by Bob Bidecant
5.6
Mikhailovich sat outside the rear entrance of the Bethnal Green Sanatorium and checked his watch for the tenth time; it was Eleven thirty five in the evening and raining. Suddenly, the heavy bolt shot back noisily on the wooden door frightening the horse. It stepped sideways suddenly, causing Mikhailovich to fall forward as he prepared to step down from the carriage. He cursed his driver and entered the Sanatorium.
‘You are late; I have been waiting outside for five minutes. You were told I would be here at eleven thirty. You know the drill; doors are opened straight away to limit the possibility of being seen.’ He snarled angrily at Putchin, who replied apologetically.
‘Sorry there were a couple of doctors talking in front of the exit, so I had to wait for them to go.’ Mikhailovich ignored him as he entered Jaak’s room. Jaak had already been removed for an hour and taken to another empty room while Mikhailovich inspected the premises.
It was the first time he had been in the Sanatorium. As he stood looking around the room, a large red cockroach ran across the toe of his shoe. He stepped on it, the unmistakable sound of the shell cracking amplified by the tiled walls.
‘You get used to them. Putchin said, as Mikhailovich scraped the bottom of his shoe on the bed rail.
‘God it stinks in here.’ He remarked holding a handkerchief to his nose as he looked around the empty room.
‘It’s the sewers,’ Putchin told him; he lifted a heavy blanket that was covering a large grate in the centre of the room. As he did so, the stench became stronger.
‘Every time it rains the stench here is unbearable.’
‘That blanket isn’t stopping the smell.’
‘It’s not there to stop the smell; it’s to stop the rats getting out of the sewer when it floods. Last week the damn things overran the place. They were all over the Circassian and he was having a fit.’
‘His arms are permanently tied so the poor bastard couldn’t move.’ Gurin added. ‘He was lying on the bed covered in rats, you should have seen the look in his eyes, he was terrified. I didn’t think anything scared that bastard. Can we move to another room?’
‘No, I paid for a complete year for this one, besides the whole of London stinks, where can you go that smells any better?’ Gurin shrugged, he knew Mikhailovich was right.
‘Well at least get a grate made for us with smaller holes in to stop the rats.’
Mikhailovich agreed and then explained Evdokimoff’s plan for the following week quickly, he didn’t want to stay too long.
‘As soon as the first one is done send a message to me and I will arrange a time to meet again. Clean up your loose ends and make sure there are no more sex shows here. Next time you come to me.’ He added as he left the room and headed back to the carriage waiting outside.
‘And the doorman, Tyler?’ Gurin asked. Mikhailovich shook his head without speaking and left.
Putchin let him out and shut the door behind him. As he did so, Tyler opened the door to his room and stepped out.
‘Hey, what you doing, that’s my job.’ He said to Putchin.
‘Not for much longer you old goat fucker.’ Putchin replied in Yiddish and patted him on the head. Tyler scowled at him and tried to knock his hand away.
‘Fucking Hebrews.’ Tyler mumbled. Jaak was back in his room, he was still drowsy from the drugs.
‘Well Jaak, it looks like you have another lady coming to visit you.’ Putchin said in Yiddish. Jaak stared at him incomprehensively, the cocaine numbing his mind of sensible thoughts. Putchin raised his hand to his mouth and imitated sucking a penis. Jaak lay back on the bed and stared at Putchin, he spoke and then spat at Putchin who jumped to one side to avoid it. Gurin started laughing.
‘What did he say?’ asked Putchin.
‘He thinks you want to suck his cock, he told you to fuck off.’
Gurin spent ten minutes preparing Jaak. He sat him on the bed under hypnosis and they waited for the whore that Mikhailovich’s men had found for him to arrive. The room was completely bare of furniture except for the mattress on the bed. Jaak sat silently, naked beneath his white gown, under his pillow was a long sharp knife. The woman entered, she looked around at the cold white tiles of Jaak’s room and the dim light. She held her nose.
‘Blimey, what a pong, which one am I screwing then?’ she asked. Putchin pointed to Jaak.
‘What’s your name?’ Putchin asked.
‘Lizzy, Lizzy long legs. I used to be a dancer.’ She looked at Jaak and smiled.
‘Blimey, I got a good looking one for a change, but you should shave that horrible beard off sweetheart. I bet you are a right lady killer with those beautiful green eyes.’Putchin whispered to Gurin.
‘She got that bit right.’
She put her hand under his gown and felt his penis.
‘Come on darling; let the dog see the rabbit.’ She laughed drunkenly and started to remove her clothes. Putchin stopped her.
‘Just take your knickers off and keep your clothes on, that’s how he likes it.’
‘What makes you think I’m wearing knickers?’ Lizzy laughed. Putchin and Gurin left the room and closed the door.
‘Why with the clothes on?’ Gurin asked him.
‘Because I don’t want to fuck about dressing her afterwards, it is supposed to look like she was killed in the street, these girls don’t get undressed in alleys.’ Putchin replied.
‘Good point, have you got the tarpaulins ready?’ Gurin whispered to Putchin.
‘Yes they are in the handcart outside.’ He replied. ‘Can I go down the corridor for a while; I don’t want to hear him at work?’ He asked.
‘Yes,’ Gurin replied. ‘I will call me when he is finished.’ He watched him walk quickly away. Putchin didn’t like being anywhere near Jaak when he was “working”, his brutality had starting to affect him. Only five minutes later Gurin appeared outside.
‘Come on its over. Finish your cigarette and bring in the tarpaulin.’ Gurin beckoned Putchin to follow him back inside the room. Putchin stopped outside the door, took two deep breaths and then pushed the handcart inside the room and shut the door behind him. Gurin had already subdued Jaak who was lying on his back on the bed. The gown and mattress drenched in blood.
