The Black Russian

by Lenny Bartulin

  ‘Sure.’ She stepped out of the house and pulled the door shut behind her. The lock snapped loudly. She presented her hand. ‘I’m Kim, by the way.’

  ‘Jack Susko.’

  They shook hands. ‘Kim Archer,’ she added with a small bow and smiled again. She moved past him and Jack followed her through the front gate. On the street, she stopped and pointed. ‘I’m going that way.’

  ‘Same.’

  They began to walk. Jack caught a breath of her perfume, something floral but sophisticated: not meant for denim shorts, and yet worked perfectly on her.

  ‘Shane’s in China,’ she said. ‘Shooting a beer commercial.’

  ‘Really?’

  Kim noticed Jack’s surprise. ‘Yeah, I know. Finally got some paid work!’ She brushed her fringe. ‘He does try though, poor boy.’

  ‘When did he go?’

  ‘Last week, um … Wednesday? Thursday? What day is it today?’ Kim laughed.

  ‘Sunday.’ Jack frowned, thinking.

  ‘Are you an old friend?’

  ‘Yeah. Sort of,’ he said, wondering where Shane might actually be. ‘Old flatmate. Wanted to say hello.’

  ‘Oh, lucky you,’ she joked. ‘What’s he done?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Outstanding bills? Never returned your favourite jacket? Or did he borrow your car and get you demerit points and a speeding fine?’

  Jack grinned. ‘He owes you money, too, then?’

  ‘Only two months’ rent. I don’t even want to talk about the phone bill.’

  ‘Ouch.’

  ‘Yeah, tell me about it. He’s promised to square everything as soon as he gets back from China. He’s on good money there, apparently. And I’m about to move out, so he knows I need it. And if he doesn’t, he knows I’ll kill him. Slowly.’

  ‘Have you lived with him long?’

  ‘About a year, thereabouts.’

  ‘And he’s still acting?’

  ‘More like pretending. That he’s an actor.’ There was a flash of annoyance, but she dispelled it quickly, as if guilty for feeling it. ‘Most of his work is modelling. He’s good at that. Stands there, looks good, says nothing.’ She smiled, turned her bright eyes to Jack. ‘Did I just describe the perfect man?’

  ‘You forgot to say has money.’

  ‘Oh, poop! See, that always happens to me. I never remember everything that’s on the shopping list. I always settle for flawed men and then wonder why things never last.’

  ‘Just think of Shane next time.’

  ‘Yeah, I should. It’s just that Shane does so much thinking about Shane that I’d hate to clog the universe up with more of the same.’

  ‘Sounds like you’re looking forward to moving out.’

  Kim sighed. ‘Oh, he’s all right. High maintenance sometimes, that’s all. I told him that if he asked me whether he looked like Brad Pitt one more time, I was going to shave his eyebrows off while he was asleep.’

  Jack remembered the chin dimple, blue eyes, short blonde-brown hair and the elastic of his Calvin Klein underpants always showing above a loose belt. ‘Does he still know everyone?’

  ‘One-point-two million people and counting. And he has to ring them all, all the time. Surely someone is going to help him crack the movie business!’

  Jack wondered if last Friday night’s heist was research for a role.

  ‘Did you live with him long?’ asked Kim.

  ‘Just a couple of months, years ago. He was in between houses. Somebody recommended him to me as the perfect house guest.’

  ‘Incorrect!’

  ‘Very.’

  A mobile phone began to ring in Kim’s handbag. She stopped and fished it out. ‘Sorry,’ she said, checking the number on the screen. ‘I just need to take this.’

  ‘No problem.’

  She pressed the mobile to her ear and started walking again. ‘Hello! I’m on my way … Ten minutes … Yes … Yes! ... What? ... Oh, don’t be so stupid …’

  As Kim talked, they came to a set of lights at a crossing. Jack indicated that he was turning right. She held up her hand, nodding. Into the mobile she said: ‘Hang on, babe, just a second. I’ve got to say goodbye to someone.’ She took the phone from her ear. ‘Lovely to meet you, Jack,’ she said, warmly. Then she leaned across and kissed him on the cheek.

