American Savage

by Matt Whyman

  Judging by the way both men appeared to hold their breath for her to respond, Amanda realised that a plan was underway here. The pair had hinted at it on their last visit. Now, Lev had spelled it out.

  ‘I don’t do big business,’ she told him. ‘This is a local enterprise. We serve the local community and hope to enlighten others. That’s as far as it goes.’

  Lev listened to her reasoning with his eyes crinkled at the corners. A moment later, he beamed and nodded like a father hearing out a small child’s outlook on life. Then Amanda finished, and tightened her gaze. Slowly, as he realised that she wasn’t going to let up, Lev’s expression faded.

  ‘It wasn’t meant as a suggestion,’ he mumbled, and turned anxiously to his associate. Amanda found Kiril was already looking directly at her.

  ‘We’re just the messengers here,’ he told her. ‘It’s in all our interests if we go back with positive news. You should at least talk it over with Titus. No doubt he’ll see sense.’

  Amanda didn’t respond for a moment. First, she consulted the floor. Then she began to chuckle to herself.

  ‘Do you want to know what I think?’ she asked finally, facing up to them both once more. ‘I think your boss man doesn’t exist. You’ve cooked up this guy with the teeth to scare us into doing your dirty work.’

  ‘Nikolai Zolotov is very real,’ said Kiril darkly. ‘And very powerful.’

  ‘Well, he can eat my falafels,’ Amanda declared, sounding increasingly defiant. She gestured towards the door. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a café to close for the evening.’

  28

  Sitting on the beach, watching his youngest daughter build a castle with a bucket, Titus was in a reflective mood. He had come here to give Angelica some space. Ever since he’d returned empty-handed from his workout with Joaquín, she had been uncomfortably brittle with him.

  ‘That’s beautiful,’ he told Katya, as she patted the turrets flat on her castle. ‘Who lives there?’

  The little girl turned to face him, pushing back her floppy-brimmed sunhat that her mother insisted she put on.

  ‘Vegetarians,’ she told him, before turning without warning and smashing the structure with a single sideswipe. ‘And the vegans!’ she added with a kick.

  Titus tried hard not to look taken aback. He understood the sentiment, naturally, despite his involvement with a meat-free café, but that was business and this was his precious little angel. While Ivan appeared to be coping much better with the difference between right and wrong since their arrival in Florida, he was reluctant to go through it all again with little Kat.

  ‘Honey pie,’ he said, climbing to his feet, ‘it’s important that we show respect for everyone. Look at Amanda. She feasts with us but still has her own beliefs.’

  Katya frowned, clutching her plastic spade like a pitchfork now.

  ‘Why can’t we all just eat the same thing?’ she asked.

  Titus smiled to himself. Little Kat really was pure sunshine. The last thing he wanted to do was see shadows creep into her innocent mind.

  ‘How about an ice cream?’ he suggested, changing the subject. He offered to hold her hand. ‘Everyone likes ice cream.’

  Titus knew she wouldn’t be able to resist. Sure enough, Katya reached out for her father, trampling over the remains of her sandcastle as she went. They had come to a popular stretch of the coastline just off the Ocean Trail Way. A stiff offshore breeze kept the heat at bay, though Titus could feel his bald dome beginning to burn. So long as his daughter was protected, however, nothing else really mattered. Heading for a small parade of beachfront stores and kiosks, he found himself reflecting on all the efforts he had made through the years to support his family and keep them united. In many ways, he had simply taken the baton from his old father and run all the way here with it. Only now – ever since the thing with Joaquín – things felt different. For the first time ever, he had set out to bring back meat for a feast, only to return home with an excuse.

  ‘Does cookies and cream taste nice?’ asked Katya, as they left the sand for the boardwalk and crossed towards the kiosk.

  ‘It tastes great!’ Titus stopped before the serving hatch and cupped his brow against the sun to scour the flavours. ‘Do you know what I like on a hot day?’

  ‘Vanilla?’

  ‘Lemon sorbet. It’s my favourite.’

  Katya pulled a face, which made Titus laugh.

  ‘OK,’ she said, peering at the board again. ‘Let me see.’

