The Shaman of Kupa Piti

by A. Nybo

  While Leon wrestled to get one of Sergei’s arms under control, Sergei grabbed the tail end of the belt, and it tightened around Leon’s hips before suddenly going completely loose.

  He jumped to his feet, and Sergei sprung up like he’d been shot from a cannon. He shoved Leon front first against the wall and used his body to keep him pinned. Leon fought to get purchase to push off the wall but couldn’t raise his legs, and trying to push the weight of them both was like trying to do push-ups in mud.

  Sergei slipped his hand between the wall and Leon’s thigh and wrapped it around Leon’s erection through his trousers. Leon was so hard and the vice-like grip was such a welcome sensation that he thrust into Sergei’s hand in spite of the commands his mind screamed for continued resistance. His body wanted relief so badly.

  Sergei pushed his own erection hard against the crack of Leon’s arse. The two layers of material acted as a frustrating shield. “You came for this?” Sergei growled into the back of Leon’s neck as he thrust against him.

  Anger and defiance helped him overcome the battle with his body, and Leon spun around and bore down on Sergei, pushing him backwards. He slipped his foot behind Sergei’s leg and tripped him. Sergei grabbed for something to keep himself upright and snagged Leon’s shirt. Then Sergei fell backwards to the sound of tearing material. The tear was halted when it reached the shirt’s tough seam, and Leon toppled over to land in a tumbled heap on the ground beside Sergei.

  There was a moment of silence as neither of them moved, and then Sergei broke into a rolling laughter.

  Annoyed, Leon pushed himself up onto his haunches, elbows out, hands resting on his upper legs, and looked down at his torn shirt.

  He was going to have an interesting time trying to explain this away. Unless, of course, he took Sergei in for assaulting a police officer. Then he would have to report why he hadn’t deployed his Taser, pepper spray, or any of his other defensive weapons. And the part of his report that read, “And then he grabbed my erection,” would make it a real winner. He could see the special commendation now—a cock-and-balls medal pinned on his forehead—dickhead of the year award.

  He looked at Sergei, who’d lost his goggles and dust mask in the struggle, lying with the soles of his boots flat on the ground, his knees raised, hands resting on his waist, and the most beautiful expression Leon had ever seen. Sergei’s eyes had softened, and in their depths was a kind but teasing smile. Leon wouldn’t have thought someone as tough and wild as Sergei would be capable of such mildness.

  Sergei moved one of his hands off his waist and set the back of it against Leon’s hand, running his knuckles tentatively over Leon’s fingers.

  Mesmerised, Leon bent to Sergei, and his last thought as he neared his target was that his professionalism was in its death throes. Regardless, he couldn’t stop himself.

  Before their lips touched, breaching Sergei’s facial hair was like entering a secret and very private place, and for all the hardness of the man, his lips were soft and welcoming. Kissing Sergei was like stepping into a different world, one where Leon lost himself, gave himself over to someone who welcomed him so seductively he never wanted to leave.

  Stunned by both his behaviour and the kiss, Leon drew back and looked down to where their fingers had interlaced and now rested on his thigh.

  “Doris—” Sergei began.

  Leon barked a harsh laugh and fell back on his arse, breaking their connection completely. “Yep, I’m going to burn in professional hell. While on duty, I’ve just kissed a male witness slash suspect who calls me Doris.” With his elbow propped on his upraised knee, Leon rested his forehead on the heel of his palm while he tried to understand why he’d just committed a trifecta of wrongs.

  Sergei rolled onto his side and propped himself up on an elbow. “Did that answer any of your questions?” he asked with a droll smile.

  “Yeah. One I hadn’t even thought to ask.” Such as what it would be like to kiss Sergei or whether he would risk his career to kiss a witness or whether he would…. Okay, it answered lots of questions he’d never thought to ask.

  Leon relatched his belt, snatched up the baseball cap, and dusted it off before he turned to sit with his back to the drive wall. “Shit, Rodney is up there waiting for me.”

  “Doris…,” Sergei began again.

  “Leon.”

