St. Petersburg Noir

by Julia Goumen

  No sign of Annie.

  Kate dashed to the door of the stairwell and tugged it. It was locked. She peered into the kitchen, which was buzzing with activity. She had lost Annie. The girl had disappeared right from under her nose. She’d been outwitted. She had wasted her last chance to save Sonya. This really was the end.

  Stifling a fit of panic and the desire to scream at the top of her lungs, Kate forced herself to think. This was the only way to get the situation under control. She had to take a good look at everything around her.

  A shadow darted along the base of the wall. Then another one. Two more were not far behind. The rats were all moving toward the same target—a crack between iron shutters that covered the basement trapdoor. Kate jerked the rusty handle with all the strength of her despair. The massive lock barring entry swung open easily. She’d blown its cover.

  Kate dove down inside.

  The concrete walls of the basement ceiling forced her to keep her head low. Above her was the floor of McDonald’s. She searched around, moving in the direction of a flickering light. Small gray bodies scampered right alongside her sneakers. She had taken no more than ten steps into the basement when she caught sight of Annie. The girl was walking as though hypnotized, following a tiny creature that was whistling softly, snapping its fingertips in a ragged rhythm, as though coaxing a frightened little dog to come nearer.

  Snappity-snap . . .

  “Hey you, boy, what do you think you’re doing?” Kate shouted. “Stop!”

  His face was eaten up by deep wrinkles. Kate couldn’t make out anything else. Something came crashing down on the back of her head and she sank into blackness.

  ~ * ~

  The pain brought her back to conciousness. Her wrists had been bound and the skin beneath was burning. She shook her head and was overcome by a wave of nausea. When it subsided, she was able to take a look around her. The shallow space had become more crowded. Sitting there cross-legged on the floor were Alik, Liolik, and Aslan. There were other men she didn’t recognize, including one dressed in what appeared to be a police uniform. She was the center of attention.

  “Damn busybody,” said a familiar voice.

  Porphyry was sitting beside her, smiling. “I told you not to go after the Nutcracker, but you wouldn’t listen. Now you’ve only got yourself to blame.”

  Stretching cautiously, Kate felt that the thick rope holding her wrists behind her back was bound so tightly that it offered no possibility of escape. They hadn’t bothered searching her, though. The barrel of the gun had slipped deep between her buttocks. The Walther was still with her.

  “You’re lucky. You get to witness something few people ever live to see.”

  Bending her fingers down to her wrist, Kate groped the edge of her sleeve, where her trainer had taught her always to keep a razor hidden for just such a situation.

  “Only you won’t live to tell anybody about it. Too bad.” The joke was followed by sinister laughter.

  With the tip of her finger, she pressed the edge of her sleeve until a thread gave way.

  “What an excellent specimen you brought along with you! The Nutcracker will be very pleased.”

  The seam ripped. A strip of metal slipped out.

  “You stay quiet or we’ll have to sedate you,” Porphyry said, fiddling around with a set of brass knuckles.

  Kate slowly leaned back and felt the wall with her shoulders. No one would notice what she was doing with her hands. And who would pay much attention to a girl whose hands were tightly bound?

  The boy with the face of an old man came out of the darkness. He closed his eyes and whistled softly. The floor began to move. A pack of rats crawled out in a dirty stream and then froze. Letting out a thin, barely audible whine, the midget bent over in a low bow. Everything went so quiet that Kate held the razor in place, afraid that her rustling would betray her.

  There was a soft tapping of claws in the distance, as though someone was snapping pieces of brushwood in half somewhere in the darkness. It grew nearer and nearer until a rat the size of a large cat appeared next to the boy. Its bushy whiskers stuck out, and the fur on its snout was gray with age. The men bowed their heads. Lifting its nose, the rat studied Kate intently with its black beady eyes. The boy bent down even farther.

  “The Nutcracker is talking with the Mother,” Porphyry whispered solemnly. “He is finding out what she wants.. . Oh, beautiful! The Mother is prepared to accept his offering. It’s going to happen now!”

  The razor was making slow progress.

  The Nutcracker disappeared into the darkness and re-emerged carrying Annie, who was completely naked. The girl was unconscious but alive. The Nutcracker whistled, then declared, “In honor of our eternal union, we bring offerings unto you, O Mother Rat, the gift of innocent flesh.”

  He set the body on the stone floor. The rat raised her whiskers and nodded. At least Kate thought she had. She couldn’t be sure of what she had seen. Her head was throbbing, the razor was cutting into her finger, and the rope was not quite giving way.

  Following some secret signal, a furry wave of gray-coated beasts lunged forward and began devouring the child. Greedy gnawing and the sucking pop of meat being ripped apart could be heard amidst the frenzied hubbub. Annie disappeared beneath the fangs.

