American Savage

by Matt Whyman

  Amanda had heard him correctly the first time. It was the sight of the grater-like grills encasing his upper and lower teeth that told her exactly who she was facing here.

  ‘This is a vegan establishment,’ she said, struggling to keep the shock out of her voice and suppress any hint that she recognised the man. ‘You’ll find plenty of rib restaurants in town.’

  Nikolai Zolotov continued to peer up at Amanda. His face was creased and weathered, as if it had been exposed to harsh winds, and his skin appeared closely moulded to his skull.

  ‘I’m joking with you,’ he said, in what she recognised now to be a Russian accent. ‘But I am interested in learning more about the business.’ He stopped there and extended his hand.

  ‘I know who you are,’ said Amanda, dropping the pretence in his surprisingly gentle grip. ‘When someone threatens me and the family I live with, Mr Zolotov, I don’t forget in a hurry.’

  Another smile stretched across Zolotov’s face. He ran a hand through his hair, exposing sharply receded temples.

  ‘I apologise for any distress that may have caused,’ he told her, ‘but as a business incentive, it worked.’ Nikolai gestured at their surroundings. ‘This is far more rewarding than some crappy bar, don’t you think? It brings in a much bigger cash turnover, too.’

  By now, Amanda had regained a grip on her composure. Seeing the man in the flesh had come as a shock, but now that he was talking he came across as someone who was all bark and no bite. Glancing over her shoulder to see the cop leaving with his free coffee, she took a seat across from him and rested her elbows on the table.

  ‘Something tells me you didn’t travel halfway round the world just to toast our success.’

  ‘Of course not.’ Zolotov leaned back in his chair and admired the view through the window for a moment. He was wearing a smart suit, open at the throat, which again revealed a hint of black tattoo work. Amanda figured it could only have been etched in a prison cell. When she realised she was staring, she looked up with a start to find him waiting for her full attention. ‘I came to visit my nephew,’ he continued. ‘Rolan had offered to show me the sights, but since he lost his job when the bar shut down, he’s busy seeking new employment. No doubt Lev and Kiril will act as my tour guides, but I’d like to do something to help out my boy, which is where you come in.’ Zolotov leaned in closer. Raising his eyebrows, shot through with grey, like his hair, he pulled back his lips to reveal just a hint of metal. ‘What do you say, Miss Dias?’

  Amanda only had to picture Rolan’s face to be sure she never wanted to see him again.

  ‘We’re fully staffed,’ she told him.

  ‘Oh, not in this fine establishment.’ Zolotov held her gaze for a moment, as if what he had to say next was evident. ‘I’m talking about the first of the new places. Fully funded by me, managed by you, and with someone running the show we both trust. I think you know who I’m talking about, right?’

  The café door opened just then. Amanda glanced across at it, before returning her attention to Zolotov.

  ‘When Lev and Kiril first passed on your request,’ she said, ‘we made it quite clear that we weren’t interested in building a food empire. The bigger we grow, the more compromises we have to make with the food on offer here. You can leave that to the fast food chains and the supermarket giants. Perhaps our response was lost in translation.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Zolotov shrugged. ‘So, why don’t I ask you again nicely, right here, so there’s no room for misunderstanding?’

  ‘Oh, it’s not for me to say.’ Amanda smiled, matching his expression, and then gestured at the bald-domed man who had just walked into the café with his son in tow. ‘You’d have to ask the boss.’

  Ivan slipped into the café restroom with a purpose. Having spent the afternoon on a hunting trip that had revealed a great deal about his dad, he was determined not to let any kind of compassion get in the way of his own personal project. Bryce, Chad and Ryan didn’t deserve his forgiveness. What Ivan planned to give them instead was a post-match sandwich that would slowly eat them up from the inside out. It was his father who had wanted to drop in here on the way home, just to check that Amanda was coping with the late-afternoon crowd. He was losing it, the boy reflected, as he climbed up onto the rim of the toilet and lifted the cistern lid. Finding the container with one hand, he smiled to himself before putting everything back in place. It wouldn’t be long before it was time for him to assemble the sandwiches. By then, he guessed, those little larva cysts would be itching to get into his victims’ guts so they could start their fantastic fatal voyage.