  Sergei chuckled. “Leon.” His name rolled around in Sergei’s mouth like he was savouring it, and Leon very much liked the way it sounded on the Russian’s tongue.

  After a moment of contemplative silence, Sergei spoke quietly. “It has been fourteen years since I know of anything to do with Murmansk. How can this be connected to me?”

  “I was hoping you’d tell me,” said Leon. “Is there any reason anyone would chase you?”

  Sergei flopped to his back and sighed. He put the heels of his palms to his eyes and pressed. When he finally lifted them, he sat up and pulled his knees in to rest his forearms on them. “The Murmansk Ubiytsa chased me from the White Sea. My mother moved the family to Finland to escape them. I was there for two years, and they never came for me.”

  “Ubiytsa?”

  “Hmm… killers, assassins.”

  “Why were they after you?”

  “They killed my father because he refused to transport their cargo across the White Sea. Then they tried to make me captain the boat.”

  “What was their cargo?”

  He shrugged. “Whatever they wanted transported. They would not tell us what they wanted us to take across, but drugs, weapons, and humans were common cargos.”

  “You have two older brothers? Why did they want you to take your father’s place?”

  Sergei’s expression hardened, but his eyes reflected resignation. “I was rumoured noaidi.”

  “Was there anything to those rumours?”

  Sergei shrugged and rose to his feet. “There are no more noaidis. When Christians came, the noaidi were killed for being sorcerers.”

  Something about the finality in Sergei’s tone caused Leon to suspect he was being wilfully misled. “They were killed off, or reportedly killed off?”

  Sergei walked towards the shaft, a markedly unsubtle prompt for Leon to leave.

  Sensing he’d gotten as much information as he was likely to, Leon decided not to push it, since any report he wrote wasn’t about to include the witness’s claims to past use of some sort of sorcery.

  “What does a noaidi do?”

  Sergei stopped, his back ramrod straight. He half turned. “Healer and mediator between worlds.”

  “Worlds of what?”

  Sergei lowered his face and peered up from beneath his brow. His head turned slightly, but his gaze remained unwavering. The expression suggested Sergei was contemplating whether to punish Leon for sheer stupidity or take pity on him.

  “Goodbye, Leon,” Sergei said finally. He smirked and flicked Leon’s torn shirt. “Next time don’t fall so close to my wheelbarrow. The sharp edges can be dangerous. You were lucky you weren’t injured.”

  Relieved Sergei hadn’t followed up on the threat his eyes had promised, Leon grinned. “You really should get that barrow fixed. You might be the one to get hurt.”

  Sergei raised an eyebrow and waved him up the ladder. Leon had climbed a few rungs when he heard Sergei mutter.

  “What was that?” asked Leon.

  “Nice view.” Leon could hear the grin in Sergei’s voice. He shook his head and kept climbing. “Oh, Doris?”

  Stopping, Leon moved so he could see Sergei. “Yes?”

  “Tell Leon Armstrong he is welcome to come visit me anytime.”

  Sergei’s deadpan delivery and the way he waved and walked off left Leon trying to decide what he was expected to do with the off-duty invitation. As he climbed the rest of the way up the ladder, he acknowledged there was only one thing he could do. Ignore it. At this point, Leon’s ability to pretend he hadn’t compromised himself depended on Sergei’s silence. Whether he’d compromised the
case, well, that was a different thing altogether.

  When he reached the surface, Rodney came running over. “What happened? Are you injured? Should I call Sarge?”

  Over a torn shirt? Leon looked down at himself and was shocked at the extent of his disarray. In the darkened mine he hadn’t noticed how starkly the orange dirt contrasted against the dark blue of his trousers. He looked like he’d been attacked by a feral cat—or a Russian miner.

  “I’m fine. I fell over, and my shirt got caught on the edge of the wheelbarrow.” It sounded like the worst excuse in the world, but Rodney seemed to buy it. He’d have to clean up before he returned to the station, because although Rodney might have bought it, Charlie wouldn’t be likely to.

