Kill Cupid: Internet dating just got dangerous (22 page)

When they eventually pulled into the driveway it was evening and already ice cold. They headed straight for the eating house where the table was laid in a replica of the previous evening. Viktor’s mother prepared dinner at the fuel stove while father nibbled and drank juice and vodka at the table. Sasha sat without removing his coat and poured vodka shots. Viktor’s fiancée had arrived earlier with a neighbour and the two of them were busy helping his mother. Despite frowns and disapproving comments from his wife to be, Viktor took the vodka Sasha had poured him. When Bronte declined his, the two men looked at him like he was ill, and he still was, as best his head and stomach had last told him.

After dinner and more vodka the door burst open and two neighbours walked in. One was a small, round middle aged woman but her beautiful blonde daughter was living proof that all Hollywood shows are based on reality. This was Russian Granny and Ellie-Mae from the Beverly Hillbillies, all the way out in the middle of nowhere. The two mountain women invited everyone to a local’s twentieth birthday party to be held later that evening. Sasha jumped to his feet and proposed a toast. During his rather lewd discourse, he found time to belittle Bronte’s repeated declining of vodka.

‘… and to our kangaroo guest we ask, what kind of a man can not drink vodka? Vodka makes a Russian man
Stalin Steel
.’ The men all laughed and concurred; the frowning women mumbled and jeered with a minimum of comments.

‘Vodka doesn’t make a Russian man Steel. It makes a Russian man an idiot’ Bronte replied. His remark brought rapturous laughter and applause from all the women in the room, including Viktor’s mother and girlfriend. She’d made it known to Viktor on numerous occasions she did not enjoy him spending time with Sasha, considering he drank too much and led Viktor astray. Bronte sensed Sasha didn’t like his macho comment reversed on him. Ellie-Mae and her mama smiled a sweet reminder to attend the party and left.
Y’all come back now, y’hear?

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

In another part of Russia, a couple walked arm in arm past the Kremlin, having strolled Red Square under colour of orange street lights. The Square at night appeared a more rich red than Alessiya had seen it before and she couldn’t recall the Kremlin looking such a magnificent mix of jade and ivory colours in the ambient orange glow. Although almost 10pm, there were still scores of people out wandering the timeless landmark, some strolling, others snapping photos.

‘I had no idea it was so majestic. In fact, it is elegant. Yes, quite elegant.’ Joey beamed with his broad Californian smile.

‘Yes, it never ceases to impress me either. It’s certainly very beautiful and very old you know. It dates back to the eleventh century.’

‘Thank you for showing me this Oly, I am so glad I met you. I had no idea about any of this. You know, it’s been so absolutely wonderful meeting you. I know you are the only woman for me and… well, the last four months with only emails and phone calls have been torture. ‘

‘I am glad I met you too Joey. This has already been the best two days of my life. And I could not even have made it here if you had not paid for me and helped with the repairs to my car. You are the only man I want.’

‘Forget the money dear. If I can be honest, many times back home, I thought… well… I could marry you. You are so hot… I want you all the time.’ He chuckled and lowering his voice whispered, ‘And I want you now!’

‘And I want you too Joey,
now
,’ Alessiya said seductively.

‘What do you say we forget history class and go back to the hotel and, you know…

‘Yes, I know… let’s go home and screw each others brains out,’ Alessiya giggled. Joey loved she could be so openly erotic. He grabbed her tightly around the waist and turned to the street, hailing a cab as fast as he possibly could.

He didn’t even notice the blood mingled with water flowing down the drain. After twenty minutes in the hot shower, the small bathroom resembled a steamy sauna. And he had been something of a cross eyed zombie most of the time, his hands tightly gripping her bare hips, his tongue set to one side of his mouth as he thrust back and forth.

At first, the initial pain and anguish of her loss had made their monkey business a tolerable experience only. After five minutes she started to relax and participate. Now, she was really enjoying the encounter and with palms and forehead pressed against the shower-screen, she’d become the leading role. In fact, she thought it was hard to differentiate between the water running all over them and sweat. She pushed back against him as hard as she could. He groaned, she felt him tense, then the tight pulsing and eruption inside and it was incredible.

After a few seconds she pulled away from the languid and sighing young man, stepped out of the shower and wrapping a towel around her, walked to the bedroom. Taking her mobile she typed,
‘All done. I have the key. No need to pay. I did’
and pressed
send message
. When she turned around, he was coming out off the bathroom. Rita pushed him on the chest back into the room he’d just left, dropped her towel and said, ‘I’m not finished with you yet.’  

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

Another two hours in the eating house and the three men started on the brief trek to the local maidens 20
th
birthday party. It was only a five minute walk up the trail but on a moonless night and minus all paving, curbs and street lights it would take them ten or more minutes. The stars shone with dazzling brightness against a huge, inky expanse. It was so dark, that from out there in that pitch black, moonless backwater God knows they needed to. For all their vodka, the two Russian men seemed to sense where the trail went which was a good thing because the only sober one among them had no idea. Nonetheless they still managed to trip and stumble most of the way.
As they were nearing an enormous wooden house, Sasha quipped,

              ‘So you like to be the smart and funny man, Kangaroo?’