  It surprised him. ‘Yeah, nice to meet you, too.’

  ‘He should be back end of the week. Feel free to pop around anytime.’

  ‘I will. Thanks.’

  ‘Bye!’

  She walked off. The mobile returned to her ear and Jack watched Kim smile as she resumed her conversation. He heard her say: ‘No, no! Just an old flatmate of Shane’s …’

  As he headed up the street, Jack glanced back. A couple of times. Which was a little strange, because Kim Archer was not even his type.

  He walked. By the time he was nearly home, the nice feeling inspired by Kim had faded. High above, a plane had begun to draw smoky letters in the haze. Jack looked, squinting, wondering how long it would be before the sky was leased for more permanent advertising. Maybe he could take out a small corner ad for Susko Books. Something like: For Sale. Second-hand book emporium. All reasonable offers considered. Will swap for a little peace of mind.

  ~

  8 ~

  JACK SAT IN HIS CHAIR AND BOUNCED a small green rubber ball against the wall behind the counter at Susko Books. Thinking. Waiting. His head hurt with the effort. It would have been healthier if he were smoking.

  Monday morning was always quiet. Jack usually caught up on his reading. He had started Treasure Island again, as he did every year, but not even old Robert Louis was able to distract him from his problems. He felt stalled, handbound: unable to contact Richard de Groot and unable to do anything about it.

  He remained in the chair for about forty minutes, thinking up a storm and bouncing the ball. Wondering what de Groot was doing. Wondering about Shane Ferguson. He Treasure Island again.

  My curiosity, in a sense, was stronger than my fear; for I could tried not remain where I was …

  The door to Susko Books swung open.

  ‘Jack, how are you? Sorry I’m late.’ It was Richard de Groot.

  Jack barely recognised him. He tossed his book onto the counter and stood up. Came around, slowly. De Groot was wearing a blue cap that said Kentucky Wildcats across the front, and a pale-pink Ralph Lauren polo shirt with the collar up. Three-quarter-length bright white shorts. Brown, soft-leather moccasins, tan-studio legs, no socks. There was a loose-fitting gold watch on his wrist that looked like it told the time simultaneously in three different galaxies. Regulation, rich-man-off-duty style. The kind that said: I look funny because I normally wear a suit. He stepped down into the shop and walked towards the counter.

  ‘Hello Richard,’ said Jack. ‘Not working today?’

  De Groot ignored him. He stopped and put his hands on his hips. His eyes narrowed as he looked around. Short man with the big attitude. Then he glanced back over his shoulder towards the front door and nodded.

  Through the glass, Jack saw another man. This guy was big: his chest looked like a retaining wall, his shoulders broad enough for children to ski on. He was wearing a light grey suit and a white tie. Everything tight. Buzz-cut blonde hair and sunglasses: perfectly still, just staring into the shop. He held the wrist of his left hand with his right, casually resting the grip against his stomach. He nodded back at de Groot, once, mouth set in a straight line. He looked annoyed. Jack wondered if it was because he could not fit through the front door.

  ‘Nice place,’ said de Groot, not even trying to sound like he meant it.

  ‘Thanks. Nice bodyguard.’

  ‘We have some business to complete.’

  ‘Is that a question or statement?’

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get here on Saturday. Had to rush off for the weekend. Palm Beach.’

  ‘I hate it when that happens.’ Jack glanced at the goon outside the front door. He
still had not moved.

  ‘So,’ said de Groot. ‘Shall we do this?’

  ‘Come into my office.’ Jack gestured towards the counter.

  Richard de Groot reached into his pocket: smug all over his tanned, clean-shaven face. He tossed a small wad of notes onto the counter, folded and held tight by a thin rubber band. ‘Better not leave it lying around.’

  There was probably about five hundred dollars there, give or take. Jack looked at the money and then at de Groot. Then he looked down at the money again. Strangely, he was neither shocked nor surprised. As his eyes traced over the topmost note, the situation came into focus smoothly, with a dull, nauseating knowing.

  ‘Do you want to count it?’

  Jack remained silent and continued to stare at the money. He was thinking a lot of things, though now it was mainly about the suited blond muscle man outside his front door, imagining the man had a thick Scandinavian accent.

