Kill Cupid: Internet dating just got dangerous (19 page)

Bronte was feeling slightly better thanks to Tanya’s insistence he drink no more beer and instead, vodka. Experienced with the many assets of her national beverage she knew it would have more of a numbing effect. She was right. A few shots later and Tanya took the call from Zhana. When she rang off, Tanya stated,

              ‘We should wait on the street. She’ll pick us up soon…’

              ‘She has no car, right?’

              ‘In someone else’s car… she didn’t mention the driver.’ They got up and made their way to the rendezvous on the street. Bronte was thankful for the help with his luggage.

              ‘Hello and good to see you again.’ Sasha shook Bronte’s hand and looked him over. Bronte grimaced as the FSB-firm handshake took its toll on his smashed and bruised hand
. Go easy on the macho
Bronte thought behind locked teeth.

              ‘Quickly, in the car, we must go’ Zhana ordered. They climbed into the FSB Skoda and Sasha floored it. In less than ten minutes, they arrived at a local police station. It was large and may have been the head station for the district. It also happened to be the station where Sasha had friends from his days at the academy. Bronte was ushered into a small room and asked to wait alone. There was little of anything in it other than a desk, three chairs and an old 386 desktop computer with a screen that surely dated back to the late 80’s. The mouse looked like a Tonka toy.

Two officers appeared, one a woman with camera supporting a large flash that resembled an overhead halide from a football field. She had the blondest hair with the blackest roots he’d ever seen, prompting him to wonder why most blondes dye their roots dark. Sasha watched from the doorway while each inspected his injuries and took relevant photos. By the time Blondie finished, Bronte was half blind from the solar flair each time she snapped a pic. Still reeling from the squiggles in front of his eyes, it was lucky Sasha instructed Bronte to follow him back up the hall into a larger office. Zhana sat giving a statement to another officer. It was all being taken in hardcopy, the policeman writing furiously. Judging by the computer on his desk, his job would forever require more skill with a Bic than with Microsoft. Bronte wondered about their ability to information share with other police stations and government agencies alike, at least in less time than it would take a carrier pigeon.

Zhana managed to paint a background of circumstances preluding his bashing then it was Bronte’s turn to tell his version of events. Remembering the exact sequence of dramas as they’d unfolded that day was hazy. He told of the come on by Alessiya, the cries of rape, the assailants, the assault, time locked in the bathroom and the escape. Remarkably, the recording officer managed to keep pace with the man translating. When Bronte finished, no one spoke. There was almost an eerie silence until Sasha eventually asked the detectives in the room to join him outside for a smoke. Caught in the language barrier again, Bronte hadn’t a clue what had been said.             

‘What’s happening now?’

              ‘They are going to smoke, outside.’

              ‘Why… they got bored smoking inside? What did they say about it?’

Zhana shrugged, their lack of words had fed her ignorance too. Before suggesting she might go ask, Sasha returned with two officers. Without regarding Bronte he asked to speak to Zhana alone outside.
Now she’s gone out for a smoke,
Bronte thought.

              ‘I am not sure my friends wish to get involved’ the detective said. Incredulous, Zhana coughed as he lit her cigarette.

              ‘What? Why not?’

              ‘It will be difficult if your friend was in her apartment and she accuses him of attempted rape.’

              ‘That’s ridiculous. I know he would not have tried to rape her. That story is a fabrication. I know it went down just like Bronte told it…’ Zhana glared at him. ‘But you don’t believe him?’

              ‘It’s not a case of who believes who. If he wishes to press charges, we can investigate her story… not much more.’

              ‘But if he raped, or tried to rape her, why is it him pressing charges and not Alessiya? That doesn’t make sense. This is bullshit… Come on Sasha, look at his injuries!’

‘She only has to say they were caused in self defence. And she was too upset, too frightened and too embarrassed to come forward. You know, it is usual women do not report such assaults.’ Zhana started to cry. Sasha continued,

‘All police know of cases where the male assailant gets in first and makes claims about the woman to try and weaken her charges later.’ Zhana looked away to hide an ever increasing well of tears before composing herself.

              ‘So what are you saying… there’s nothing we can do? You won’t help?’

The big Russian detective only shrugged his shoulders.             

----------  * * --------------------- * * * ------------------------ * * -----------

Somewhere else in the city, Alessiya was nervous. As she took six hundred from the
Bankomat,
she looked over her shoulder. Already fifteen minutes late, there was no sign of Rita. She called. Rita’s phone was switched off.

