American Savage

by Matt Whyman

  ‘What’s this?’ asked Titus, grabbing it without waiting to be invited. He opened the top of the bag and peered inside. A moment later, he looked up at Oleg as if the old man should’ve known better. ‘A four-pack of beer? Really?’

  ‘It’s just a thing,’ said Oleg, sounding a little embarrassed. ‘I’m planning a picnic with a friend.’

  ‘A friend.’ Titus placed his hands on his waist. ‘Ivan has told me all about Priscilla. Are you sure you’re not leading an old lady astray?’

  Oleg shrugged, feeling a little under fire.

  ‘We’re not breaking any laws here,’ he said quietly. ‘When you reach my age, would you want Ivan to be the guardian of your fun?’

  Titus considered his father. Then, with a sigh and the sweat on his face still glistening, he nodded in agreement.

  ‘I’ll walk with you,’ he said next, and gestured for Oleg to crank the dial by no more than a notch. ‘Just don’t make me break into a jog, OK? I’m struggling here.’

  ‘So it seems,’ said Oleg, grinning, and set off as directed. ‘So, what’s with the need to get fit?’

  ‘Just something that has to be done,’ Titus replied, with his wife in mind. ‘Even if it kills me.’

  11

  In the days that followed a feast, Angelica liked to eat lean. She also served herself controlled portions, as if to counter the excessive intake that came with finishing off a human being. Even as a family, it was a huge quantity to put away, especially since their move to the Sunshine State. Something just took over when they ate. The appetite was extraordinary, with no sense of feeling full for quite some time. Despite the extra calories that came with sourcing locally, she was well aware that it enriched the spirit like no other meat.

  Angelica only had to look at her youngest daughter for proof. That week, little Katya had been brimming with more joy and laughter than usual. The feast had undoubtedly left her invigorated, though the presence of the gerbil clearly contributed.

  ‘Tinky Dinks will be quite safe while you’re at school,’ she assured her. ‘You don’t need to worry.’

  Together with her daughter, Angelica had created a space for the gerbil’s cage on the floor of Katya’s wardrobe. To ease her concerns, Angelica had even used some shoeboxes to create a wall in front of the cage. As a result, were someone to open up the doors, it wouldn’t attract the eye. Even so, little Kat continued to look worried.

  ‘But what about Ivan?’ she asked. ‘Tinky Dinks sure won’t like him. Tinky Dinks is scared of boys like my brother.’

  ‘He won’t even know that Tinky Dinks is here,’ Angelica assured her.

  Katya stood before her mother in her pre-school uniform, blinking like a fawn.

  ‘But you know what he did to my dollies,’ she said.

  Angelica didn’t need to be reminded. It had taken some time for the oven to stop smelling of burned plastic, which is where she had found Kat’s beloved collection some weeks ago, melting on a baking tray.

  ‘Ivan tells us he was only trying to change the shape of their faces a little,’ she said, stroking her daughter’s hair and then clasping her cheek to maintain eye contact. ‘He’s just going through a difficult phase at the moment, but he’ll soon settle in. Now, go say goodbye to Tinky Dinks and then get ready for school.’

  Minutes later, the pair headed out to the car. As soon as Katya was strapped into the back seat, she appeared to forget all about Ivan and started singing to herself, which made Angelica smile. Driving out towards the pre-school, on her way to the gym, she knew there was no reason to fret. She would be home from her workout that day long before her son returned from school. It was a shame that they had to be so cautious about Ivan. Deep down, despite his difficulties, Angelica knew that her son had a good soul. The poor lad didn’t seem to be making much progress, but things would settle in time. Until then, it was her responsibility as the mother of a Savage to make sure that he didn’t express his frustration by harming innocents.

  Ivan Savage had been in plenty of time for school that morning. Before setting off, he had shared a plate of pancakes and bacon with his father and then grabbed his bag as usual. It was a fifteen-minute walk to the school gates, but the boy never made it that far. Instead, at the junction from the community inlet, he had ducked down to the beach, sat on his bag in the dunes and watched life passing by on the boardwalk.

