by Matt Whyman
The boy couldn’t actually remember when he’d first tasted human flesh. A third birthday, perhaps. Something like that. What was imprinted on his memory was his father’s repeated warning never to mention it outside the family. Ivan had also been encouraged to steer well clear of using the ‘C’ word. Hearing it now didn’t leave him feeling any kind of connection with Zolotov. His mother was good at serving up a couple of ribbon cuts as sushi, but wolfing down uncooked body parts just sounded gross and nothing to boast about. Still, Ivan was aware that Zolotov was simply looking for a reaction here.
‘Wow,’ he said after a moment, though all he could think was: big deal.
Zolotov glanced across at him.
‘Are you not worried about your safety?’
‘Yes, but you’re driving right now.’
Zolotov chuckled and then nodded, as if he couldn’t argue with that.
‘Relax, kid. I’ve no plans to eat you. I was locked up in a labour camp the last time, way out in Siberia. Discovered my cellmate had been paid to murder me, so I took action first.’ Zolotov shot a look at the boy, as if to check he had his full attention. ‘I hacked off his ear and ate it in front of him.’
Ivan responded by telling Zolotov that they needed to go straight across at the next junction. Just then he couldn’t wait to get back to the protective bosom of his family. Whether the guy was trying to show off here or scare him, Ivan didn’t feel at all comfortable. Even Tinky Dinks had vanished from sight inside his bag. Then, as he felt the gerbil wriggling inside, an idea came to the boy’s mind that promised to solve a lot of problems. He glanced across at Zolotov, noting the tattoo ink just visible behind his shirt collar.
‘If you’re hungry, I have some ham sandwiches.’ Ivan cleared his throat. ‘They’re freshly made.’
‘At the café?’
‘Don’t tell Amanda.’
Zolotov laughed, throwing his head back in a way that alarmed the boy. Not least because he took his eyes right off the road.
‘I like you, kid. You must have some big yaytsas, no?’
With his heart rate rising, Ivan opened the side pocket of his bag and removed the foil-clad package. With each baited sandwich cut in two, and until that moment just three victims in mind, he felt sure that he could afford to sacrifice a segment.
‘I’m helping to serve refreshments at a football match tomorrow, but you’re welcome to take one.’
Nikolai Zolotov looked across at him, back at the road, and then returned to meet his eyes.
‘I’ll last until supper,’ he said, ‘but thanks anyway.’
‘Consider it a snack.’ Ivan peeled back the foil at the corner. ‘It would be rude to let a guest in this town go hungry.’
Zolotov chuckled to himself.
‘You’re quite the host, huh? Just like your father.’
‘Go ahead. Take one.’
Zolotov pulled up as the lights turned red at the next block and then casually reached into the package. Ivan watched him take half a sandwich, sliced diagonally and with the crusts intact. Without taking his eyes off the lights, the Russian opened his mouth and took a bite right out of the middle. It left a jagged crescent through the layers of bread, meat, gherkins and mayo. Zolotov chewed for a moment, seemingly switching the mouthful from one side of his jaw to the other, and then his face contorted.
‘Oh, man, what’s in this?’
Ivan flinched at the sight of shredded ham and bread snagged in among the man’s grills. Nikolai Zolotov was facing him, awaiting an answer with the remains of his sandwich in one hand. It was only the sound of a car horn behind that prompted him to notice that the lights had turned green. As the Spark moved off, after Zolotov had leaned out of the window and threatened to make mincemeat out of the other driver, Ivan realised he had missed his chance to throw open the door and bail.
‘It is good?’ he asked helplessly.
‘Good?’ Zolotov shifted up a gear. ‘It’s incredible!’
‘Really?’
Ivan tried hard not to sound as flabbergasted as he felt. The man had actually taken a sandwich, loaded with a killer pathogen, and actually enjoyed his first mouthful. It boded well for his intended victims, but this was still a bonus he hadn’t foreseen.
‘It’s so rich and salty, set off nicely by the creamy mayo.’ Zolotov stuffed the rest of the sandwich into his mouth, followed a gesture from Ivan to hang left and then asked for another.