  ‘You can have anything you like,’ said Titus, still clasping her hand. When she didn’t answer, he looked down at her. ‘Which one is it, honey pie?’

  ‘Maybe we need to ask.’ Katya switched her attention from the list to the man in the striped apron and hat awaiting their order. ‘Sir, do you have human flavour? I’d like two scoops, please.’

  Immediately Titus steered his daughter back a step and took her place.

  ‘She’s joking,’ he said, and forced a chuckle. ‘We’ll take two cookies and cream.’

  Katya looked mystified when Titus turned his back on the man and glared at her. Even so, he took responsibility for the situation. Waiting for his order, Titus resolved that there would be no more disappointment in his family. Everyone was clearly hungry for a feast, from his elderly father to his youngest daughter, and that was down to him alone to deliver. With this in mind, he decided that his son really should lead the way. Now that Titus had to fight to keep in shape, it was only right to pass that baton on to Ivan. He was a decent kid, Titus reflected. In fact, lately the boy had displayed a real sense of commitment and enthusiasm towards his cleaning work in the café. By all accounts, he got the job done in good time, calmly and without error or complaint.

  It was qualities like these, thought Titus, as he passed one ice cream to Katya and took a lick of the other, that would serve his son well as a hunter.

  Astride his mobility scooter, with the hems of his boot-cut jeans flapping wildly, Oleg Savage hurtled along the sidewalk at such a rate that his eyes were watering.

  ‘Coming through!’ he yelled at the pedestrians, who turned and flung themselves from his path. ‘Emergency!’

  Wearing the faux-leather jacket that Amanda had given him one Christmas, with the Confederate flag emblazoned on the back, the old man could’ve been mistaken for a retired dare devil. He certainly showed no sign of caring for his own safety as he clattered across a red light at the junction and caused several cars to brake.

  Oleg had been enjoying lunch when he heard the news. Priscilla had been taken ill once more. This time, his nurse’s reluctance to go into detail had told him it was serious. Vince had sat down across from him with that uncomfortable look on his face. Just the mention of her name had been enough to make the old man ball his napkin into his bowl of liquidised chicken, rice and peas, before shuffling to his scooter as fast as his walking cane would allow. Wrenching the battery charger cable from the vehicle’s socket, and ignoring the marker, Oleg had twisted the speed dial full circle and torn off for the medical centre. It was only as he approached the building, when the scooter began to lose power rapidly before purring to a halt, that he realised why Vince had pleaded to drive him there.

  ‘What is this? Some kind of test?’ he asked out loud, and shook his fist at the sky. Grabbing his cane from the clip behind his seat, Oleg eased himself onto his legs, which appeared to bow as he righted himself, and then continued on his way at a hobble.

  Priscilla had no family. He knew that. Her only son had died in a climbing accident thirty years ago. Following the passing of her husband, she had lived alone with the company of friends. Now that they had all moved on, Oleg considered himself to be her only companion in this world. If the time had come and she was dying – and he desperately hoped that wasn’t the case – then Oleg wanted to be at her side. It took him several minutes to make the last block to the main entrance. Inside the lobby, people turned on hearing the automatic doors slide open for the wheezing
, breathless geriatric. Before he could ask for directions, two porters had rushed to support him.

  ‘OK, sir. You’re in good hands now,’ said one, before yelling for a medic.

  ‘Let’s make you more comfortable,’ the other one added, helping his colleague to scoop the old man onto a gurney. ‘What is it? Your heart?’

  ‘Damn right it’s my heart,’ protested Oleg, struggling uselessly to be free of their attentions. ‘I’m a visitor, not a patient, and it’s going to break clean in two unless I get to see my Priscilla!’

  Ten minutes later, as a compromise with the doctor who really wasn’t happy with his blood pressure, Oleg was taken to a private room by wheelchair. The patient under the covers looked as if she was hovering between two worlds. This wasn’t the Priscilla he had come to adore. Her face, at rest, lacked spirit and expression. She wore an oxygen mask that fogged and cleared and then fogged again, while her eyes remained closed as if she had retreated deep inside herself. At her bedside, a machine on a trolley beeped rhythmically.