‘Bitch!’ Rita had dumped her in this mess - which should have been a piece of cake. If only she wasn’t so frigid, so out of touch with a little bedroom mazurka, none of this would have happened.
Damn! Since when were girls her age not into sex?
She thought. All the whores Alessiya knew and managed were aged nineteen to twenty six. Next time she’d simply use Vika or Ksusha, some professional working girl who’d get the job done properly. She tried her number again.

‘Bitch’, she mumbled. She threw her phone in her bag, fidgeted for her keys, unlocked her car and got in.

              Alessiya knew that loose lips sink ships, particularly lifestyle pleasure cruisers. As a result, she decided Rita’s best role now was that of a mushroom. Kept in the dark, she remained oblivious to the drama accelerating toward her. But when Alessiya called, it was obvious something must have gone pear-shape. The tone in her voice told her that much. Now the young apprentice was just about distraught. Rita had done some crazy things in her life, but this topped them all. How did she ever think this was a way to make money? It was fine in theory but a damn site more difficult to practice. Her best practice defence now was the head in the sand technique. She hoped it was working though she knew deep down it wasn’t and in fact, never did. She’d agreed to meet Alessiya earlier but she had no real intention of keeping the appointment.

              Alessiya’s plan had been simple. Screw her way out of paying Bronte, given Rita was inept and he considered her a wet fish. However things went awry for her ‘plan B’ - to cry rape - when Bronte pulled the “Internal Affairs” jacket. Alessiya had no choice but to let him walk after the gorilla and ape security men bought his story, got scared and wanted out. The two were police officers who worked as private security in their time off to earn some extra cash. She’d employed them several times to watch over the handful of prostitutes she ran. She also ‘loan-sharked’ to help legitimize her cash only income, hiring them to extract repayments from someone who didn’t have it. But now she was well over playing the benevolent mother to dear Rita. She’d put the blow-torch on her to find at least a portion of the fifteen hundred dollars – and fast. While she waited at traffic lights she tried Rita’s number again. It was still switched off.

----------  * * --------------------- * * * ------------------------ * * -----------

Almost forty five minutes passed without sight of Zhana or Sasha. Bronte sat alone in the office with the two uniformed officers for what was starting to seem like an eternity. Although communication between them was poor, they’d discussed the weather, the city, their work, women and football. The officers seemed to be using his presence as an excuse to sit in that room and do nothing more than smoke and tell jokes. As time dragged by, it was evident the paper coffee cup with the thin layer of coffee would be well and truly stacked with soaked cigarette butts. The two young policemen were delighted to be escaping routine station work, no doubt involving a lot of paper and little computer.

              Bronte’s wounds were a constant reminder he wanted to get out of there and soak in a hot bath. With a sense of increasing hopelessness for having involved the police, he told the two cops what Alessiya said when he was leaving.

‘She said it was a joke asking you guys to help… the police I mean. She said you are the mafia. Police are the Mafia… that’s what she said.’

----------  * * --------------------- * * * ------------------------ * * -----------

Rita answered the door without using the peephole. She didn’t consider for a moment Oly would be the one standing on the other side, visits just didn’t happen. At the sight of Alessiya’s solemn face her heart stopped. She thought about hiding, but that was impossible. Too late; her brother and father were home with the television on.

              ‘Why haven’t you answered my calls?’ Alessiya snapped. Rita pushed forward against the outer door taking Alessiya with her. She closed it behind her to confront her mentor outside the apartment.

              ‘My family’s home, not inside, please… I’m sorry but I am not well. I couldn’t get out this afternoon.’ She was trembling.

              ‘I want at least $500 from you for the Australian bullshit.’

              ‘I don’t have the money, you know that…’

              ‘We will come to an arrangement…’

‘Why, what happened? You said you had it under control?’ Rita interrupted.

              ‘Ha, yea right. He’s a bloody cop, or so he claims – and the worst; undercover, assigned by Interpol.’ Rita suddenly felt like her grandmother looked, as all her years sped by in a police car driven by an angry kangaroo. In one second she flashed through the next forty years of her life, sitting in a prison cell.

‘Come on, get your things… no, on second thoughts, just your makeup, that’ll do’ Alessiya demanded, already opening the door to usher the zombie in front of her back inside. ‘And hurry up.’ Two minutes later Rita was back out the door and they were gone.

At precisely 6.23 on that Thursday evening in April, a zeppelin crashed onto the 14
th
police station in the precinct of Krasnodar. The event was not on the scale of the Hindenberg and caused no fires or damage to property. No emergency services were called and there were no reports of injuries. In fact, it didn’t even raise the attention of the media or make the evening news. But relaying Alessiya’s parting slur about the police being the mafia had gone down like a lead balloon and wreckage was strewn all over the Police station.