‘We’re nearly there.’ Unwilling to sacrifice any more, Ivan scrunched up the package, stowed it in the bag and pointed out the turning for the inlet road. ‘This is me.’
Zolotov switched on the indicator and sighed. Ivan dared to glance across at him. The man was picking at his teeth with one hand.
‘Well, I guess you’ve kept the wolves at bay,’ he said, pinching a strand of meat from the metalwork inside his mouth. ‘I wouldn’t want to deprive your players of a snack like that.’
‘Oh, they’ve earned it,’ said Ivan, who figured it didn’t matter if the man knew where the sandwiches were heading. He could expect to feel a little off colour in the next day or so, as the larvae migrated into his system, but it wouldn’t floor him. The serious business, like the tremors and the fits, came later. With at least thirty days ahead before he showed any signs that a deadly worm had invaded his nervous system, there was no way it could be traced back to him. Ivan calculated that Zolotov would consume something like another ninety meals before he’d feel the need to seek medical attention, and by then he’d be home in Russia. Effectively, this eradicated any culinary footprints back to the boy. As Zolotov followed the gentle curve of the road, passing mailboxes and close-clipped lawns, Ivan spotted his mother in the drive. She was unloading the groceries from her car with little Kat. His first instinct was to ask Zolotov to keep driving, but by then it was too late.
‘Someone’s been to the supermarket,’ he said. ‘It must be good to come back to home cooking.’
Ivan knew full well what the man was hinting at here. Having just fatally poisoned him, the boy felt a strange duty of care.
‘I’m sure there’ll be enough food for one more,’ he said, as Angelica noticed the car slowing down. ‘You’d be welcome to join us for supper.’
‘I can’t think of anything better.’ Zolotov cranked up the handbrake, grinning broadly at the woman who had twisted around and was now glaring directly into the car. ‘Once your mother gets to know me,’ he said, ‘I’ll have her eating out of my hand.’
35
When Oleg arrived at the villa and found the hire car parked outside, his first thought was that Titus had finally delivered. Since they’d moved here, it was a rare thing for the family to have a guest at the table. Usually, they ended up on it.
‘Good boy,’ he muttered to himself. ‘I knew you wouldn’t let us down.’
For a moment, he considered performing a half-circle on his scooter and zipping back to the home to fetch Priscilla. She would be ready, he told himself. He had prepared her for the best and worst of what a feast involved. Just as he turned the handlebars, however, the front door opened and his granddaughter skipped out to greet him.
‘Guess what’s for supper,’ said Kat, reaching up on her tiptoes for a kiss. Oleg’s beard always tickled her, which meant he never actually planted his lips on her cheek. ‘Steak!’
Oleg had just placed his scooter into park mode. Hearing this, he grasped the ignition key once more, with Priscilla in mind, only for the lodger to appear at the door.
‘Beef steak,’ she said, to clarify. ‘The alternative is eggplant and polenta casserole, which I made this morning.’
Oleg knew that Amanda always made provisions for herself at mealtimes. The only exception was in preparation for a feast, when she helped Angelica with passion and gusto.
‘I’ll pass on the polenta.’ Easing himself from the scooter, the old man gestured at the hire car. ‘I got my hopes up there for a moment.’
‘Same for me when I got back from wor
k.’ Amanda glanced over her shoulder, and then stepped out into the late sunshine. ‘Then I found out who was joining us for supper and lost my appetite a little.’
Oleg responded with a puzzled expression, before following the two girls inside.
Titus had told him all about Nikolai Zolotov. He recognised the man just as soon as he rose from the table to shake his hand.
‘Is this business or pleasure?’ asked Oleg, who took note of their guest’s teeth but offered no hint of surprise or shock.
‘Both,’ said Zolotov. ‘Doing something you love for a living means never having to work again. Isn’t that right, Amanda?’
Amanda took her seat beside Ivan, who was watching their guest closely.
‘If you mean the vegan café,’ she said, inspecting the food on her plate, ‘then yes, it’s a pleasure to be there.’
‘So double the pleasure and open another one. Hell, open three! I can fund them.’
