Vassily: Perfect Pain - a Bad Boy Mafia Dark Romance

by Alice May Ball

  As the two men haul my arms up into the manacles, I’m too close to the wall to be able to see the screen. The voice is clear enough, though. “Well, Katya? Do you still have your precious flower intact? Are you still pristine? Is your cherry, as the Americans say, still ripe for popping?”

  When he says, ‘ripe,’ he rolls the ‘r’ and drags it on like a buzz. I’m not going to answer him.

  The manacles are fastened on my wrists. I don’t like the direction this is taking. The hooded man turns a winch and my hands are hauled up.

  “Yes, gentlemen, our Russian doll is a pure, unbroken virgin.” his chuckle chills me, “You wouldn’t think it, would you? Even in the demure sweater and jeans, she doesn’t look like a virgin, does she?”

  A rumble stirs through the crowd in front of the stage.

  “She doesn’t look so much like one here.”

  Heads lean forward. I can’t see what they’re looking at, but it has their attention. They look from the screen to me. And back.

  “Or here, would you say?”

  The light flickers and changes so I guess he’s giving them a picture show.

  “Not here, right?” a low shout goes around the crowd, “She definitely doesn’t look like one here.” An ugly laugh swells. I’m guessing that they’re looking at pictures of me. I have no idea what pictures they are to see. My mind flicks through all the lewd, compromising pictures he could possibly be showing. The reactions from the men in the room make my stomach plunge.

  With a leer in his voice, Maleovich says, “Maybe we should rid her of that troublesome innocence.” An ominous hush falls in the hangar. He waits. Drawing it out.

  Then his voice is quiet and low, “I wonder if any men here would be willing to perform the service for her?”

  A roar explodes from the men, moving like a surging sea now to press closer to the platform.

  I pull on the chains to dig the manacles into my wrists and distract myself. That feels good. Hanging my weight on the chains distracts me and the pain in my wrists and arms masks the animal noise of the crowd.

  Then he says, “I have been thinking about doing the job myself. I’ve been thinking about it for a very long time now.” They quieted down. “But it will have to wait for now. I’ll decide later. For now, we’ll leave her to entertain us by decorating our wall. Our pin-up.”

  I’m practicing deep breathing when he says, “We shall see. Soon enough.”

  Then, like a master manipulator, he tells the room, “Business first. Business before pleasure as always.” His tone changes. “The Manhattan territories that we’re most interested in are divided between the Russians, who we recently decapitated with the Konstantin assassination, the Italians, who we began to strike today when we inflicted damage on the Bonaventura crime family businesses.”

  Now he starts to reel off descriptions of all of the New York crime families. Listing them like a prospectus for the New York Stock Exchange.

  follow the other two vans, out to the middle of the airfield. A huge transporter plane was slowing to a stop. A ramp at the rear is dropping open and that looks to be the destination for the convoy.

  I slip on the driver’s helmet, shades, hood, and jacket and collect all of the weapons I can find in the cab. The busses ahead line up behind the transporter ramp. I jam a rifle butt against the gas pedal and clamber to the back, then rolled out through the back door.

  The bus slams into the other two. It shoves them along the ramp and along, up, into the plane.

  Keeping low I run for the hangar where the bus took Katya.

  Inside are some trucks and two executive jet airplanes. At the far end is a platform. Above that is a large screen. A window above the screen glows and looks like a control room.

  A crowd bunches and presses toward the stage. They’re all wearing the same hoods, shades, and padded black jackets. On the screen is a pair of eyes. It’s a man, talking in Russian. Next to the screen, Katya is manacled. She’s stretched up against the wall. Chains hold her arms up.

  One of the executive jets, the Beechcraft, has its door open and the steps are down. The engines are running, too. I’ll take that one.

  I get up the steps about as fast and stealthily as it’s possible to do. That isn’t very stealthy. But everybody’s watching the stage. Nobody pays any attention. The pilot is alone.

  He looks up with a smile. I jab him with a rabbit punch under the ear. He slumps. I don’t have anything to tie him with and I don’t really want to kill him. He’s probably just been chartered. It’s bad enough that he’s probably going to lose his plane.

  I flew a Beechcraft like this a few times. Only the easy parts, though. I never took off. Or landed. That’s when I remember, the security lock on the washroom that the pilot can operate from outside. That’s where I drag the pilot.

  Sitting in the pilot’s seat, I swing the plane around to face into the hangar. That’s when the hooded and black-clad goons start to notice.

  I point the nose of the plane right at Katya. As the heads of the black-covered beetles start to turn the plane is approaching them fast. They scatter as I lurch the aircraft straight at them. I’m slamming on the brakes straightaway.