              ‘Sorry? What Sasha?’ Sensing tension since his anti-vodka comment, Bronte had a good idea of what was coming next.

              ‘You make joke of my words so the girls will laugh?’

              ‘No! I wasn’t making fun of you nor trying to make the girls laugh, I just don’t want to drink today. It was nothing… I’m sorry… forget it.’ It was impossible to see Sasha’s expression but his silence probably spoke louder than words.

              Inside the birthday house it was bedlam. They were greeted by the mother of the party girl while older women, aunts and sisters scuttled in every direction of the large kitchen. To one side there was an equally large fuel stove. Set in a large cavity with wooden benches on either side, it was perfect for warming food or an even warmer place to sit. The house was at least two or three stories but Bronte was unable to tell in the poor lighting. Observing from the hallway, the ceilings must have been three or four meters high.

In a large open room at the back, the young people drank, doing their best to ensure this indeed would be a night to remember. Until they woke the next day wishing they could forget it. Bronte gathered from conversations that all the young people of suitable age from the village were present. There were nine girls and three young men plus the two drunks and the foreigner.

It came as no surprise to Bronte that Sasha and Viktor immediately found the vodka, sat down and made themselves right at home. After all Viktor was a local, albeit an older one. He proposed a toast and Sasha handed Bronte a vodka shot which he accepted kindly and they all stood and drank. Sasha showed no reaction to him accepting a shot for the first time that evening and then drinking it.

When Bronte wandered into the kitchen to escape the ear splitting music and the flow of rocket fuel, he was quickly engaged in a nonsensical conversation with the mother of Julia, the twenty year old birthday girl. In no time at all she had him sitting next to the open stove and was feeding him all manner of food: Fried chicken legs and wings, salads, cold meats, cold, dried fish, red caviar and bread - a repeat display of the last two days visit down the road at Viktor’s place.
No wonder many older women resemble beer barrels in dresses
he thought. These people could turn on a feast fit for Viking oarsmen from across the sea. And at a moment’s notice. After making sure he wasn’t going anywhere unless he carried a portable refrigerator or food disposal, the mama left the room saying ‘Eat, eat.’ Bronte suspected she may have gone to retrieve his winged helmet and lace up fur boots, but instead she returned with her daughter.

Julia was only about 154 centimetres height, dark blue eyes, short light brown hair, a round face with perfect skin and the body of Barbie. Her knitted sky blue dress, something her mother or grandmother probably made clung to her curves like an F1 race car to the track. It was plainly evident she was healthy and definitely fit. Mother introduced her in a manner that more closely resembled a scene from an old movie he’d once seen. The guy was selling slave girls and parading them to prospective gentlemen buyers while highlighting their more evident attributes. Bronte of course simply agreed with what mama was saying, though he didn’t have a clue what it was about. The next thing the food was removed and Julia was dropped on his lap.
She will make a great wife. We can settle plans now and you can come back in the autumn for the wedding feast…

Julia seemed to be in no hurry to go anywhere, and nor did she have plans to rejoin her friends out the back on their mission to destroy more brain cells. She was comfortable sitting there on Bronte - or mum had indeed just prearranged her marriage and this was her future husband with the comfy knees. After some time her absence drew the others back into the kitchen. When Viktor said something Bronte didn’t understand, they all laughed and Julia got up.

‘Come on, we’re going’, was all Sasha offered for a goodbye. Bronte shook the hand of his pre-arranged spouse and said goodbye to his future mother in law, agreeing unconditionally to more nonsensical statements before joining the others out the door.

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

The young computer programmer saw himself out. He had always had the hots for Rita and when she’d suggested they shower together instead of paying him $50 for his work, he grinned and agreed they had a deal. It all changed so quickly for her and now that she’d thrown away the chastity belt, she wondered why she’d been so protective of her virginity in the first place. She was actually looking forward to her next encounter and the discoveries more adventurous exploits might reveal. But most of all, now that he was gone, she was eager to see what interesting goodies his electronic key would unlock. She typed in the password and waited. It worked.

              ‘Too easy, I’m in. She’s got all emails from some darling Willy’ she said to Alessiya on mobile.

              ‘Willy eh …is that name familiar?’

              ‘Yes… I think it’s the German she wrote to from the agency, back when she joined…. Oh look, I’ve found it… he’s speaking about them living in Frankfurt. It’s him alright.’

              ‘That’s it… I remember… it dates back to when she wrote to the bloody Australian. I recall the German sent photos a few times. Ha, well what do you know? Okay great, just do it. Oh, and well done. See you soon, poka.’ Alessiya hung up. As their taxi crawled through the Moscow traffic, the Californian had watched her serious yet vaguely mischievous manner on the phone and considered he was in love for the first time in years. If only he’d known such sincerity and simplicity in his ex wife he’d still be married. He was sure of it.