  De Groot leaned forward slightly, looking up from under the peak of his cap. ‘Hello? Anybody home?’

  Jack turned to him. Said nothing.

  ‘I wouldn’t complain, Mr Susko. You’re lucky I even bothered to show up.’ He turned to leave. ‘Enjoy your bonus.’

  Jack reached out and grabbed de Groot by the arm. He swung him around roughly.

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Mr Susko.’ De Groot looked down to where Jack had gripped him, as though there was a stain. ‘I don’t like being touched.’

  ‘I think you’d better get your wallet out.’

  ‘Really?’ Richard de Groot grinned and shook his head.

  There was a noise: it was Jack’s fist landing in the middle of de Groot’s face, a snap ’n’ crackle right jab, clean as a gust of sea breeze. Right in the honker. Something had come over Jack and he liked it. Pity he knew that the feeling was not going to last.

  Before it ended, he gave de Groot a left to go on with.

  The South African hit the floor.

  The front door opened. Sven the Destroyer walked into Susko Books. Or maybe it was Thor, God of Thunder.

  Whatever. The air around him bristled with sparks.

  De Groot was trying to stand up. ‘Get the prick!’

  The immaculately suited bodyguard still had his sunglasses on. He was calm, expressionless, and surprisingly quick. He got behind Jack in a blur, wrapped an extremely thick arm around his neck, and pulled.

  Jack grabbed the bodyguard’s arm with both hands and started to writhe around a little, attempting to wrestle it off: the effort only seemed to tighten the grip around his neck. Seconds later, oxygen stopped flowing into his lungs. Another second, the muscles in his body started to drown in some kind of acid and his face felt like it was trying to peel itself off his skull.

  ‘Son of a bitch!’ De Groot held a handkerchief to his bleeding nose. He watched Jack struggle and swore some more. He blinked away some tears. Then he hawked up a mouthful of blood and spat it onto the floor of Susko Books. ‘Hold him.’

  One to the guts. It hurt because Jack could not curl down over the punch.

  ‘What did you think, Susko? That I’d give you twenty thousand dollars for nothing?’ Another for luck.

  Jack groaned. He wondered if the guy holding him had started reading a book.

  ‘Now you don’t even get this.’ De Groot picked up the money on the counter and slipped it back into his pocket. He shook his head lightly, dabbed at his bloody nose and looked around Susko Books. ‘Jesus. Twenty grand,’ he said, almost astounded. ‘For what? Being in the wrong place at the wrong time? As though it was my fault.’ De Groot tried to breathe through his nostrils and winced. ‘Fuck!’

  He spat on the floor again.

  Noises were coming out of Jack’s throat he was not trying to make. Like a wet balloon going down. He hoped the wind did not suddenly change and permanently set the grimace on his face. It would only add another thing to Jack’s list, which set out clearly in point form his new, glowing hatred of de Groot and his family and every one of its extended relations, connected either through blood, marriage or employment.

  Richard de Groot flicked his hand. The bodyguard let go of Jack’s neck. He collapsed to the floor. He gulped down the stale air of Susko Books like it was spring water in a glass full of ice.

  ‘Let’s go, Lewis.’

  The two men left. Jack tried to yell some abuse but his voice came out as barely a squeak. He struggled to his feet. As he stumbled towards the door, logic and the laws of physical inferiority told him to stay down and keep perfectly still, breathe slowly and act dead and pretend it never happened, just in case it happened again any time soon. But adrenaline had a hold of him. He climbed up the steps and onto the street just as de Groot was getting in behind the wheel of an illegally parked white Maserati Quattroporte. Lewis sat in the back, sunglasses still on, mouth a hard line, face a promise of cold pain. When he saw Jack through the window he simply waved his index finger: Don’t. Jack heard the engine kick over. Somebody in the passenger seat leaned across Richard de Groot’s lap and looked at Jack. It was just a second, barely even that, but he saw her.

  Larissa.

  What the hell?

  Jack had never really believed that it was a small world. As far as he was concerned, the world had always been huge. But as he stood on dirty old York Street and watched de Groot’s Maserati tear into the corner, he suspected he was going to change his mind in the next couple of minutes.