  Kate winced, closed her eyes, and went at the rope frantically, with redoubled energy.

  When she opened her eyes again, it was all over. The last of the rats were busily picking over the remains. Their snouts were coated in a thick layer of blood.

  Porphyry was ecstatic.

  “The offering has been accepted,” the Nutcracker intoned. “Our union is strong.”

  The announcement was greeted with a buzz of approval from the men.

  “Now, for the most important part of all,” whispered Porphyry.

  The Nutcracker disappeared again. When he returned, Kate guessed right away what he had brought with him. It was Sonya. They had put her in what looked like a doll’s dress. She was in a deep sleep, but still alive. Kate had no doubt about that. She knew.

  Brushing away the remains of his first victim with a sock, the Nutcracker put Sonya down in a pool of blood. “Today is a great day,” he said. “Our union with the Gray Tribe has lasted for over three hundred years. The time has come to pass it on. Many years ago, Mother Rat rewarded me with her bite, so I can understand the language of the Gray Tribe and speak her will. Soon, the hour will arrive when I must leave. We have waited for so long for someone fit to continue in my place. Finally, we have found her: a blond girl with green eyes!”

  The men let out cries of adulation.

  With a sharp gesture, the Nutcracker commanded utter silence. “O Mother Rat! Favor the chosen with your bite, and I vow to bestow all my knowledge upon her, so that she may take my place honorably.”

  Kate worked in furious haste.

  “What an honor, you should be proud of your sister,” her former partner whispered to her.

  Mother Rat twitched her nose and fixed the newcomer with a stare. Did she suspect something?

  Please, not yet.

  The rope gave way. Trying not to change position, Kate shook off the knots that bound her, and eased her palm under her belt.

  “May the great union with the Gray Tribe last forever!” screamed the Nutcracker.

  Her fingers slid down to the grip of the gun. The safety mechanism went up ever so softly. Now, in one fluid movement, just as her trainer had instructed her.

  Mother Rat sniffed Sonya’s wrist and licked her chops.

  Scraping the skin on her back with the clip, Kate placed the cartridge into the chamber and withdrew her arm, straight out, extending it so that it became one with the weapon, and gently pulled the trigger. A nine-millimeter bullet smashed through the rat’s snout, spattering the Nutcracker in blood. The thunderous shot was enough to shake the basement. No one dared move. Five more seconds of shock.

  One . . .

  Without bending her hand, Kate ai
med the gun at the stunned face of Porphyry.

  Two ... Crack!

  A fountain of brains and shards of the skull once belonging to the specialist at solving other people’s problems spewed upward.

  Three ... Crack!

  The bullet pierced Liolik’s belly. The fat man moaned as his face hit the stone floor.

  Four ... Crack!

  Alik’s hairy chest was ripped to pieces with a juicy burst.

  Five . . .

  The muzzle of the gun was trained on the graybeard. Aslan’s chin was trembling slightly.

  “If you want to live, run! Get out!”

  People and rats scattered every which way in the smoke from the shooting spree. Only the old man-boy, drenched in blood, remained motionless. He was sitting on the floor with his legs spread wide apart, stunned.

  “Who are you?” he whispered.

  Slowly, shaking off the last coil of rope, Kate stood up on legs that had grown numb and her knees cracked. The ceiling was low enough that she had to stoop. She disengaged the Walther peaceably.

  “I’m her big sister.”

  “What have you done? People and rats live in peace. Once a year we bring them sacrifices. I communicate with the Gray Tribe. I know their language. It’s all over now. You killed Mother Rat. Now chaos will reign!”

  “That’s your problem. You kidnapped my sister. She belongs to me.” She picked up Sonya, soft and warm, and pulled her against her chest. She was with Sonya; Sonya was here. No one would ever be able to separate them again. Even if the horde of rats attempted a counterattack.

  “Rats are everywhere! You can’t hide from them. They’ll never forgive you!”

  “That may be, but I can shoot ‘em up real good.”

  The Nutcracker wanted to say something, but suddenly his wrinkles seemed to draw together into one, he began to whisper quietly, and his parched fingertips started snapping out a rhythm. Snap-snap-snap . . .

  A sense of calm surged through Kate’s exhausted body. She felt like sitting down to rest, or maybe even lying down. That would feel so nice, wouldn’t it? After all, the boy was so sweet.

  Snappity-snap . . .

  Enervated and drowsy, Kate extended her arm mechanically, then pulled the trigger, almost without aiming. Faster than lightning, the Nutcracker was blown away into the darkness. The midget’s brains seeped out of a hole in his forehead. His body twitched in the convulsions of death, then grew still. Lying on his back, his arms spread wide apart, he looked like a discarded toy. Kate’s swoon burst. Pain and clarity returned.

