“Christ, the guy was fast though!”
“Well, you were a bit drunk too, but yes, apparently he grew up in some of the toughest neighbourhoods of Moscow - got plenty of practice looking after himself I imagine. I'm so sorry you got involved Doug, I really am.”
“What the hell were you doing with that thug Markov anyway? Did you meet him at Kal's party?”
Cindy's expression froze. “How do you know his name?”
“The police inspector, Bullock, the one investigating Kal's death, told me. He showed me a photo of him. Asked if I'd seen him at the party.”
“What did you say?”
“I said yes. I was pretty sure I had seen him.”
“Did you mention me?”
“No - why would I? Until I saw you together last night, I had no idea you even knew him.” Doug was starting to get angry. “Is he your boyfriend or something?”
“No!” she scowled. “Nothing like that.”
She sat back on the chair, looked down at her shoes and sighed.
“His name is Sergei Markov.”
“That much I knew already!”
“He's a ...” Cindy paused searching for the right word. “... a businessman with some rather dubious connections,” she continued. “He owns a couple of clubs - gentlemen's clubs. One in Colchester and one in North London. Those goons in the Range Rover last night are two of his bouncers. He also has various other interests, not all of them strictly legal.”
“I still don't see where you fit in to all this.”
She sighed and looked up at him sadly. “While I was studying for my degree, I worked part time at the North London club to earn some extra cash.”
“You were a stripper?” asked Doug, incredulously.
Cindy frowned. “Exotic dancer was the preferred term - but yes. Actually, I started out just serving drinks at the bar, but one night Sergei saw me and offered to triple the money I was making if I danced for him. I was broke, so I gave it a try and discovered I had a certain talent for it.”
“That doesn't surprise me,” said Doug, “you're the sexiest thing I ever met!”
“Well, thanks ... but if you don't mind, I'd rather you kept this to yourself.”
“Of course – I wouldn't dream of telling anyone – if anyone asks, you're a highly successful accountant, who just happens to go like a...”
“Yeah, yeah okay!” she interrupted with a smile. “Anyway, rather than getting into debt like all the other students, I was earning seven or eight hundred a week and when I graduated, had enough savings to put a deposit on a flat.”
“So what are you still doing with him - and how did you learn to speak Russian like that? I heard you in the wine bar!”
Cindy seemed surprised. “I didn't see you in the wine bar, what were you doing there?”
“I was walking up the High Street with the lads, and I just saw you in there. So I went in and watched you from the bar. Couldn't hear what you were saying, but when you left, I heard you speaking Russian.”
Cindy stared at him for a while as if replaying the previous evening in her head. For the first time since Doug had met her, she looked uncertain of herself. Some seconds later she regained her usual composure and continued. “My mother was a ballerina with the Moscow Ballet,” she said with a sad fondness. “My father was English - a set designer in London. They met during a rehearsal for “The Nutcracker” back in the seventies and fell in love. The following year she defected to England to be with him.”
“No wonder you know how to move ... did your mum know about your stri...exotic dancing?”
“She was already dead by then. They were both killed in a car crash when I was sixteen.”
“I'm sorry.”
“It was a long time ago - but no - she would have hated it,” she said, looking genuinely ashamed. “She would have hated Markov and the whole scene actually.”
“So why were you with him last night?”
“I'm getting to that. You see, when I graduated and gave him my notice, he didn't want to let me go.”
“Because you were such a great dancer?”
“Partly, but it was more than that. I was the only one who hadn't slept with him, and it made him want me even more. After I left, he started to find me all sorts of accounting work on the side. Some for him, some for his business associates. All of it paid extremely well - vastly more than the work was worth anyway. I wasn't totally comfortable with it at first, but as a new graduate recruit, I wasn't making very much at the firm I'd joined, and it just seemed too good an opportunity to turn down. Anyway, last month he made me a business proposal which would have had me working with him full time.”
“I bet he did!” said Doug in a lewd tone.
“I refused, of course, but last night he invited me out for a drink to try and change my mind.”
“And you turned him down again.”
“Yeah – he wasn't happy.”
“So it had nothing to do with Kal's party?”
“Of course not!” she cried.
“So what were you two doing there? I thought you said you'd tagged along with some girl - Tracy wasn't it?”
She blushed. “Okay...I admit I lied about that. I'm sorry. It's just that hanging around with Mafia types isn't something you brag about. Sergei asked me to go with him. He said he had some business to do with one of the students, and said he'd pay me if I just went as his date. In spite of all that hard-man exterior, I think he's actually quite insecure.”
“My heart bleeds for him!” said Doug sarcastically. He rubbed his lower back, “...almost literally in fact... By business, I assume you mean drugs.”
“I didn't ask, and he didn't tell me, but yeah, I wouldn't be surprised. Anyway, he disappeared after about an hour and left me to find my own way home. I decided to have a few drinks and the rest, as they say, is history.”
She came over and kissed him on the forehead. “It was very brave of you to step in last night.”
“Yeah, I really had him on the ropes didn't I?” said Doug, touching his cheek and recoiling instantly. “I couldn't let him hit you like that and not do something though.”
“I think it's probably the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me.”
“But if I'd known you were so well armed with Armani over there, I might not have been so quick to step in.”
“Yeah you would,” she said, kissing him again, this time on the lips.