  ‘We’re good to go,’ he muttered under his breath, as he unlocked the restroom door. Finding Amanda preparing to knock caused him to start and take a step back. ‘Hey, can’t a boy get some privacy?’

  ‘He’s here,’ she hissed. ‘I thought you’d seen him and were hoping to escape through the restroom window.’

  ‘What?’ Ivan felt stung at the suggestion that he’d act like a coward in any situation. Just then, however, he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be running away from. ‘Who’s here?’

  ‘Do you see him?’ Amanda gestured with her eyes to encourage him to look over her shoulder. ‘That man in the corner with the metalwork in his mouth. It’s him!’

  ‘Zolotov?’

  Still holding the restroom door handle when he said this, Ivan had to resist the urge to lock himself away.

  ‘He’s for real, Ivan. The cannibal criminal. Titus is talking to him right now, but I don’t think he’s going to be leaving unless he gets what he wants.’

  Ivan considered this for a moment, wondering whether he would be expected to lend his support. Given how his father had become a little flabby around the edges lately, the boy felt a sudden sense of duty conflicting with his instinct to hide. He glanced at the figure in the corner one more time, no doubt listening to his dad drone on about how wonderful it was to be kind and charitable. When he turned back at Amanda, he found her looking a little tense and freaked.

  ‘Let me speak to him,’ he said, and gestured for her to step aside. ‘Someone needs to tell this guy to back off.’

  ‘That’s not a good idea,’ Amanda cautioned, but the boy was on a roll. Stepping out across the floor, he even found a hint of a swagger return to his stride. ‘Ivan, you really should leave them to talk!’

  The café was still bustling, but only one table commanded his attention. Ivan could just see the back of Zolotov’s head from where he was standing. For all the stories about this guy eating hands and ears ripped from his victims, he just looked like someone who had come to discuss a business loan. Well, as his old man was clearly floundering, he would just have to take over. It was time to step up, he told himself, as he weaved between the tables. There came a time in every son’s life when he had to take over from the father, and that moment had arrived. He sensed a power within him, drawn from his dad’s failure to put food on the table and what he knew he would be feeding his three tormentors at school. Nikolai Zolotov might have earned a reputation for devouring his fellow prisoners during a spell in jail, but Ivan had been raised on human flesh since his first teeth had come through. Now that was hard core. The boy curled his hands into fists, wishing that the place was empty and the garrotte nested in his pocket. As it was, all he planned to do was ask nicely for Zolotov to leave the premises. If he refused, Ivan was ready to face him off. What was the guy going to do? Eat him alive in front of the customers?

  ‘Sir,’ he said, and tapped the man on the shoulder. ‘Can I have a moment of your time?’

  Ivan glanced at his father, who fell into shadow as the man rose to his feet

  ‘Hello, Ivan.’

  The boy was shocked to hear his own name, and rattled, too, as this lean-faced figure turned and loomed over him. Then Nikolai Zolotov broke into a grin and all the courage that had steered Ivan there evaporated. In that moment, it felt as if he had come face to face with a shark in human form, one whose jagged molars had
been embellished with miniature plates of grating blades.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt.’ Ivan swallowed uncomfortably. ‘I was wondering if I can get you a drink on the house. All our coffee is gluten free.’

  32

  Oleg Savage purposely steered clear of Priscilla after her return to the nursing home. He was deeply relieved to learn that she had made a good recovery from the scare that saw her rushed to the emergency room. According to Vince, she was still a very poorly lady, but that wasn’t why he left her in peace.

  She knew.

  Lying in her hospital bed, with Oleg at her side, Priscilla had heard every word he’d said. When she’d opened her eyes, it was brutally apparent that she now believed his admission that cannibalism was the elixir he could offer her. It was a change in the way she looked at him. Something he had never seen in her gaze before. What he didn’t know was what it meant.

  Three days after she had been discharged from hospital, Oleg braved knocking on her door. If Priscilla had shared his secret with anyone else, he decided, the cops would’ve been all over the home by now and his family in custody. Oleg felt that at the very least it would be safe to speak to her.