  As Rodney drove them back to town, Leon played over what had just happened. Who the hell slapped these days? And what made Sergei think to use that thumb grip? They were both very effective attacks that left no marks, but one side of Leon’s face was still hot and stinging from one of those slaps.

  Leon turned his face to the window so Rodney wouldn’t see the unbidden smile that claimed Leon’s mouth as he remembered the look in Sergei’s eyes just before Leon kissed him.

  “AWW, C’MON, Sergei,” Lucy said in her best imitation of a whiny voice.

  “Why are you asking me to a party? Shouldn’t you be asking an eligible young man?” Sergei laughed and pointedly looked around the barroom. “Okay, maybe just an eligible man?”

  Lucy crowded close to her side of the bar. “That’s why I’m asking you.”

  “I’m not eligible. We’ve talked about this.”

  “I know. That’s what I mean,” she said with wooden lips meant to hide that she was speaking.

  Sergei’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re asking me because I’m gay?”

  “Shh!” Lucy almost hit him in her frantic attempts to keep him quiet. She glanced around like she expected someone to run over wielding a baseball bat and yelling, “Blasphemers!”

  Confused, Sergei lowered his voice and shuffled a little closer to the bar, He leaned over it. “You want me to be in the closet but go out with you?” he asked quietly.

  “Yes,” she hissed.

  “How can I be in but go out?” he teased.

  “Barkeep!” someone yelled from further down the bar.

  Lucy rolled her eyes and left Sergei pondering her invitation while she went to serve the customer.

  Sergei never reintroduced the subject when she returned, and Lucy finally broke. “Well? Will you?”

  “First explain why.”

  She closed the distance between them. “I want company, but I don’t want to have to fight someone off at the end of the night because I don’t want to fuck them. And contrary to all reason, I like you.”

  Sergei laughed. “In that case, I’ll do it. When is it?”

  “In two hours.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  Sergei downed the remains of his stubby and stood. “You don’t give a person much warning to prepare their finery. I need to get showered and dressed.”

  Lucy grinned. “Don’t get dressed on my account. I’ve seen you naked. You’re a hot piece of man.”

  Remembering her reddened cheeks, Sergei grinned and leaned in close. “Be careful, or I might just change my mind on my choice of bed partners for the night.” He pushed himself back from the bar with a hint of satisfaction at the way she averted her gaze. But she managed not to blush—to his disappointment. He waggled his eyebrows. “Nice earrings.”

  “A very nice man gave them to me for driving him home when he was too drunk to do it himself.”

  He leaned over the bar and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Lucy.”

  “See you back here in two hours,” she said, with a blush this time.

  Sergei walked from the bar wondering why the hell he had agreed to go to a party. He wasn’t a great socialiser. He wasn’t a “fit” for most people—other than the miners. But the miners weren’t really interested in anything that wasn’t mining, football, or just flat out bullshitting. Sergei could give as good as he got with the mining and bullshitting, but his interest in football was zilch.

  What was he was going to talk about with Lucy? He liked her—a lot—but as with most people, he didn’t really have anything in common with her. His life was mining, drinking, bullshitting, and spirituality. And his spirituality wasn’t on the table for discussion—with anyone. He’d talked about it more to Doris in the past few days than he had to everyone else in the past fourteen years—and he wouldn’t have even done that if it hadn’t been Leon.

  Leon reminded him of a seal, graceful and curious, always darting in and out, getting ever closer to the object of his curiosity. Sergei smiled to himself. He couldn’t be happier knowing Leon was as curious about him as he was about Leon. Not to mention how charming Leon was when he became flustered. And that boyish grin was downright dangerous.

  While he admired Leon’s commitment to his profession, it was a great disappointment that it was going to thwart them getting to know each other better. Sergei came across so few men he really wanted to know more about—on every level—that it saddened him he would be nothing more to Leon than a work-related matter, for now anyway.

  However, that wasn’t going to keep him from teasing Leon. With luck, he would break through Leon’s professionalism for a longer period than the few minutes he had yesterday when they’d kissed. Sergei shuddered at the memory.