  Katya stays so cool. She’s a marvel. The point of the nose stops about twenty feet in front of her. The nose of the plane overhangs the platform by about ten feet. The steps slam against the edge of the stage.

  As I dive out of the door, I grab the fire ax from the back of the cockpit. Two steps down and I jump down onto the stage. Some of the beetles are swarming for the ladder at the far end of the stage.

  Swinging the fire ax, I run straight at Katya. Her eyes are moist and gleaming. She doesn’t flinch as I whack the first of the chains. The first of the beetles are on the stage with weapons drawn. Maleovich’s voice booms over the PA. “Do not shoot the girl. I want her.”

  It takes me three swings to break the other chain and the beetles are nearly here. The heavy manacles are still on her wrist. She puts her hands on my chest. I really want to hold her. But there’s no time. They’re almost on us.

  The ax is the only weapon I’ve got.

  A wave of men in black hoods and shades is nearly on me. They really do look like shiny beetles. Kind of repulsive. I swing the ax wildly. They back away but they’re drawing guns.

  She’s behind me as I back toward the steps of the aircraft. I grab the nearest of the beetles.

  Swinging the ax, I shout to her, “Back into the plane. You’ll have to jump for the steps.”

  I’m watching with more than admiration as she executes a beautiful jump for the steps.

  I follow her in and this time I pull up the steps.

  Hurrying, I duck into the cockpit and slide into the pilot’s seat. I turn the plane. I look over to her. She blinks slow and her eyes gleam. There’s a lot I want to say to her. It’s like a tight swelling in my chest. We haven’t any time. Not now.

  Katya sits calm in the co-pilot’s seat. I wheel the plane around and aim for the hangar door. The jet engines are all the weapons I have at this point. This executive toy won’t have any guns or missile launchers. So, I use as much thrust as I dare.

  Katya says, “I hate that I have feelings for you, boy soldier. I hate it because it makes me afraid. You make me afraid. Nothing else makes me afraid. Only you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “You know what I mean, damnit, I know that you do.”

  I taxi us toward the door of the hangar. The shiny black beetles are on the ball now. Three trucks are moving to block the door off.

  No point making it easy for them. I turn up the thrust and take Katya with me, back into the cabin. A lot of noise starts up outside. I open the emergency exit over the wing. The plane shudders as the nosewheel makes contact with a truck.

  “I’ll go first. Follow me closely.”

  “Count on it, Russian killer.”

  The plane lurches. The wing waves and flaps. I tumble through the hatch and grip onto the ledge of th
e window, so I can wait for Katya. She’s through the hatch. I point down the wing. “It’s a drop.”

  She doesn’t hesitate. She’s smiling as she slides off the wing. “I trained with a circus. Remember?” I thought she’s been kidding. She drops down.

  I slide and jump after her. All the black beetles are busy at the front of the plane. There’s a wrecked truck. A fire is starting. The nose of the Beechcraft is about to slam into the ground. Only trouble is, the doorway at the front of the hangar is the only way I can see out of here.

  I’m trying to remember the layout around the outside of the building. A can’t picture it. Then I remember, there were cars parked by the far back corner. I point Katya that way and run behind her.

  All of the beetles are panicking and none of them see us as we dash past the remaining trucks and the other jet, the Gulfstream.

  We make it to the far corner of the hangar, down a short corridor. There’s a door. Katya yanks it open. Outside in the daylight, a dozen or so of the beetles are waiting. A chilling laugh comes from behind us I turn to see Kursk, grinning. His eyes are like gimlets.

  “Vassily. I’m glad you’re here to join us. I know that Maleovich will be especially pleased to see you, too.”

  We’re grabbed by the beetles. They jostle us back inside. The beetles open a door in the wall opposite and shove me through, with Katya behind. Then they rush us up a steep, narrow flight of metal steps. Katya stumbles as she’s shoved. Her manacles jangle.

  At the top, we’re bundled into a crowded room. Low light comes mainly from screens. Computers and flickering lights, screens and communications equipment line the walls. More beetles sit hunched over keyboards. One is saying, “Transport two and four, visual contact over Greenland.” and another says, “Transport three, over Quebec. Two hours ten minutes out.”

  The window in the long wall looks out over the hangar. It’s the window we saw above the stage.

  A screen at the end of the room is black but for a slit of light in the center with two coal-black eyes. They crinkle at the sides.

  Over the chatter and the clatter of keyboards, Maleovich says, “Welcome to our operations room.” Below the screen is a small black camera lens.

  Katya is hustled past me, nearer to the screen.