  ‘May I come in?’ he asked, having heard no response. Oleg knew Priscilla was in her room. He had seen the nurse leave just moments earlier. ‘You’re quite safe,’ he said to reassure her, before a quiet smile crossed his face. ‘I’ve already eaten.’

  ‘Then by all means step inside.’

  Taking a breath, Oleg clicked open the door. Priscilla was propped up on pillows, strikingly pale behind a bed tray that supported her lunch. She held a teaspoon in one hand, which was poised over a bowl of soup.

  ‘Smells good,’ said Oleg, sniffing the air. ‘Carrot and coriander?’

  Priscilla nodded and set the spoon on the tray. ‘Oxtail is usually my favourite,’ she told him, looking directly into his eyes, ‘but I’m off meat for now.’

  Oleg felt his heart kick.

  ‘May I sit down?’ He gestured at the armchair beside her window.

  ‘Go ahead. You look a little unwell yourself.’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’ Oleg felt his bones creak as he eased himself into the chair. ‘I’ve just been worried about you.’

  Priscilla said nothing for a moment.

  ‘Worried about my health,’ she asked eventually, ‘or what I might say?’

  It was another fine day outside, but inside the heat was oppressive. Even though the residential home was fitted with a sophisticated air-con system, Oleg felt his shirt begin to stick to his back.

  ‘I’m concerned about you,’ he told her, ‘just as I care very much for my family.’

  ‘Everything you say right now feels like a threat.’

  Oleg looked to the floor for a moment.

  ‘Please don’t think of me as a monster,’ he asked. ‘I would never do anything to hurt you.’

  Priscilla observed him warily, as if he were a dog and she wasn’t yet sure if he’d bite.

  ‘I let you into my life,’ she told him. ‘Into my heart.’

  ‘It’s all for love, Priscilla. Whatever happens, I want you to know that.’

  Priscilla looked hard into his eyes, though she didn’t look convinced.

  ‘People do some terrible things in the name of love,’ she said next. ‘What you’ve admitted to is an atrocity, Oleg, and yet you speak of it as some kind of miracle food.’

  ‘That’s what it is,’ he said with a shrug. ‘I can’t lie to you.’

  ‘But these poor souls that you’re … eating, they surely don’t deserve –’

  ‘Every feast is carefully sourced,’ Oleg cut in. ‘We don’t just carve up anyone.’

  ‘But they’re still people,’ Priscilla insisted. ‘And eating people isn’t right.’

  Oleg rested his head against the back of the chair, preparing to explain.

  ‘You know, what we do has a long history. It’s a ceremonial custom among many ancient tribes. Take the Wari’ from the rainforests of Brazil. Way back in time, when a loved one died, their body would be roasted and consumed by the family, friends and relatives as a way of mourning. They believed that it allowed the soul of the deceased to live on within them. Many might think that’s gruesome. If you can just see beyond what are simply cultural values, however, you’ll recognise that it’s the ultimate act of love.’

  For the first time since he’d sat down, Oleg saw her smile.

  ‘What’s wrong with your basic cremation?’

  Oleg grinned despite himself. ‘I like my meat cooked medium rare, not cindered.’

  Priscilla chuckled, sounding like a hen before a scattering of seeds.

  ‘Well, that’s another thing we got in common,’ she told him.

  Oleg’s expression brightened considerably.

  ‘So you’ll dine with us? It’ll bring you a fresh lease of life. I guarantee it!’

  In response, to his surprise, Priscilla dipped her spoon into her soup and took a mouthful. She closed her eyes, seemingly savouring the taste. Oleg looked on, perplexed.

  ‘This is surprisingly good. You should try some. You really should.’

  ‘Priscilla, I need to know. It’s important for my family so they can be prepared.’

  Priscilla looked as if she was about to scoop her spoon into the soup once more. She studied the bowl for a moment and then looked back across at Oleg.

  ‘What you told me,’ she said, ‘about how those ancient people grieved.’

  ‘The Wari’?’

  Priscilla smiled, some colour in her cheeks at last.

  ‘I liked that story.’

  ‘This isn’t going to end well for him,’ was the first thing Angelica said when she learned about the café encounter with Nikolai Zolotov. She faced Titus directly, who was seated at the far end of the kitchen table, and let her expression do the talking before she put it into words. ‘I think it’s safe to say we have a candidate for cooking. The man has caused us enough trouble, and no doubt you’d appreciate a taste of the old country.’