‘Fuck, look at his face, it’s covered in blood.’ Said Putchin, he looked at Jaak and shuddered.
He and Gurin laid the tarpaulin on a clean part of the floor and lifted the woman’s body onto it. Then they held the corners of the tarpaulin and lifted it into the handcart. Careful not to let any blood spill into the cart, they laid a second one on top of the body. Gurin opened the door and checked there was nobody about. Then Putchin pushed the cart towards the hospital rear exit where another man was waiting for him outside.
‘All clear?’ Putchin asked quietly.
‘Yes its all clear, come on,’ came the response in Russian.Putchin wheeled the handcart along three streets. Nobody took any notice of him. He pushed the cart up an alleyway and stopped. He and the second man lifted the body out carefully holding the corners of the tarpaulin and carried it silently to a dark corner where they laid it down and rolled the body off. Putchin pushed the body over onto its back while the other man replaced the tarpaulin in the cart. He opened her legs as he had been instructed.
“Make it look like she was being screwed.” Mikhailovich had told him. He lifted her skirt and pulled his hands back in shock, stifling the impulse to call out. The woman had her abdomen cut open. He stepped back and walked quickly back up the alley.
‘Come on, let’s go.’ They checked nobody was in sight and quickly pushed the cart out onto the cobbled street and away. Nobody noticed them as they stopped next to the horse slaughter yard and threw the tarpaulins over the low wall. Putchin pulled out a packet of Three Castles cigarettes and lit one; he offered his accomplice the pack.
‘No thanks, I don’t like them.’
‘Really, I like them. What do you smoke then?’ Putchin aske
d.
‘I like these ones better.’ He removed a pack of Woodbines and held them up.
‘Woodbines, really. Why, do they taste better?’
‘Yea, I like them strong, and I’m collecting the cards for my son, he likes the pictures.’They walked back to the Sanatorium discussing cigarettes, the dead girl already forgotten about.
5.7
Gurin shivered, Jaak’s room was cold, he didn’t like the London weather, it was either foggy or raining and sometimes both. He told Jaak to stand in the corner and removed his bloodstained gown, wrapped it up and threw it next to the door. Mikhailovich had employed two male nurses to help Gurin take care of Jaak; they fed him and washed him every day. They could both be trusted to keep their mouths shut. The Okhrana had vetted them and Mikhailovich had selected them carefully, they both had family back in Russia. They took the gown and the mattress away and burnt it, and then they returned and washed the tiled floor. Swilling all the remaining blood into the grate situated in the middle of the room. The tiles made it easy work, originally designed for incontinent patients it was perfect for cleaning blood too. They replaced a new mattress and gown over Jaak, then Gurin told him to lie down on the bed. He was like a small child when he was under hypnosis; he simply did as instructed. But he didn’t look like he was in a trance, and sometimes Gurin had to check he really was under by making him do something stupid like stand on one leg or bark like a dog. Gurin strapped him and brought him out of the trance.
Jaak sniffed several times, he liked the fresh smell of the linen. Gurin injected him with Cocaine and he lay back smiling. Putchin returned to the room and stared at Jaak. He beckoned Gurin to leave the room and speak with him. Gurin was worried; he followed Putchin along the corridor and out of earshot of Jaak where they could speak Russian to each other.
‘Somebody see you? Gurin asked.
‘No everything went smoothly,’ said Putchin. ‘But I need to know something about Jaak.’ Gurin looked puzzled.
‘I know why he hates Russians; you already told me the story about his mother. But why does he hate women so much?’
‘He doesn’t hate all women, he only hates Russian women; in fact he hates them more than Russian men.’ Gurin answered.
‘Why does he need to rip their insides out? Isn’t killing them enough?’ Putchin needed to understand. Gurin hesitated for a moment while he checked they were alone. He placed a hand on Putchin’s shoulder.
‘He is getting inside your head isn’t he?’
‘Yes,’ answered Putchin. ’I am not sure I can keep working with him.’
‘Come outside.’ Gurin took Putchin outside and they found an empty wooden bench to sit down. Gurin lit a cigarette and cleared his throat.
‘He told me he is looking for a gold necklace that belonged to his friend.’ Gurin said quietly.
‘What?’
‘Well I think he was taking the piss out of me, but when we were on the ship, before we arrived in London I put him in a trance every day to extract as much information from him as I could. He had been instrumental in the Kokand uprising and Evdokimoff wanted to know who else was involved. As well as the information the Count wanted, I also asked him about his past, more intimate details. He revealed some very disturbing facts about his life.’ Gurin hesitated, he wasn’t sure if he should confide in Putchin but he felt the man was owed some sort of explanation.
‘Listen, I can see he is affecting you so I am going to share some information about him, but don’t repeat it to anybody else, especially Mikhailovich, and don’t mention any of it to Jaak, as far as I know I am the only one who knows this much about him. He trusts me.’ Putchin sat silently; he was intrigued to know more.
‘He was sexually abused as a boy. At the age of ten, the Turks sent him back to Circassia to spy on the Russians, but they found out and tortured him. Somehow he managed to escape and made his way alone, more than One hundred miles to Bukhara. When he got there, it was under Russian occupation, so he hid for months amongst the rats in the sewers until the Turks arrived and the rebellion started. He became Colonel Mustafa Pamuk’s protégé at the age of twelve.’
‘No wonder his head is fucked up,’ said Putchin. I had no idea. But why does he look for a gold necklace?’
‘A Circassian girl named Isabelle took care of him in the refugee camp after his mother was killed. She swallowed his gold chain and then her own for safekeeping. He watched an old Gypsy woman cut her throat and gut her to get the gold back. He killed the old Gypsy when he was only six years old.’
‘Retribution?’ Putchin asked.
‘Yes, Retribution.’ Repeated Gurin.