  That was when he realised he was almost finished showering. Thoughts of Leon had buoyed his journey from the pub to home to the shower, and he had no recollection of the getting there.

  He dressed, grabbed a snack, and headed back to the pub. He didn’t know when they were due to leave, but he’d wait for Lucy there.

  “What have you done to your hair?” asked Sergei when Lucy appeared from the passage. She must have come in the back door. “You look like a futuristic tribeswoman.” How Lucy had managed to get her short hair into plaits that spanned the entire side of her head, he’d never know.

  “Don’t you like it?” The way she voiced her question suggested she was interested in his response, but it wasn’t going to influence her decision in any way.

  “I do,” he said. The hairstyle drew the eye to the sharpness of her jaw and her slim neck. “You know, you are very attractive.”

  She smirked. “And you’ve only just noticed?”

  “I have an excuse.”

  “No, you don’t. You don’t have to be sexually attracted to someone to have an opinion about how they look.”

  “No, I meant I’m blind. Didn’t you know? Do I hide it that well?”

  “Sometimes it’s obvious,” she teased. “Like when you can’t drive home.”

  “Oh, Lucy, that’s harsh,” he said, conceding defeat. “Where is this party?”

  “Just up the road. We can walk.”

  With a six-pack under Sergei’s arm and a bottle of spirits in Lucy’s hand, they left the pub and wandered up the empty sidewalk arm in arm.

  “Whose party is it?” Sergei asked.

  “Julie Devereaux’s thirtieth.”

  “Should we have bought a present?”

  “You’re not expected to, and I already gave her a voucher to have her hair done.”

  They chatted their way up around the corner and down a side street.

  As was the way when strolling around Coober Pedy back streets, there was rarely anyone to be seen. It was almost dark by the time they arrived. As they went through the side gate to the backyard, Sergei heard his name being called.

  Hollywood sat in one of a dozen folding chairs, a beer in his hand, feet up on an esky. “Sergei,” he called again.

  Trying to be circumspect, Sergei waved instead of calling out. “Are we expecting many people from Soda’s?” he asked Lucy quietly.

  “I have no idea. But at least it makes it a bit more comfortable.” Lucy grabbed him and pulled him close. “Don’t you dare leave to
night without me. The whole purpose of you being my date is so I’m not left at the mercy of people like Hollywood and Drew.”

  He put his arm around her. “I promise.” Not that he knew who Drew was, but he’d be there for her, and she could come and go as she pleased.

  They entered the party proper, claimed chairs, and sat spinning tales until it was time to fire the barbecue up. When Julie’s partner was called away to an emergency plumbing job, Sergei volunteered to take care of the barbecuing. They had just decided on Sergei’s new job title, Barbecued Barbie—because someone thought Barbie might look that way if she’d been left on a grill and her hair had melted down to her chin—when a roar went up and someone yelled, “Toss your bongs! Doris times three at four o’clock.”

  From his post beside the barbecue, Sergei looked towards the gate to see Charlie, Leon, and another cop, all in casual clothes. Sergei’s heart jumped to his throat at the sight of Leon in jeans, a band T-shirt, and a pair of sneakers. On his shoulder, he carried an esky.

  Sergei kept a surreptitious eye on the threesome as Charlie and the other cop, whose name sounded like Jolly, introduced Leon to Julie, the hostess of the party. Leon lowered the esky to the ground and pulled out a bottle of spirits, which he presented to Julie, and a beer each for Charlie, Jolly, and himself. He pulled a couple of meat packs from the esky, and Sergei was careful to position himself so he could see Leon’s reaction when he noticed who was barbecuing, but so it wasn’t obvious he was watching.

  A surge of gratification ran through Sergei at the initial unguarded moment as Leon’s eyes lit up when he found the barbecue, but then his expression became shielded. Sergei even managed to find pleasure in that as it hinted at how much Leon was trying to conceal his true emotions.

  Leon motioned to his company that he was taking the meat packs to the barbecue. Sergei turned the assorted items he was currently cooking before raising his eyes to enjoy Leon’s approach.