  ‘Sleeping through the snooze alarm, eh?’ Oleg glanced up at the porter, who told him he’d be waiting outside. ‘That’s all she’s doing,’ he called after him. ‘Having a rest!’

  The porter placed a finger to his lips, backing out into the corridor at the same time.

  ‘Take it easy, sir,’ he said as the door began to close behind him. ‘Doctor’s orders, remember?’

  Alone with Priscilla at last, Oleg positioned himself at her bedside, applied the brake to his wheelchair and sat for a moment with his hands in his lap. The window blinds were turned against the sun and framed by the glare. He could hear kids laughing and shrieking in a playground below. It felt as if he had found himself in some kind of waiting room here; cocooned from a world that one of them had outlived. Oleg smiled weakly to himself, and then wiped his cheek with the heel of his hand.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he told her. ‘I promised you something and I’ve let you down. But I meant what I told you, Priscilla. It was no joke.’ Oleg paused there to compose himself. Outside, in the fresh air, the children continued to play. ‘We’re cannibals, Priscilla. Cannibals. There. I said it. And no bolt of lightning has struck me down. The word is loaded with fear and misunderstanding, of course, but there’s so much more to it than the simple consumption of human flesh. The experience is life-changing in so many ways. Believe me when I say that eating your own kind is the purest form of sustenance there is. As a family, we are bound together by what we eat. It’s cleansing and restorative, turning sickness into health, and that’s why I wanted you to share in it. By dining with us, you – we – could’ve had so much more time. Now I know you’d have been shocked to the core, Priscilla, had I held my nerve back in the pool when I tried to tell you about our little secret. I just wish I’d had the courage to believe that, despite it all, you would’ve placed your faith in me.’

  Oleg stopped there, aware that he was talking to himself, and gazed at the back of his hands for a minute. Over the years, they had become more defined by the bones underneath. It was as if death was in there somewhere, slowly revealing itself but held at bay for now. He found it upsetting to return his attention to Priscilla. Lying there, she looked like a woman without the resources he possessed to continue the battle. Oleg glanced at the door, confirmed that it was shut, and then leaned in to find her ear. ‘I wish that you could taste a slow-roasted shoulder with garlic and sea salt,’ he said. ‘Just a mouthful, Priscilla. Nothing more. Believe me, I know how hard it is to swallow the first time, but the rewards make it all worthwhile.’

  The old man sat back again, as if awaiting her answer. Beside him, the heart monitor continued to punctuate the silence. ‘My family are different, of course. They were brought up to relish the sheer sense of being that comes from eating our own kind, and I respect them for it. But you and me, Priscilla, we’re different. Way back, during the siege, I was faced with dying long before my time. What I had to do to survive was desperate in the extreme, but only by taking that step did I discover what it means to feel superhuman, and that’s what I was hoping to offer you. So, I’m sorry, my love. I wish I had been stronger for you and just spoken from the heart. I had been so looking forward to enjoying each other’s company for far longer. I guess with a feast off the menu now, I’ll have to wait until I see you on the other side.’ Oleg paused for several beeps and then chuckled to himself. ‘Although after the life I’ve led, there’s a good chance we won’t be heading to the same place.’

  It was a knock at the door that turned his attention. Oleg looked around to see a doctor enter the room. His first thought was that she looked far younger than the juniors who followed behind her, even if she did hold herself with more authority.

  ‘Just checking up on the patient,’ she told him, and then asked the porter to draw Oleg’s wheelchair away from the bedside.

  ‘How long does she have left?’ asked Oleg, before falling quiet as the team checked her pulse and heart rate.

  The doctor glanced over at the old man, and then at some of the juniors who had begun to titter.

  ‘Well, let’s ask Priscilla,’ she said, and clasped her hand. ‘What do you think, my dear?’ she asked, her voice raised by a notch. ‘You gave us cause for concern earlier, but your stats are back where they should be.’

  On seeing this, Oleg leaned forward for a clearer view. When he saw Priscilla with her eyes open, blinking as if to communicate her awareness, he felt an overwhelming sense of both relief and sheer dread. It meant, as she turned her head to face him, he could only respond with a rictus grin.

