Kill Cupid: Internet dating just got dangerous

by Best, J. Brandon

  ‘Hi my dear… sorry to arrive so late.’ Tanya dumped groceries on the floor and was looking about the place like she was missing something.

  ‘God you frightened the daylights out of me. I didn’t know you’d be back so soon.’

  ‘I got a ride back into town with my sister’s husband…. where’s Bronte?’

  ‘Sasha arrived at “Luba Doroga” and brought us home. Bronte’s gone to the mountains with him.’

  ‘‘Huh? With Sasha? I was hoping he’d still be here…’ Tanya was hopeless when it came to hiding her feelings. ‘I brought him some home made cranberry.’

  ‘Never mind… its good he’s gone don’t you think? He’s had a terrible time here ‘til now. At least he’s out and about… he might have some fun for a change’ Zhana replied, watching Tanya put things in the fridge.

  ‘Yea… fun and mischief… I don’t like him and I don’t trust him.’

  ‘Who, Sasha?’

  ‘Of course, he’s FSB.’

  ‘You wanted Bronte to stay here, am I right? You like him Tanya. Tell me, you like him a lot, don’t you?’

  ‘I think he’s very nice... It’s a pity he goes home in three days.’ Zhana couldn’t comment. As miraculous as it was that Bronte just appeared out of the blue, she considered it was a flash in the pan. She believed that as quickly as he appeared, he would disappear and her life would return to what it was only days prior. Tanya broke the silence.

  ‘And what do you feel about our Mister Bronte? Where’s Willy now?’ Zhana sat fidgeting with her tea cup, revolving the thing in her hands. As if tilting it forward to consult the leaves she replied,

  ‘Ha… Good question. I’m not sure what to think of Bronte…’

  ‘Why not, what do you mean? He strikes me as genuine enough.’

  ‘Oh I have no doubt of that. I’m just not sure he’s the marrying type, if you can understand…’ Tanya got up and retrieved the tea pot from the stove and poured more tea.

  ‘Why not? He’s been married, I’m sure he’s house trained, puts the rubbish out and the toilet seat down, that sort of thing. He’s strong, sexy… And he cooks…’

  ‘Yes, but maybe better the devil I know. Although I said yes in Moscow, I’d just got comfortable with the idea of marriage with Willy – marriage Tanya for God’s sake – when Bronte appears out of thin air. Then, just minutes after I’m plunged into this living nightmare, I get a sms from Willy saying he had just bought the rings. Don’t you see Tanya, its fate. I am not meant to be with Bronte.’

  ‘You haven’t answered my question Zhana….’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong… God knows I think I could love him, and admire his strength and character. I have even wondered how Willy would have coped through all this. You know, what would Willy have been like if it’d been him detained and bashed? I shudder to think... But if it was meant to be, it would be and that’s it. Bronte would have arrived to me first, Alessiya and stupid Rita would not have been involved, and none of this shit would have happened. I really think Willy is my fate… my destiny.’

  ‘Destiny… Zhana, who’s talking about destiny? I’m talking about love and anyway, I thought you didn’t believe in God?’

  ‘I don’t and I’m not talking about God. Believing in God means you believe you can change fate or destiny by asking God. If you fail, you can say it was God’s will. Does that mean it’s God’s will that some fail, while others may get a successful outcome to their prayers? Or did the changeless God change his mind? It’s ridiculous. And don’t ask me about love Tanya, I’m too confused right now.’

  ‘Destiny is ridiculous. Life is merely a procession of choices. You still have the freedom of choice to attempt a relationship with him - if you want.’

  ‘What, and tell poor Willy see you later, thanks for coming? I can’t do that. That’d kill him… besides, I don’t have the nerve. And how would I explain everything to mum… and my boy?’

  ‘So you don’t mind if I try to get something going with Bronte?’ Zhana stopped dead in her tracks, wondering if Tanya’s abrupt sixty thousand dollar question reflected in her blank expression. She had no idea how to answer that one, but she knew she’d arrived at a crossroad. It was time to confront the map of romantic destiny and choose a direction once and for all. The tea leaves had definitely drawn a blank, now muddled in the fresh hot brew half filling her cup. After staring at them for a moment in silence she said,

  ‘No, I don’t mind. But try to understand if I do not wish to look at the two of you together.’ She tried to smile, noticing Tanya didn’t look so miserable now.

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  The next day for Bronte was a horrible haze of blurred people, blurred landscapes, blurred roadways and blurry conversations. When they visited some underground caves, just keeping focus on the path in front had been an effort. Inside, the three men all wanted to throw up, without actually letting on to the other of their overwhelming desire. When Viktor suggested he’d seen enough and was going topside, Bronte was right behind him and he noticed Sasha didn’t waste time wondering if he should follow.