Titus crossed the kitchen with the first of the plates just then. Angelica had prepared the meal Mexican-style. It was a dish that involved marinating the meat in lime and pepper, before flash frying it to seal the flavours and serving it up with a freshly chopped salsa. As ever, Oleg’s would arrive in liquidised form. The old man watched Angelica fire up the food processor. Even with her back turned away from the table, he could tell that she was listening closely.
‘The simple fact is that expanding the business goes against Amanda’s principles,’ said Titus, serving their guest first. ‘Now, I propose that we let everyone enjoy their meal and we’ll discuss the matter later.’
‘Agreed.’ Zolotov sat with his hands in his lap and watched as Titus served Oleg and then little Katya. He caught her eye across the table and smiled. ‘Such a cutie,’ he observed. ‘Good enough to eat.’
Oleg only had to see Titus falter as he collected the next plates to know the comment carried a message. That Angelica seemed to freeze just confirmed it. Even Amanda tensed in the neck. Only Ivan looked relaxed, and continued to stare with interest at the visitor. Aware of the thickening silence, Oleg reached for his glass and raised it over his plate.
‘Za vashe zdorovie,’ he said, addressing Zolotov. ‘Your good health, and may your visit to Florida be pleasant … and peaceful.’
Zolotov lifted his own glass with a small smile.
‘Then let’s hope everyone does the right thing.’
By now, Titus and Angelica had taken their seats at opposite ends of the table. Oleg noted them exchange a look as they gathered their knives and forks. It was certainly conspiratorial, but there was a problem with this guy if they planned to slaughter him for his flesh. As soon as the old man set eyes on Zolotov, his taste buds failed to trigger. Plainly, the guy was tough-looking, and not the first choice for the table. Even so, judging by the atmosphere he had brought with him, on top of his unwanted proposition for the café, Oleg figured the family might just have to make an exception here. Back in the day, living under siege, he had grown used to eating whatever flesh he could find. Nobody was entirely inedible in his view. It was just a question of being creative with the cooking. With this in mind, the old man began to slurp through his straw in the belief that their guest would be history by the time dessert was served.
‘So, what do you make of Jupiter?’ asked Titus, as he sliced into the steak.
‘Lot of rib restaurants and a lack of lap-dancing clubs.’ Zolotov spoke with his mouth full. ‘Apart from that, I believe I like it for the same reason as you guys.’
‘Why is that?’ asked Angelica, who sounded to Oleg as if she was forcing herself to join the conversation.
Zolotov sat back in his seat and swallowed noisily. ‘It’s quiet. Tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the big city. The kind of place’, he said to finish, and looked around the table, ‘where people could get away with murder.’
‘Well, it’s home to us,’ said Titus calmly. ‘But unless you’ve explored the town by her waterways then you’ve hardly scratched the surface.’
‘There sure is a lot of water.’ Nikolai Zolotov reached for his glass.
‘Which is why we own a boat,’ said Titus.
Once again, Oleg noticed him share a look with Angelica. It was just a glance, a lifting of the brow, but enough to cause the old man to choke as he drew his supper through a straw.
‘Excuse me,’ he said, having spluttered into his napkin. ‘Something just went down the wrong way.’
Angelica was loading the dishwasher with Amanda when Ivan returned from the Fallen Pine. He had accompanied his grandfather home, and came back looking unusually upbeat.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked her son, a note of worry in her voice. Whenever Ivan was anything other than sullen or quiet, she immediately concluded that something bad was about to happen.
‘Everything is cool.’ Ivan picked at what was left of the cheesecake on the side.
Angelica glanced across at Amanda.
‘Did you see Grandpa back to his room?’ she asked. ‘He’s not stuck in traffic with a flat battery or anything?’
Ivan looked hurt at the very suggestion.
‘He’s fine,’ he said, ‘although I was tempted to turn around when he started going on about Priscilla all over again. Mum, if she does come to eat with us can we slip him something to calm him down?’
‘They’re sweet together,’ Amanda cut in. ‘Like little kids.’
Ivan shivered to himself and appealed to his mother once more.