  “If you can snap, you should know how to crack,” she whispered. “You rat.”

  She hugged Sonya close to her. “Time to go home, sister.”

  Kate carried Sonya with one arm, not noticing the weight. With her other hand, she hid the Walther in the folds of the doll dress. She was ready to kill anyone who crossed her path. Her sister, lolling on her shoulder, was floating in deep sleep. They had strung her out on sleeping pills, but her breathing was regular. She had not even lost weight in the month she had spent in captivity in the basement.

  ~ * ~

  Haymarket Square was bathed in the soft light of the White Night. The passersby glanced back, startled at the woman dressed in sports clothes carrying a large doll in her arms, all smeared in blood.

  Dashing past the new receptionist on shift, who couldn’t be bothered to notice her, Kate hurried up to her room and locked the door behind her. That was unnecessary: who would dare come in? Still, she didn’t have much time. She changed the clothes of the sleeping Sonya, ripping the doll’s dress to shreds. Only then did she wash the remnants of Porphyry’s brains off her face. The rest took almost no time at all: leave the suitcase behind, toss the backpack over her shoulder, carry her sleeping sister under one arm.

  Running out onto the street, Kate flagged down the third cab that drove by, just like her trainer had told her to do. Casually opening the door, she said, her voice calm and confident: “One thousand dollars to the border with Finland. Three if you take us all the way to the airport.”

  The driver agreed without a moment’s thought. He only noted politely, “Your jacket has some spots on it. Looks like blood.”

  Kate settled herself in the backseat with Sonya on her knees, and said, “I was taking care of a rat problem.”

  The taxi driver stared at her in the rearview mirror.

  She managed to muster a weak smile. “Just kidding, it’s all right. You mind your own business, and I’ll mind mine. Just steer the wheel and earn your three grand.” Kate didn’t want to waste another bullet. “Excuse me, but we’re running late for our flight.”

  The car sped through the empty streets of a city that would forever be alien to her. Haymarket Square dissolved into the soft pale gray of the White Night.

  Sonya stirred lightly and opened her eyes. “Hey, big sis! You know, I had a dream about the Nutcracker.”

  “Don’t worry, sweetie, it was just a dream. There is no such thing as the Nutcracker.”

  “No? Where did he go?”

  “He burst.”

  “Like a balloon?”

  “No, like a rat. He went kaboom!” She made a loud snap with her fingers.

  Sonya sighed and settled down more comfortably. “I missed you.”

  “I missed you too.”

  “The Nutcracker fed me Big Macs. It was nice . . .”

  Kate was calm. Absolutely calm. She still had four bullets left.

  Crackity-crack . . .

  <>

  ~ * ~

  PARANOIA

  by Mikhail Lialin

  Lake Dolgoe

  Translated by Margarita Shalina

  But the main distinction lies in this, that whereas wine disorders the mental faculties, opium, on the contrary (if taken in a proper manner), introduces amongst them the most exquisite order, legislation, and harmony.

  —Thomas De Quincey, Confessions of an English Opium Eater

  Eighteenth of August in the year 20—

  H elp yourselves.”

  Three-mile-long lines. Uh-huh.

  “Walk your mile.”

  Amphetamine. The rush begins.

  “What do you suggest?”

  “You can put it up your nose. I’ll put it in my coffee. I don’t like to snort—get a runny nose after.”

  K sweeps his line into a mug of coffee. I turn to C.

  “What do you say?”

  “Snort half, the other half—with coffee.”

  “That’s what we’ll do.”

  C rolls a tight straw out of a hundred-ruble note after a few tries. Checks it, makes sure it fits in a nostril. Divides my line into two parts. Passes me the straw.

  “Well... your substances reflect your money.”

  I put the bill in my right nostril. The paper squeaks. I inhale. Pass the bill to C.

  K throws the remaining half into a mug. I take the mug and begin to drink slowly.

  We’ve cleared the glass tabletop. We sit.

  “Nah-nah, nah. Absolutely no way.”

  K takes the used hundred-ruble note from C, sticks it in the center of a wad of cash. Adjusts it, turns it over, and folds it in half. “This’ll be the first thing they see.”

  C crawls to the computer, puts on music, a video.

  The room we’re getting loaded in is located on Komendantsky Prospect. It’s K’s apartment, he’s painted the room all white. A wardrobe lines the entire side of a wall, which has a big heart drawn on it.

  We sit on a sectional sofa near the window. There’s a table in front of us, holding up a monitor, mugs, a rolling kit, tobacco, a brown cube of hashish.

  There are shelves in the corner on the wall behind us. K claims that he gathered the wood for the shelves from the shore of the Gulf of Finland. The boards are nautical—veiny, warped, the grain is gray.