  She watched her husband consider this for a moment. He often came home with treats from the Russian deli, such as cold meats and candies. Judging by the way he seemed to be turning things over in his mind, Angelica figured she’d soon have to think about how best to prepare a feast featuring cabbage, beetroot and cranberries.

  ‘It’s a nice idea,’ said Titus eventually, ‘but the man has a ruthless reputation as a killer. Lev and Kiril speak fearfully of him and his past in prison. As for his taste for human flesh, Angelica, let’s not forget that Zolotov skips the cooking stage. I dare say I could take him on, but if I meet my match then it may not be Nikolai who ends up as a meal. It could be me. In the raw.’

  With every reservation Titus gave, Angelica’s sensed her sympathy for his position thinning. Ivan and Amanda sat on either side of the table, listening intently as they curled their forks into the spaghetti she had prepared for them: one with a bolognaise sauce, the other with organic garlic and chilli. Katya occupied the chair beside Angelica, close enough to be corrected every time she favoured using her fingers to feed herself.

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Ivan. He waited until he had everyone’s full attention. ‘I’ll do it.’

  Amanda was the first to chuckle.

  ‘I don’t mean to be unkind,’ she said, ‘but you couldn’t kill a conversation.’

  ‘Don’t push me!’ he snapped hotly. ‘You’d be surprised at what I can do.’

  ‘The only thing that really surprised me was how quickly you fixed Zolotov his latte.’ Amanda laughed at the memory, before pausing to compose herself. ‘Leave him to me,’ she offered. ‘I’ve been sharing your feasts for long enough. It’s time I brought something to the table.’

  ‘That’s sweet of you,’ said Angelica, ‘but you’re doing a fine job at the café. If there’s a problem here,’ she added, with a long look at her husband, ‘I’ll deal with it.’

  ‘OK, stop right there.’ Titus raised both palms ove
r his bowl in surrender. ‘I know what you’re trying to tell me. I get it. But you’re wrong. I can still provide for the family. I just think we’d be taking a big risk in attempting to serve up Zolotov.’

  ‘It would be a challenge,’ muttered Ivan, who was clearing his plate.

  Angelica watched Titus hesitate, distracted by their son’s comment, before clearing his throat.

  ‘We should at least reason with him first,’ he suggested.

  ‘That didn’t get you far in the café,’ Amanda pointed out. ‘I hardly think he’s going to sit down at the table again and negotiate this with you. Either you kill him, or cave in to his demands.’

  ‘There has to be another way,’ insisted Titus. ‘None of us wants to build a vegan empire or have anything more to do with his money. As the café is perfect cover for our lifestyle, I propose that we buy him out.’

  Angelica blinked and sat back in her chair.

  ‘Oh, Titus.’

  ‘Give me a chance. Let me soften him up.’

  Ivan glanced at Amanda.

  ‘Isn’t that what the meat tenderiser is for?’ he whispered, only to shrink back into his chair when Titus glared at him.

  ‘OK, so I could bring him back for the table, but do you honestly think a man like Zolotov is going to taste good? He’s spent decades in a Russian gulag, surviving on uncooked body parts, gruel and turnips. You only have to look at him to see that he’s carrying a lot of gristle, and that’s not something I look forward to in a feast.’ Titus paused for a moment, as if to calm himself down. ‘There’s one thing we don’t do in this family, and that’s kill and let the corpse go to waste.’ Again, he stopped himself, but only because Ivan had shifted uncomfortably and scraped his chair in the process. ‘We slaughter for food,’ he said to finish, ‘and that’s where it ends.’

  ‘Sounds like another excuse,’ Amanda muttered while pulling the air between her teeth.

  Angelica opened her mouth to reprimand their lodger, but she couldn’t disagree. In her eyes, despite his reasoning, her husband really did appear to have lost his killer instinct. In the past, a man like Zolotov would’ve sealed his place on the menu by causing such upheaval. She had been married to Titus for long enough to know that he would never let the family down, but he was certainly testing her patience right now. Still, Angelica was well aware that Titus always looked to her for support.