  ‘I wanted to spew my guts out in there,’ Viktor panted as they got to the car.

  ‘Me too… bad hangover’ was all Bronte could muster. Sasha was quiet but looked nonetheless green. They were about as high as they could possibly go into the mountains. Viktor’s car, an old white Gaz worked its lungs out trying to haul its load of hung over carcasses up the steep inclines. The poor car was overheating in sub zero temperatures. Twice Viktor had the radiator cap off, shoving snow into the filler. At least it was melting quickly, but slow work handfuls at a time.

  Parking on the side of the road while the car took its periodic five minutes cooling off was an exercise in pain management. It was too cramped to remain in the back seat of the car and too cold to get out. The glare from a clear sky reflecting off the pure snow was hell for his throbbing head. It felt like shards of glass piercing the back of his eyes. Out of sympathy for the driver who was obviously also suffering similar torment, Bronte handed over his sunglasses to a most appreciative Viktor.

  At a vague turn off somewhere along the river canyon, Viktor drove into a posted military area with Restricted Zone, Keep Out and Trespassers will be Shot signs hanging everywhere on the fences. The car stopped at a checkpoint and everyone fell out of the tired, wheezing auto. Looking rather suspicious in his new pair of mirrored wrap-around sunnies, Viktor simply waved to the guard on duty. He sat in a small post at the gate to a suspension bridge across the mostly frozen river. He apparently had no problem recognising Matt Daemon in dark glasses. This sentry who leant back in his chair and was supposed to shoot them on sight never lifted his boots from the table, let alone his gun. He managed a wave though as they passed onto the bridge.

  Viktor had the troop follow him like drunken sailors deep into the forest. Amid abuse and complaints, they persevered, fell over, slipped and stumbled their way into the heavily wooded and often steep terrain to a spot he said very few knew - and he was probably right. In a most inconspicuous clearing surrounded by chain-link fence was an enormous pit filled with all manner of crusty and rusted strong boxes and countless tank and cannon shells.

  ‘These were unearthed not too long ago by some unsuspecting prospector… its abandoned Nazi ammunition from the Second World War.’ Viktor explained. ‘They went to some trouble to hide it up here…’

  ‘Looks to me like the Germans were in a real hurry to get out of here’ Bronte remarked. ‘Otherwise, why would they leave it?’

  ‘Probably the fact they were running short of vehicles to ferry the shit…’ added Viktor, ‘and hidden for retreating troops to unearth.’

  ‘Worth a penny on the black market… especially those boxes with the swastikas still intact…’ Bronte wasn’t too surprised Sasha had thought of loot. ‘Could still be rare Lugers inside ‘em… they’re worth heaps…’

  ‘Just one reason w
hy they have the guard out there’ Viktor replied.

  ‘Let’s take a look’ the detective said, looking about him as if to be sure no one else was nearby. ‘Maybe we should come back here… at night…’ Sasha’s mind was ticking, already sizing up how to best scale the fence.

  ‘You didn’t see the guard’s automatic AK? Maybe we should go home and eat.’ Viktor was the only one making sense. ‘Come on, it’ll be getting dark soon.’ We turned and started back down the track, Sasha protesting he only needed a couple of minutes in the compound.

  These mountains were alive with black bear, dear and antelope, wild cats, foxes and wolves and the acclaimed Russian eagle - just to mention some of the native fauna. The Caucasus landscape was breathtaking and the never ending stands of conifers, larch, birch and spruces were so vast and far reaching that it was incomprehensible how they ever settled the place and built roads so deep into the area. The occasional old stone or brick bunker cut into a mountain pass bore tragic testament to the local resistance against the Nazi invaders who once owned the abandoned ammunition. What it must have been like to see the hellish grey torrent of Nazi helmets and coats meandering with relentless devastation across this simple, peaceful landscape Bronte could barely imagine. He could almost hear ghosts in boots on hard dirt, the rumble of vehicles, the eerie squeaking of tank tracks as German troops laboured along these mountain roads. And the horrible cries of anguish from the vulnerable local peasants and resistance fighters. With the sun dropping like an orange fur ball over a giant green shag carpet, he felt a deep sadness for the people of this great and ancient land and what they had endured and suffered over the many years of political abuse and tribulation. By comparison, his life had been tucked safely into bed, kissed goodnight and with no fear of the bogeyman hauling him out and into the dark.

  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.

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  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 20th 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 t
he 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.