  After the incident in the changing rooms, Ivan just couldn’t face seeing Bryce, Chad and Ryan. He felt humiliated and ashamed, and well aware that by now the whole school would know that he had fled from them in tears.

  ‘You don’t mess with a Savage,’ he grumbled, clawing at the long grass so hard that it came out in clumps. ‘You just don’t.’

  Ivan wasn’t quite sure how he would teach them a lesson. Ideally, he wanted to prove it on the pitch. If he could just find the skills to make an impact on the playing field, rather than muff every catch and kick, the boy knew he would earn the respect he deserved. As he never had the chance to practise, confined as he was to the bench, all hope of proving himself was a dead ball. The very thought saw him bury his fingers into the sand up to the knuckles. Not that he was aware of his actions. Instead, with his eyes and mouth pinched, he felt only sadness and resentment that his efforts to integrate into the American way of life had ended so badly. As far as Ivan was concerned, his baseball cap could stay on its hook from here on out. He’d put the way he walked behind him and the hip hop could go to hell. It didn’t matter how hard he tried, some people would not let him settle.

  Just then, knowing that his parents would have left for the day, Ivan planned to hole up at home and use the time to plot his revenge.

  As he pondered the fate of his three tormentors, a battered brown estate car pulled up in the parking bay in front of the boardwalk. Ivan noticed the tarpaulin on the rear seat. Even before the man stepped out of the vehicle, the boy had marked him down as a kidnapper. Hacking away into his fist as he made his way round to the trunk, the guy certainly looked like someone whose front room housed a pit to contain a couple of captives. Ivan watched with interest when he fished out a jacket striped like a squeeze of toothpaste and a straw boater studded with smiley-face badges. He looked completely different once he’d buttoned himself up and tipped the hat to a jaunty angle on his head. It all made sense when Ivan observed him climb onto the boardwalk and make his way towards a shuttered stall. Within minutes, beaming broadly behind the counter, the ice-cream seller had already attracted several customers.

  Ivan watched with interest as a young mother approached with a buggy and a miniature dog. The dog was pulling sideways, yapping at the gulls, while the kid spotted the stall and flung out her arms. The seller smiled and rubbed his hands together, which only served to stoke up the child’s pleas. The mother pushed onwards, grim-faced and with the dog still barking at the birds. When the kid wailed, she slowed and then came to a standstill. The poor woman looked utterly defeated, thought Ivan, who rose to his feet for a clearer view.

  ‘Wow,’ he said to himself, as she drew the buggy back to the stall. With his eyes locked on the scene, Ivan watched as the guy served the kid. He handed down a single scoop of strawberry ripple, which put an end to the howling, and then waited for the mother to hand over two dollar bills. ‘That’s it!’

  What he had just witnessed came as a revelation to the boy. Had that mother seen the man before he transformed his appearance, she would’ve pressed on by without hesitation, and maybe even picked up her pace. There was no way she’d have bought an ice cream from anyone who looked that rough around the edges, let alone fed it to her infant daughter. It could’ve contained just about anything, the boy realised, thinking razor blades not raspberry ripple. Ivan had no doubt that there was nothing in it that could harm her, but the fact remained that she’d taken it without question. Quite simply, the guy had played a part in the right place and time to deliver a treat the kid could not resist. With three soccer jocks in mind, Ivan realised exactly the same ap
proach could work for him. At last, his plan had fallen into place.

  Knowing that Angelica Savage would be his second client of the day, Joaquín Mendez had used the time between sessions to shower and change his vest. As soon as he saw her open-top pull into the parking bay outside, he headed down to the lobby hoping for a welcome hug. Then Angelica breezed in with her hair tied back and her cell phone clamped to her ear, which meant Joaquín was forced to spend an awkward couple of minutes pretending not to listen.

  ‘Can this wait until later?’ she had hissed into the phone at one point, and made a vague effort to turn away from her personal trainer. ‘It’s just too early for me to think about what we should eat for supper.’

  In the midst of what sounded like a quiet domestic with her other half, Joaquín decided to check his feet. He took his time, assessing the roadworthiness of each toe so he had something to look at other than Angelica becoming increasingly clipped. Finally, on hearing her sign off, he sprung upright and spread his hands as if he’d just become aware of her presence.