  Her face is drained and the sight of her makes my heart ache.

  “Katya. The Russian doll. It is such a great pleasure to have you here. Especially today. This is going to be such a great day.”

  “And you, Vassily. By the end of today, all of the little crime empires that you know will be mine. The men here, they’re only the advance guard. Insurgents sent to prepare the ground. My general, Kursk, commands a whole army. They are flying in at this moment. Within hours they will land, ready to take charge of the whole network of clubs and cat-houses, drug-dealers, loan-sharks, card floaters, identity thieves. All of the business in Manhattan and the five boroughs. By the end of today, all of it will be mine.” His laugh is not pretty. “Vovo’s was just a toe in the water. You would have been in place to take over running the club if things went differently. I was looking forward to having you work for us.”

  I tell him, “That was Konstantin’s idea, too. For me to run Vovo’s for him. I might have done it for him. I would never do it for you, though.”

  “You know nothing about me, Vassily.”

  “I know enough to know that I wouldn’t work for you.”

  “Ah, yes. The famous ethical gangster. So, I suppose you were never really cut out to be a team player in the organized crime business.”

  “If you think that ‘organized crime’ in the USA is teams of players getting in line, following orders, and pulling together, then you have some horrible shocks on the way. American organized crime is the best in the world, but it’s ‘organized’ in the same the way as military intelligence is intelligent.”

  “Well, it will be organized soon enough. Just think how much better everything will be when it’s run properly.”

  His voice lowers. “But you, you, my dear matryoshka, it was such an unbelievable bonus for me when Kursk discovered you in that shabby bar. I can’t tell you how thrilled I was to see your picture. Seeing you there was confirmation for me that this is my destiny. It is all ready and waiting for me. And you will soon be here with me. I shall open all of the dolls and take them out, one by one. I am so looking forward to our meeting again in the flesh.”

  She’s by the window and I can’t take the fear and sadness that she’s hiding in her face. I smash the side of my fist into the beetle behind me on my right. He goes down. He’ll only be out of action for a few moments and I’ve got everyone’s attention.

  I piledrive my left fist up into the jaw of the beetle on my left. While his head is back, I jab his solar plexus with my right. He buckles forward. I take his gun and step behind him. My left arm goes around his back and I pull him up in front of me.

  All the guns in the room are leveling up to me. One beetle steps out in front of me. He fires into the beetle I’m using as a shield. Thank heaven for Kevlar. I shoot the gunman. The beetles on the far side of the room rise from their chairs and I shoot them, rapid fire.

  The beetle on the floor to my right is still writhing and he has his gun on me. All the others do, too now.

  “Ha,” Maleovich taunts from the safety of his video link. “See how hopelessly outnumbered you are?”

  Katya smashes her manacle into the window and it shatters. She pulls a shard of glass and hurls it at the beetle on the ground. The long triangle of glass sticks in his forearm. I can’t believe she made that throw. She’s already sending a second shard into the beetle’s neck.

  “Circus skills,” she smiles. There’s a beetle with a gun out behind her. Shooting him is an awful risk but I have to take it.

  My aim is good, and I get him between the eyes. She takes the gun from him as he falls. I run to Katya’s side, even though the door is the other way.

  A beetle opens the door and shouts down the stairs. “General Kursk!” I shove him through the door to pitch down the steps. then I shut the door and move back beside Katya.

  “What’s going on?” Maleovich is shouting. “Stop them!” The beetles aren’t so keen now, though. The few that are still fit are edging toward the door. Hesitating. I shoot the two nearest and that’s enough to make the rest of them burst out and run down the steps.

  Turning to the camera, I tell Maleovich, “If the rest of Kursk’s army is like them, you’re in for a miserable afternoon.”

  I shoot the camera and the screen for good measure. Katya and I collect as many weapons as we can. The beetles may not be quite as dumb as they seem. Our only way out is through the narrow door and back down the long flight of steps.

  We have to get out or we’re trapped, but we’d be easy targets from the top of the steps and all the way down. We would have no chance at all. I look around at the beetles on the floor for grenades of explosives. No such luck.

  Kurk’s voice comes over the loudspeakers in the room.

  “Maleovich still wants you alive,” and he laughs. “For a while he does, at least. Don’t worry too much about the damage in the control room. We can guide the transport planes in easily enough. If you come out unarmed with your hands up, you’ll be safe.” I look at Katya. Her head shakes and her eyes gleam. Kursk shouts, “I’ll give you one minute.”

  I look around the room. “These computers, all this equipment, it’s to guide the planes in with Kursk’s army.”

  “You’re right,” she reaches around the back of the nearest machine and yanks out its plug.