too sinister to genuinely consider those possibilities. Unless Zhana had a damned good excuse or rather explanation for this one, he would jump a plane and go shove those rings where the sun didn’t shine – and that wasn’t a hard place to find in Russia. He was considering doing that anyway just to have it out with her. But that would mean taking time off work which would require telling at least Lauren at the office and then the cat would be out of the bag. And besides the embarrassment of it all, he really couldn’t afford the ticket after blowing his savings on Zhana’s bloody ring!
At this phase of his life and amid so many warnings from family, he could not even consider losing face and looking the sucker he would if everything fell over now. That was when he decided to bite the bullet and call in sick for work. And to hell with the cost! He called the airline and booked a flight to return the following day. Then he called Zhana’s landlords, the old couple who lived adjacent. He wasn’t able to ask or comprehend anything they said, but he knew they understood her name repeated often enough and that, as he guessed, got her to the phone.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Bronte waved goodbye to the back of the Audi and walked inside.
‘Hi, Tanya…. What a surprise! How are you? Where’s Zhana?’
‘Hello Bronte, I am fine thank you, how are you? Did you have a good time? You liked the mountains?’
‘Let’s just say I’m sure the mountains are very spectacular, though it was a little hazy, kind of blurry while I was looking at them… I couldn’t see them so clearly… Why you sitting here all sad and alone? …where’s Zhana, I thought she had today off work?’
‘Oh Bronte, I don’t know where to start or how to tell you.’ Her enormous green eyes were moist. She looked ready to burst into tears.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Willy is raging mad… he woke Zhana and me this morning. He called the old people next door and… Zhana had told him only call them in an emergency. God, they came in and woke us… it was very early, about 6.30. He knows about you and… thinks Zhana is sleeping with you.’ She finished speaking and lowered her huge eyes as though embarrassed to have said what she did.
‘Huh? Run that by me again? He knows about me and thinks I sleep with Zhana? How on earth did he find out about me? Zhana was never going to tell him, I thought.’
‘I’m not clear on that, she’s not clear on it… we don’t know! Zhana went crazy after he said he got an email telling him you were here and on with her…’
‘An email?’
‘At first she blamed Alessiya, then she blamed you, then me – really, me – I don’t even know how to operate a computer and finally she blamed Sasha.’ With those huge green eyes, she was the most amazing true to life cartoon girl imaginable.
‘Me? She blamed me? And Sasha… that’s ridiculous, why blame him? He’s been with me all weekend, unfortunately.’
‘God I don’t know… she thinks he’s in the best position to know about everything, what with his job at the FSB and all. He could find out about Willy, and she says he was always making passes at her and trying to feel her… her buttocks.’
‘I see… but I seriously doubt it. This has to be Alessiya’s handiwork. Anyway, where is Zhana? Gone to buy a sawn-off or slit her wrists?’ Tanya looked puzzled.
‘Never mind…’
‘She stormed out of here really upset… said she was going for a long walk.’
‘Have you spoken with her since?’
‘God knows I’ve tried… at least five times the last couple of hours but she won’t answer her phone… I’ve never seen her so upset.’ Retrieving his phone from his jacket, Bronte switched it on and pulled up her number.
‘She won’t recognize this… my Australian service… I use roaming. This will get… Hi, how are you Zhana?’ They spoke for less than forty seconds and while putting the phone back in his jacket Bronte said, ‘She’s in the park down near the river and reckoned you know where she’ll be. She’s been talking with Willy and… well she still sounds upset.’
‘Tell me about it…’
‘Come on then Tanya… let’s go… may as well go now…’
‘No you go… I’ll wait here thanks… I don’t want to get involved. Tell the driver to take you to the park at the river. He’ll understand well enough.’ Bronte jumped to his feet,
‘Its ten minutes away, right?’
‘Yes, about ten minutes.’
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It wasn’t difficult to notice Zhana, sitting on the turret of an M-60 tank painted a faded shade of army khaki, though it was difficult to locate her in the first place. She’d taken a marshutka or mini bus across the other side of town to a large park and playground near the river. It was relatively unkempt, with pathways winding randomly through native vegetation doing its best to conceal countless thousands of tons of disused military hardware. In any western country, the entire place would be a civil liberty battlefield. Jagged, rusting edges of steel, shaky steps and rotting ladders with non existent guard rails were a parent’s nightmare. Yet it was immediately evident the Russian kids would be lost in here for days. Give them a plastic helmet, a toy AK and a few mates and the question of what to do for the entire school holidays would be solved. A young crew had already captured the completely intact Soviet W class submarine and the self appointed captain soon had them clambering through the rusting hull to man the forward torpedo tubes.
This may have been a fair park to slip and cut your wrists, but it was hardly the place for Zhana to find a sawn off shotgun. However if she was looking to move on Alessiya with some heavy artillery, a tank of any particular size, a mobile missile carrier complete with disarmed scud or simply a multiple rocket launcher, she was certainly in the right place. Bronte approached her from the rear of the tank. She faced forward straddling the gun turret, swinging her legs. It appeared the antics of children were catching in this graveyard for machines of war. He walked around in front and stood head-high facing the sealed end of the large bore gun.
‘Are you waiting to ride a rocket out of here?’ he said.
‘Ha, very funny. Are you waiting to have your head blown off?’
‘You could say I’ve been doing that these last few days – in more ways than just vodka.’
‘You could say I wanted to do that to myself… and Alessiya, Rita, Sasha … even you!’
‘Mmm, I must say I share your sentiments about those three… but me? That’s ridiculous, and besides, aren’t you forgetting about Tanya?’
‘I’m sorry… I was rude to Tanya. I don’t blame her for not coming here…’ Zhana added apologetically.
>
‘Seriously, it’s not me or even Sasha you should aim the tank at but Alessiya and Rita and there’s no reason to doubt that.’ She looked at him blankly. ‘So how’s Willy? You patched things up?’
‘Ha! I wish… he’s very upset. He thinks you and I are having it off. I explained and said you would be happy to call him and tell him the truth.’ She paused… ‘But that didn’t even help. I’m sure he didn’t believe me…’ He helped Zhana down and they began strolling along the path to the river.
‘This has been the most terrible morning of these last few horrible days for me. Just when I thought things were settling down, today, everything blew up in my face. I wanted to kill everyone who’d made it happen, including you.’
‘Is that why you came to this place?’ To their right, some kids in a Soviet jeep narrowly escaped an exploding shell as they raced away from enemy gunfire. Judging by their movements throwing themselves about in the stationary thing, the enemy assault was heavy.
‘I think someone you and I know whose name starts with the letter ‘A’ is out to make life tough for you’ Bronte said pretending to duck shrapnel as they passed the kids.
‘I’ve probably lost Willy thanks to that bitch and this mess. I thought I would finish up with no Willy… and no you. I understand that I have been confused and not warm towards you and… I’m really sorry Bronte.’ He tried to interrupt but she ignored him and continued.
‘But I realized today that I do have a choice. It would be possible now for me to gently place Willy to rest and be with you. I mean, it’s in the open now about you and me… God, the hurtful and harsh words that passed this morning between me and Willy… it was terrible and it’s opened a door now.’
‘Or a can of worms… so what are you saying Zhana?’
‘I’m saying that before he got that letter from Alessiya… or whoever it was, I could never have wished to upset him or hurt him by breaking off our engagement. Now though, he is already hurt and upset, so the possibility has crossed my mind.’ She paused again, ‘And I’d like to know your thoughts, what you feel about everything… and me now.’
Kill Cupid: Internet dating just got dangerous Page 23