  ‘Seems like she’s come round for you,’ observed one of the juniors.

  ‘So it does,’ said Oleg, who felt pinned to the back of his wheelchair by the sharpness of Priscilla’s gaze.

  29

  Finishing a weekend lunch of clam chowder, Ivan Savage was first to ask if he could leave the table.

  ‘Manners,’ said Angelica. ‘It won’t kill you to wait until everyone finishes.’

  She had summoned the boy from his room just as he was researching notorious food poisoning outbreaks in recent history. Since coming up with his plan of action, the subject had become a source of keen interest to him. Ivan could barely wait to see his three victims complain of neck stiffness or involuntary twitches as the trichinosis worm wriggled towards their brains. He didn’t want to miss a thing.

  ‘Your mother is right,’ Titus added, with a napkin tucked into the neck of his shirt and his mouth full. He gestured at the salad bowl, which had gone largely untouched. ‘How about some greens?’

  Ivan shared a grimace with Katya. Even Angelica, who had prepared the side dish, pretended not to hear.

  ‘Where is Amanda?’ asked the boy, prompted by the sight of all the untouched lettuce leaves.

  ‘At the café,’ said Angelica. ‘I’m sure she’ll finish it for us later.’

  ‘That young lady is doing a fine job,’ said Titus, and waited for Angelica to meet his gaze across the table. ‘I think it’s fair to say she’s earned herself a feast.’

  Angelica’s eyebrows lifted by a fraction. She set her spoon down and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin.

  ‘Should we get our hopes up?’

  Titus slowed his chewing, aware that everyone was looking at him.

  ‘Let me take care of that,’ he told her, before switching his attention to Ivan. ‘Hey, buddy, what do you say to helping your old man down at the condo this afternoon?’

  ‘Do you mean, like, chores? I’m kind of busy right now.’

  ‘Your apprenticeship,’ said Angelica directly.

  ‘We feel the time is right,’ Titus added, with a glance at the boy’s mother.

  ‘Whatever you had planned,’ she continued, ‘nothing is more important than learning how to provide for the table.’

  Immediately, Ivan’s thoughts returned to his research. The ice-cream seller didn’t just show up looking dodgy and simply hope for the best. He took time to dress the part,
and was forever wiping down the counter so that nothing could distract from the treat he had to offer. OK, so the guy wasn’t slipping poison into the passion-fruit flavour – at least, Ivan didn’t think so – but the principle still stood. Preparation was essential, and he could not afford to skip it. With the next football fixture just days away, it was vital that he felt completely in control of the situation. He needed to know every fact about the parasite his three targets were set to ingest in order to feel calm and collected on the day. Then again, Ivan didn’t want to disappoint his dad. Ever since he’d failed to bring the fitness trainer home for the table, the boy’s mother just hadn’t let him forget it. Everyone in the family knew that nothing could ever seriously come between his parents, of course. How could it when they lived this kind of life? Still, in Ivan’s view she really seemed to be questioning his ability to deliver the goods on learning that the barefoot guy had outrun him. What was the big deal anyway, the boy thought? Yes, it was disappointing that they didn’t get to dine on some prime Argentinian man steak, but, you know, nobody had died. Still, judging by the way his parents awaited a response, Ivan figured that his poisoning plans would just have to wait.

  ‘I’ll help,’ he told his father, who closed his eyes in apparent relief. ‘Just let me shut down my computer first.’

  The tenant who had called Titus to report a cracked shower tile sported an impressive body mass index. Ivan could only estimate the man’s fat content based on his height and weight, but he had a good eye. He owed this to his father, who shook hands with the guy when he answered the door and then introduced his son.

  ‘Call me Lou,’ the man said to Ivan, smiling warmly, before apologising profusely for bringing them out at the weekend. ‘I’m just worried that water is leaking into the apartment below. I’d hate to think I was causing a problem.’

  ‘You’re not a problem,’ said Titus, who had brought his toolkit with him. ‘To be honest, most tenants in your situation wouldn’t care less.’