  ‘And how are we today?’ he asked, with some hope that she might just walk into his embrace. Instead, with her thoughts clearly elsewhere, she simply stared at him. ‘Mrs Savage?’ he added after a moment, and began to wish he had waited for her upstairs in the gym.

  Angelica blinked, focused on Joaquín and finally acknowledged him. He had hoped she might do so with a smile. Instead, she practically pinned him to the wall with her gaze.

  ‘I hope you’re going to bring me out in a sweat today.’

  ‘Really?’ Joaquín blinked and sensed his Adam’s apple bob up and down.

  ‘This is time out just for me,’ she told him. ‘I intend to make the most of it.’

  Joaquín did his level best to hold Angelica’s gaze, but saw no hint of whether she was deliberately being suggestive with him. For weeks now, this client had been steadily invading his thoughts and refusing to leave. Yes, he was a professional, but there was an aura so entrancing surrounding Angelica that he could not ignore it. Even when she was being frosty, Joaquín sensed his emotional temperature rise. It was something he had never encountered in all his tender years.

  ‘You know, you’re a difficult lady to fathom,’ he confessed, almost blurting out the words. ‘I find it hard to read your mind.’

  Angelica looked puzzled, as if she had missed something here, and then glanced at the clock behind the reception desk.

  ‘You’re a personal trainer, Joaquín, not a psychic,’ she said, in a way that left him feeling like a small boy. ‘Let’s get on with the workout.’

  In his experience, some clients liked to talk. Others preferred to exercise in silence. On this occasion, having started the session on what felt like the wrong foot, Joaquín Mendez opted not to attempt to kick-start a conversation with Angelica. Instead, running on bare soles, he chose to lead the way through the first few miles in the hope that she would burn off her mood. It was only as they approached the sand bar separating the beach from the sound and the mainland that he dared to break the silence.

  ‘The sun is climbing,’ he said, and slowed to a halt. ‘We should rehydrate.’

  Angelica pulled up behind him, breathless but mindful to stretch as he had taught her so as to avoid any muscle strains. Joaquín unclipped the water bottle from his running belt and offered it across. He caught her eye as she accepted it, looking for some sign that she had softened.

  ‘It’s good to be out,’ she said between small swigs. ‘It beats fretting about what to feed the family.’

  ‘Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll taste good,’ said Joaquín. ‘Your husband is a lucky man.’

  ‘Titus is on a health drive right now,’ she told him, and turned to face the ocean. ‘All of a sudden, he needs to know how many calories are in each serving.’

  ‘Well, that’s a positive outlook.’

  ‘Not when he’s looking over my shoulder every time I prepare a meal,’ said Angelica, with her focus fixed on the horizon now. In the distance, so far away it looked like a pencil sketch against the sky, a tanker inched across the horizon. ‘OK,’ she said next. ‘Where do we go from here?’

  Joaquín sensed the crucifix around his neck, warming in the sunshine. He closed his eyes for a second, wishing he had stowed it in the locker, before grimacing slightly at an impulse that took root in his mind. A moment later, he found himself clasping his client gently by the wrist.

  ‘Forgive me,’ he murmured, and took Angelica’s other hand as she turned from the sea with a start. ‘I can’t help myself any longer.’

  Angelica caught her breath, staying that way when her personal trainer leaned in to kiss her on the lips. She blinked as he found her gaze again, this woman who had come to devour his heart, and awaited some sign that she felt the same way.

  12

  On his return to the villa, Ivan knew that he wouldn’t be home alone. Ever since Amanda had started working late shifts at the sports saloon, she was rarely seen before sundown. It was beginning to feel more like they had a vampire in the spare room than a lodger. Still, as the boy let himself in and clicked the front door shut, he reminded himself that the shifts worked in his favour. Amanda was rarely up at the same time as him, and when she did rise he stayed out of her way. They had a shared bond with one another over the feasts that graced the table. At any other time, however, she was here as a guest of the family. In many ways, Ivan thought, it was no different from having his big sister, Sasha, at home.