  It took about three and a half. And then Jack knew for sure: everything was connected. The earth was a grain of sand.

  ~

  9 ~

  TWO HOURS LATER, SHE CALLED.

  ‘Hello, Jack.’

  ‘Miss Larissa Tate.’ He said it slowly. ‘I was just thinking about you.’

  A slight hesitation. ‘How have you been?’

  ‘Better. You?’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘How’s the book business?’

  ‘Same as me,’ said Jack. ‘Going down in a slow blaze of glory.’

  No response.

  ‘You should have come in with de Groot,’ he continued.

  ‘Had a look around. I’d have given you a discount on a nice book.’

  ‘I didn’t know it was you.’

  ‘Up until which point?’ The words came out a little hot and fiery. ‘When you read the name on the sign?’

  ‘Don’t be like that.’

  ‘Boss or boyfriend?’

  ‘Give me a break.’

  ‘You first.’

  Silence again. Jack remembered her body, the feel of her skin. They had met at a rooftop party in a Potts Point apartment, back in February. It was not the kind of crowd Jack usually found himself with — young, successful and wealthy — but an old girlfriend had invited him along, not wanting to arrive alone. At the bar, Larissa had asked him for a cigarette. Long, light-brown hair, fringe a perfectly cut straight line, right across the eyes, all smoky and dark. She was petite but curvy, wore a strapless black dress and heels that drew nice lines up and down her toned legs. She paid for the taxi home. She was fun. Jack had never been a toy boy before and was considering a full-time position when she pulled the plug on him a month or two later.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘What else can I say?’

  ‘From fashion PR to driving around with the hard boys.

  Your job to watch out for the parking-meter guys?’

  ‘I told you. I didn’t know it was you.’

  Jack frowned. ‘Okay. Fine. Just go and tell your boss that I want my money.’

  ‘It’s not that simple.’

  ‘Come round this end and take a look up the pipe.’

  ‘Think I’ve got a better view?’ Her tone sharpened.

  ‘Just tell Richard de Groot that I want my money,’ repeated Jack. ‘And coming around with his goon isn’t going to stop me getting it.’

  Larissa clicked her tongue, softly. ‘How does de Groot owe you money?’

  ‘Come
on. That’s enough now.’

  ‘Enough of what?’

  ‘You were in the car, Larissa.’

  ‘They told me you owed them. I could believe that.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  She cleared her throat. ‘So what happened at the gallery?’

  ‘What?’ Jack’s bullshit radar started beeping a little louder. ‘What do you know about it?’

  ‘Not much,’ she said. ‘I heard Richard on the phone to somebody in his office. Something about three guys wearing masks. Come on, Jack ...’ She put on a little huskiness. ‘We had a good time, didn’t we?’

  Jack shook his head. The New Feminism, in all its glory: better a caress than a kick to the balls. ‘Yeah, they were done over. Three boys with a gun emptied the safe.’

  ‘Did you see what was taken?’

  ‘No. Something covered with a cloth, about the size of a phone book.’

  She thought about that. Jack waited. He was tuned to her voice, concentrating on every nuance. He had not heard it for a while and it was nice to hear it again.

  ‘What did the thieves look like?’

  ‘Like thieves,’ said Jack. ‘Only ridiculous.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘One wore a Lone Ranger mask. The other two were off to Mardi Gras later.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Would have been funny if I hadn’t been there.’

  ‘So how does de Groot owe you money?’

  ‘One of the heist guys took my book. A rare collectable.

  Dicky didn’t want to call the cops. He offered to compensate me for my loss.’

  Larissa almost laughed. ‘And you believed him?’

  Jack gritted his teeth.

  ‘How much did he offer?’

  ‘Enough.’

  ‘Oh, Jack.’

  He did not want to feel the fool, but felt it. Jack could see Larissa in his mind’s eye, shaking her pretty head in that way she did, the fringe flicking across her eyes.

  ‘We need to talk,’ she said.

  ‘About what?’

  Over the phone, Jack heard muffled voices in the background. Then Larissa said: ‘Gotta go.’