Immediately the joviality stopped and the uniformed cops got up and stormed out of the room leaving Bronte holding the coffee cup stuffed full of butts. After a minute, a man who looked like the station chief from a popular police television drama appeared with Sasha close behind.

              ‘Good afternoon’. He was a handsome character in a rugged sort of way and in good shape for his fifty odd years. With white sleeves rolled up and his tie slightly relaxed he continued in reasonable English, ‘I believe your friend thinks we are the Mafia?’ He said sternly though calmly.

              ‘Yes. She said you wouldn’t help me, because
you
are the Mafia.’

              ‘Ha… so she said that, did she?’ He gave a chuckle and the attending police laughed briefly along with him. He said something else and the subordinates all looked sombre.

‘Well, we will have to show her that we are not the Mafia then, won’t we?’ He rattled some command and the room began to empty rapidly. As Zhana returned from her despair session with Tanya, she was almost bowled over by the mass exodus from the office and the conundrum in the front of the police station.

              ‘What’s happening? Where are they going?’

              ‘I have no idea, but it seems something I said sent them running.’

Sasha returned briefly and with only head appearing around the door, instructed them to wait where they were. Zhana began to update Bronte with the former glum news,

              ‘Sasha says we can do little because she will say you tried to rape her.’

              ‘You don’t believe that, do you Zhana, that I tried such a thing?’

              ‘No. I know that is a silly lie from the conniving so and so… but they are saying it will be hard for you to prove it.’

              ‘I see.’ Bronte sat despondent thinking about Alessiya’s screams, the neighbour’s perspective and the two goons as witnesses. Frowning, he added, ‘Honestly Zhana, I am really tired of the entire affair… I just want to go home.’ Such a despondent confession of feelings pricked a guilt nerve in Zhana and she started crying.

              ‘It’s all my fault I know. I put you through this and... God… I even sent you to her place… and now… look at you and what’s happened. How can you ever forgive me?’ Already a sucker for a crying woman, her tears struck an even bigger nerve in him.

              ‘Zhana please don’t cry, it’s okay, I’m alive… it’s only a few bruises…’ He paused and held his breath before continuing, ‘Have you given any thought to our conversation last night?’

              ‘Oh Bronte… there is nothing I can do.’ She looked away and wiped her face.

‘I have given my word to Willy and… how can I back down now? And there’s my mother, and son and… it would kill him and…’ she paused and looked at Bronte from big wet eyes, ‘But I have strong feelings for you too.’ She buried her face in her handkerchief. ‘What a mess my life is in all of a sudden!’ She sobbed quietly.

Bronte really wanted to hold her, declare his intentions, tell her to forget Willy and commit to each other. It seemed so obvious, so bloody extraordinary given the way things had transpired, the chance meeting and all. But for reasons at that moment on that day that probably had everything to do with his bashing, he just couldn’t do it. He really couldn’t be bothered.

Here were Mr and Mrs Crusoe shipwrecked, washed up on a deserted shore and face down in the sand. He could see her lying next to him but knowing she was alive and well was suddenly enough. There was no energy left to even reach out and touch her. Their exciting romantic adventure had come to this and Bronte just couldn’t take any more. Neither could he raise any convincing argument to dissuade her of attachment to Willy. He wanted Zhana to melt into him and like soothing ointment, ooze through his heart and soul. But while she had barriers, he lacked the spirit and strength to climb them.

----------  * * --------------------- * * * ------------------------ * * -----------

In the apartment she called home, Alessiya looked at herself in the hall mirror and adjusted her hair. She was still recovering her pride after his rejection, which just happened to be the part she had failed to mention when she’d relayed events to Rita earlier. There was no way she wished anyone to know she had propositioned a foreign male and failed. Now looking at her reflection she grimaced, reminded of the time spent making up for his visit, only to wind up with egg on her face.

‘Hurry Rita… you have only five minutes’ she called. Rita emerged from the bedroom in a state of shock, still distant and not in touch with the occasion in any way.

‘Oly please…. Please, I can’t do this… I don’t even know what to….’

‘You’ll be fine… you’ll figure it out… play it by ear’ she said, finished with Rita’s protests and plea-bargaining for a debt reprieve. Rita had known virtually nothing about this side of Alessiya’s life. Until now she’d never been told straight up that her mentor was also an enterprising young madam. Had Rita paid more attention and not been so keen to avoid topics of sex, it would have been plainly evident. The polished ‘hide the head in the sand’ technique had ultimately turned her into a mushroom. She wondered what else about Oly she didn’t know, or maybe didn’t wish to know. Alessiya insisted Rita wear a schoolgirl outfit with white bobby socks and black pumps for the evening’s entertainment. The dress barely covered her buttocks. As if jealous of her appearance, Alessiya only commented invidiously that she was obviously taller than her.