  ‘A snack,’ he said to himself, and made his way to the kitchen. When it came to issuing payback to your tormentors, in a way that they would never forget, it was important to plot the precise means on a full stomach. Opening the fridge door, Ivan pulled a face at the sight of all the vegan food on Amanda’s shelf. He wondered why she bothered with the soya cheese slices and stuff, given her passion for human flesh every once in a while, but then Ivan’s father had taught him not to judge. Our taste in meat makes us more of a minority group than the vegans, he had said. Which is why it’s so important that we stick together.

  The salt-beef sandwich that Ivan constructed involved four different layers of rye bread. With nobody around to take him to task, it was also crammed with gherkins and mustard, which dripped onto his plate as he headed upstairs to his bedroom. Having awoken that day feeling so hollow about school and then brooded in the dunes about his lot in life, this was the first time he felt an upswing in his spirits. Ryan, Bryce and Chad? Those jerks could burn in hell, and they would do so to a crisp if he had his moment in the sun. Just thinking about them again caused Ivan to press his back molars together. He hated feeling this way. All he wanted was to be treated normally, like any other kid. Instead, he’d become an outcast, and yet they had no idea what he was really like. If they knew that sometimes he looked at them not as sports jocks but as tender cuts, they’d shut the hell up once and for all. Well, it was too late for them to make amends, he told himself, on passing his kid sister’s bedroom. Soon they’d pay the ultimate price for crossing swords with a Savage. He was on a war footing now, and nothing could stop him.

  Ivan’s mind was in a maelstrom as he reached for his door handle. Even so, all the thoughts raging within couldn’t distract from the sudden scuttling sound. It was over as quickly as it had begun, but appealed to his senses as if he were on a hunting trip with his father.

  ‘What is that?’ The boy looked up and around, hearing the same thing again. ‘Do we have a pest problem?’

  With the plate in his hand still, Ivan held his breath, with both ears primed to pick up the slightest sound. Rats would be great, he thought. It would be a chance for him to hone his trapping skills. A raccoon in the loft space would be even better. The kind of challenge that would make his dad proud. When the further pattering of tiny paws broke the silence, Ivan turned his attention to Katya’s bedroom door. It was coming from in there, he felt sure.

  ‘Come out, come out,’ he whispered, and retraced his steps as quietly as he could. �
��Whatever you are.’

  In view of their advanced age, Oleg Savage had decided that a lunch date with Priscilla would be better than a night out. Like everyone at the Fallen Pine, both he and Priscilla always retired to their rooms by half past eight. If Oleg booked a table any time beyond that, there was a distinct danger that one or even both of them would be found face down in the soup.

  ‘So, where are you taking me?’ Priscilla asked, travelling alongside his scooter on a smaller, pink model fitted with a sun umbrella. ‘This is so exciting!’

  ‘Just enjoy the ride,’ said Oleg, beaming across at her. ‘There’s nothing like a road trip to make you feel alive! Well, almost nothing … ’

  Following the sidewalk and stopping only for the crossing before the highway bridge, the pair had travelled out towards the old lighthouse. It stood proud upon an elevation overlooking the inlet, a red-brick structure on oyster-shell foundations, surrounded by parkland and banyan trees. In Oleg’s opinion, as they trundled through the main gates, it was the perfect place to dine with someone special.

  ‘I used to come here as a little girl,’ Priscilla told him. ‘My family would bring a picnic and watch the boats go by.’

  Oleg smiled to himself as they followed the sloping contours of the parkland.

  ‘Your family sound like my kind of people,’ he said, and pulled up to wait for her. ‘I just hope I can live up to their standards.’

  When Priscilla drew alongside, Oleg pointed towards a bench on the shady side of the treeline. He watched her peer ahead, then squint for focus, before her face illuminated in surprise and delight. For there stood Vince, the Fallen Pine’s nurse with the stretched earlobes. He faced them with his arms folded in front of a rug bearing a generous picnic spread.

  ‘Is this for me?’ asked Priscilla, and clasped her hands to her chest.