‘At least make sure they sit apart from one another.’
Angelica looked a little mystified for a moment, only for her attention to return to the dishwasher as Amanda went back to slotting plates into the rack.
‘Priscilla will dine with us in due course,’ she told her son, ‘but don’t bother your father about that now. He’s out on the jetty preparing the boat for tomorrow.’
Earlier, at the table, the family had slowed their eating when Titus invited their supper guest to join him on a trip upriver. He had sold it to the man as the best way to get a flavour of the town and its surroundings, as well as an opportunity to discuss the business matter at hand. When Nikolai Zolotov took up the offer, claiming it would beat another round of golf, Angelica was the first to go back to her plate with a smile on her face. At the same time, she noticed Ivan silently but urgently attempting to interrupt his father as he outlined the wildlife they could expect to see. Whatever he wanted could wait, she had told him crossly, and reminded him of his table manners. Now, at the very mention of the trip once more, Ivan stood before his mother and Amanda with his chest puffed out proudly.
‘There’s no need for a boat trip,’ he told them. ‘I’ve already dealt with the guy.’
Angelica succeeded in covering her amusement by tightening her lips. Unlike Amanda, who chuckled and rolled her eyes.
‘Ivan,’ she said, ‘you can’t kill someone by creeping them out.’
‘I’m not joking,’ he protested.
‘Your time will come,’ Angelica told him. ‘Until then, leave this to your father. We can’t afford to make mistakes with a man like Zolotov.’
‘But I –’
‘If you want to make yourself useful,’ Angelica cut in, knowing that he’d only be a nuisance down at the jetty, ‘go and make sure that Katya is in her pyjamas and not parading around in her angel wings.’
When Ivan dared to glare at his mother, all she had to do was return the gesture to persuade him to leave the kitchen.
‘I’m telling you, he’ll soon be worm food,’ the boy muttered, but by then Angelica and Amanda were focused on finishing the dishes.
‘He’s just frustrated,’ said Angelica, as Ivan slammed the door behind him. ‘A feast would lift everyone’s spirits.’
‘So, when is Titus going to deliver?’ Amanda found a cloth to wipe down the table.
Angelica plugged a tab into the dishwasher.
‘Have faith,’ she told him. ‘His sole aim in life is to take care of the family.�
�
‘You can say that again.’ Amanda crossed to the table. ‘He’s set me up on a date with that personal trainer you guys have been using.’
‘Joaquín?’ Angelica froze for a second, and then considered what this meant. ‘Well, I think that’s a wonderful idea,’ she said, before nodding to herself. ‘He’s a passionate individual, just as you are. It could be the perfect match.’
‘He is kind of hot for a carnivore.’ Amanda blushed and balled the cloth in her hand. ‘Let’s hope he sees the light.’
THIRD COURSE
36
As the sun climbed over Jupiter the next morning, and egrets fed on shrimp in the shallows, Titus Savage hauled anchor on a boat he had barely used. He’d unfurled the pilot’s canopy the evening before, dusted down his fishing rods, filled the bait box and finally made room for the picnic basket that Angelica had just handed over to him. It should have felt good stepping on board for a day on the water. A chance to relax at last. That had been his intention when he’d purchased the vessel, only for the demands of family life to keep him away from it. On this occasion, however, the trip was wholly business, not pleasure.
‘She’s a good woman, your wife,’ observed Zolotov, as Titus waved goodbye to Angelica and little Katya on the jetty. He was seated at the boat’s aft with his arms spread wide. ‘Traditional.’
Unlike Titus, who was wearing a colourful Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts and deck shoes, his passenger looked as if he was being ferried to a funeral. The only thing missing was a black tie and a mournful expression. Instead, the man kept grinning at him.
‘We have our values.’ Titus was perched on the cockpit seat in the centre of the hull. He tightened his grip on the wheel and steered the boat parallel with the shoreline. ‘We also treat each other with respect.’
‘That’s good to hear.’ Zolotov was wearing tinted shades that glinted like his teeth. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back at the temples. ‘It would be a shame if something were to happen to them.’