              ‘He’ll like the look of you’.

              ‘I want to die. I can’t go through with this, please Oly.’

Alessiya reached into her bag and pulled a vial of Valium. Handing them to Rita, she continued,

              ‘Here, take three of these. You won’t care less; won’t feel a thing, I promise.’ With a haunted look reminiscent of Joan of Arc about to be burned at the stake, Rita struggled to swallow three tablets.

‘He has already paid me the $250 so three hours, maximum, okay? And keep your phone on. If he gives you any trouble, just prank me with your mobile. I’ll be at the agency. Good luck.’ Alessiya turned, opened the door and simply walked out, slamming it behind her.

Rita sat, then stood, then sat again. Standing, she looked at herself in the hall mirror and realised it wasn’t her she was looking at, but a prostitute wearing her face as a mask.
If dad could see me now?
She fought to hold back tears thinking about the cost for her wares - $250
.
She contemplated phoning her mother and asking for the urgent loan of the money, but she knew that was ridiculous and besides, her client had already paid Alessiya. The irony was that by keeping Alessiya in the dark about the state of her virginity, Rita had short-changed them both. In Alessiya’s hands she was worth a lot more. In such pristine condition with zero mileage, god knows what she would have charged the client. Rita’s actions had indirectly made mushrooms of both women.

It may have been another twenty minutes. She’d just finished another glass of white wine when she heard the rap on the door. She straightened up and yanked down on her skirt which did little to conceal much. She held her breath and closed her eyes for a moment and wished the tablets would take more effect more rapidly. Then she composed herself as best the Valium and alcohol could do for her and opened what must surely be the door to the end of the world.

              ‘Alessiya Petrova?’

              ‘No… I’m sorry, she is not here.’

‘And who might you be?’

              ‘My name is Rita… I’m only a friend…’

‘Police… we’d like to ask you some questions about an assault, some money received from an Australian and the fraudulent use of an identity to receive this money. Can you come with us to the station for questioning please? And you might wish to grab a coat.’

----------  * * --------------------- * * * ------------------------ * * -----------

Approximately the same time this was happening, Sasha and another officer pulled up out front of Alessiya’s agency in a marked Lada. The police decided they would hit the two addresses most likely to reveal Alessiya simultaneously. This move would make it near impossible for her to receive warning and slip town. But they had not expected to find both girls at the same time in the two locations. Finding Rita at Alessiya’s apartment proved to be a bonus. Rita sat in the back seat of a white Toyota Camry watching Alessiya emerge from the apartment building handcuffed, cursing and fighting angrily with Sasha and his partner. Sasha opened the back door of the police car, shoved Alessiya inside and slammed the door shut. Rita thought he might have squashed her foot with its rapid closing.

The operation had been accurate within moments for the boys in blue. Alessiya received a call from the local television executive who arrived for his evening of sensual delight only to see Rita placed in the rear of a police car. Alessiya was already throwing things in an overnight bag when the police arrived. The TV exec assumed it was a raid and ran for the hills. The last thing he needed at home or work was a scandal with a prostitute. Scared and panting, he called demanding his dough back. After all, love is the most precious thing money can buy.

Knowing no such raid could have occurred for soliciting Alessiya did her sums correctly and figured something had gone down in the aftermath of events with the Australian. Luckily for some and not for others, the TV exec had arrived a few minutes late while for Alessiya, the police had arrived a few minutes early. Five minutes later and he’d have been caught with his pants down while she’d have been on the road and not worth the effort to pursue. Rita meanwhile had been saved from a fate worse than death when the police arrived. She had expected her fifty year old fat Dutch playboy and was aghast to see two young Russian police standing at the door. But that was where her salvation ended. The police viewed her as a hooker and unknown to them which was surprising. They thought they knew all the young girls plying their trade in the district. Rita of course stated she was waiting for her boyfriend. They laughed.

But on the other hand, Rita was distraught figuring her family would find out. The arresting detectives would call home. Her mother and father would arrive at the station to see her dressed like a whore. If that happened, she was finished. She’d never talk her way out of her costume and this dilemma. Now, she may as well go to work in Moscow. She began to cry at the thought of keeping her virginity all these years to lose it as she almost did.
I’m
o
nly worth $250
. In the back of that police car, her fears of mug shots and line-ups became reality and the tears flowed abundantly.