Of course he’d been oblivious to Alessiya’s words in Russian just seconds earlier. How could he have possibly known that she spoke with her wicked sidekick Rita who’d done a deal with a student programmer from the university in a trade of flesh for technology? The young man had guaranteed to provide any password to any email address for $50 and now, they were free to wreak havoc on Zhana via the electronic postal service.

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

Now back in the eating house after the party, Viktor and Sasha set about on their mission to ensure that under no circumstance, could any alcoholic beverage remain in any bottle. Bronte made himself a cup of coffee and then it started.

‘Kangaroo, why do you come to our country to take our girls?’

‘Excuse me Sasha? Take your girls? Take them where?’

‘You did not come here to meet Zhana? Ha! That’s bullshit.’ He laughed, now drinking from the bottle.

‘Yes okay so I met Zhana, but come on Sasha, you know the story, and that was not about taking your girls… besides I really have no plans to take her anywhere…’

‘Well what was it about then? Maybe you ask them to show you to the gay bars?’ Both drunks laughed simultaneously.

‘Well I can’t comment on gay bars… but I didn’t see you invite too many girls to come up here with us…’

‘Kangaroo’s a right smart ass I see…’ Sasha was looking for another bottle to polish. Leaning against a wall near the fridge, Viktor smiled and drank in silence.

‘Sasha get real, come on, give it a rest… you’re drunk.’

‘Maybe it’s okay if we come to Australia and screw your women?’ He looked at Viktor and not surprising, he laughed.

‘You are welcome to our women if that’s what you want. Its fine by me, I don’t care… you can have as many as you want... I’d be happy to send you as many as you’d like. We could do with a few less hard-ass women there…’

‘Maybe you can not meet a woman in your country, or maybe your women do not want to meet you?’ He slurred with a cynical laugh and of course Viktor laughed with him again.

‘Maybe if Russian men were smarter and not such piss heads, your women would not need to look for foreign husbands?’

‘Hey, screw you Kangaroo.’ Sasha was fast becoming a decreasingly happy drunk. He was swaying and looking ready to throw the bottle at Bronte. Viktor seemed to be enjoying the banter, he too drinking from a bottle.

‘Sasha listen, I am tired and don’t wish to drink or get involved in nonsense arguments. Give me the key to the sleeping house and I’ll go crash.’

‘No… give me your watch… there, your friggin’ watch.’ Out of the blue Sasha changed the direction of the pleasant cultural exchange, pointing at Bronte’s wrist. Not surprising when he recalled the initial interview with the George Bush question.

‘What do you mean give you my watch? You’re joking of course?’ Bronte was past wishing their countdown would end, the rocket fuel would ignite and they’d launch off to bed. The pair were astronauts, high on vodka and capable of anything with a particular bias toward the irrational. Bronte felt a stupid obligation as guest to stay with the two men, especially given they held the key to the sleep house.

‘I want that you present me with your watch.’ Sasha was never backward in coming forward.

‘I can not. It’s a gift from someone special… it’s sentimental and besides, it’s old now anyway.’

‘I am old and special - you can present it to me - from someone special to someone special’ Sash said swaying. As if reading from the same cue card, the drunks laughed in unison again.

‘Sasha please, I can not and I will not. It is very sentimental. And I’ve already given Viktor my sunglasses today!’
And gave you the Playstation and everything else you scored
.

‘C’mon, give me your friggin’ watch, you kangaroo turd.’ He motioned to Viktor who was doing a great job of holding up the nearby wall. Also swaying, Viktor then approached to take the watch. Bronte brushed him off and Viktor fell to the floor, leaving no uncertainty its rightful owner was not prepared to lie down and roll over. Viktor clambered back to his feet, seemingly unperturbed by the sudden scuffle, until,

‘Give him the bloody watch. Take it off - now.’ Bronte turned to see Sasha’s regulation FSB revolver pointed straight at his head. He may have been three or four meters away, but the sight of the thing aimed at his melon was none the less intimidating. For a moment his heart almost stopped beating. All the while the two drunks conversed in Russian.

‘Sasha for
crissakes
, calm down. Bloody hell, put the gun away, you’re in no state to play with guns. Listen to me, it’s sentimental, I can’t just give you my watch.’

‘No you listen to me Kangaroo… you think you’re a smart man with the ladies, yes? But I know you came onto that whore, I could see it. You are no one. You come here to screw our girls, but now, you are here with FSB. You are illegal in this place, in these mountains. You are not in Krasnodar region and you have no official stamp to be out here.’

‘For crissakes Sasha… you are joking aren’t you? There are about three people who know I didn’t come onto Alessiya, and you and I are two of them. Besides, I came here with you! Now just put the friggin’ gun away…’