Doug became serious again. “Was Kal the student Markov had business with?”
“I don't know. Maybe, I saw them talking.”
“But you're sure he left after an hour?”
“Quite sure. Surely you're not thinking that Sergei had something to do with Kal's suicide?”
“I don't know what I think. Something made him jump out of that window.”
The two were silent for a moment then Cindy looked at her watch. “Listen, I need to go and run some errands this morning, but I'll be back later to check in on you. Is there anything you'd like me to pick up? Maybe some overnight things - your laptop perhaps. I think they're going to want to keep you in at least another day or two.”
“If you're busy, I'm sure Brian will be along later,” offered Doug.
“Of course not, it's the least I can do after last night.”
He placed a hand on her hip and let it slip down to her buttocks. “All right then, thanks! Keys should be in my jeans pocket. In my room there's a small bag by the washbasin with my toothbrush and stuff - and if you could find a clean T-shirt and some underwear that'd be great.”
“What about your laptop?”
“Hmm - don't really feel like working, but yeah I suppose I should have that too. Do you think they have WiFi in here?”
“Probably not, but I have a 3G dongle thingy you could borrow.”
“Cool, all right then. Better bring the charger too.”
Cindy took the keys, kissed him again, then left.
I'm dating a stripper! Thought Doug, smiling
with a mixture of pride and amusement.
A little later, there was a knock on the door and a short, middle-aged and rather portly nurse entered the room. “How are you this morning? She asked cheerfully. “You had us all worried last night.”
“My back and face hurt, but otherwise I'm okay I think.”
“Good, the doctor will be along shortly, but in the mean time, I just need to check your temperature, pulse, and blood pressure.”
Despite her rotundity, she had a pretty face with rosy cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. Doug put the thermometer in his mouth and held out his wrist.
“Do you need anything for the pain?” she asked, taking the wrist and squinting at her watch.
“No, it only hurts when I try to move.”
“Simple solution to that then!” she said, eyes glinting with mischief.
“Don't move?” ventured Doug.
“You got it!” she replied with a grin. She tightened a band around his upper arm and pressed a button. “Must have been quite a tumble you took last night?”
Doug looked at her blankly.
“Your girlfriend told us what happened - said you fell down some steps outside the pub.” Seeing Doug's reaction, she frowned. “That is what happened, isn't it?”
“Yeah... something like that,” he finally replied, feeling a little deflated at the way his gallantry had been reduced to a moment of drunken clumsiness. “I don't remember exactly.”
“Alcohol can do that to you!” she admonished.
He guessed that Cindy must have lied to avoid getting the police involved. Markov would have pleaded self defence anyway. After all, Doug had intended to flatten the guy, if only the little weasel would have stood still for a split second. Carrying a knuckle duster for self defence though, was pushing it a bit far, he thought. Oh well. At least Cindy seemed to appreciate his attempt at bravery.
“Well everything here seems normal,” said the nurse finally. “Breakfast will be along in a few minutes. Is there anything else you need?”
“No thanks,” he replied.
Breakfast, consisting of soggy cereal, and two small pieces of toast with jam, did little to satisfy Doug's now ravenous appetite. He was just wondering whether to press the red call button to ask for some more, when Dr. Singh, the Indian doctor who had treated his concussion after the match, entered the room. “Mr. Richards,” he said. “I'm sorry to see you back so soon. How are you feeling this morning?”
“My lower back aches every time I try to move and my face is very tender.”
The doctor examined his back. “The muscles supporting your lower spine have been bruised so it's going to feel tender for a few days, but there's no lasting damage here as far as we can see. As for your face, you had quite a deep cut which we stitched last night, and a minor fracture to your cheekbone. Luckily the bones haven't moved though, so if you can just avoid any further impacts for next few months, it should heal up on its own.”
“Does that mean I can't play rugby for the rest of the season?”
“It would be unwise. You see, although it's just a fracture, it's weakened this whole part of your skull, and now needs time to heal. If you received another trauma to that area, it could split open further, affecting your eye socket, and then you might require reconstruction surgery.”
Doug's appetite waned, as he began to feel queasy.
“What I'm most concerned about though, is the way you were losing consciousness last night.”
“I did drink quite a lot - that does tend to make me rather sleepy,” offered Doug, hopefully.
“That might explain part of it, but at one point you appeared to suffer what we call a partial seizure and that indicates something more serious.”
“Like what? My girlfriend said you ran a brain scan.”
“We did a CT scan to see if you had any bleeding into the brain, and that was negative, but I've scheduled an MRI for this afternoon. The MRI can be better at helping us spot other kinds of abnormalities besides bleeding. In the mean time, try to get some rest.”
Doug's morning stretched out into a dull yet disquieting eternity. Several times he started to doze, only to be awoken by noises in the corridor, or by nurses coming in to check on him. He imagined Dr. Singh looking gravely at the MRI images and informing of some inoperable brain tumour. “How long have I got, Doc?” he heard himself asking bravely. “Three months – six at most.” came the imaginary reply. What would he do given such a prognosis? Spend the time with his parents in Bournemouth? Hang about on the beach with Cindy - do a little windsurfing maybe ... assuming motor reflexes remained intact? Some of the best days he could remember had been spent this way, but the thought of them being his last was still deeply depressing. He was twenty-one years old – on the verge of graduating and starting a new life. He pictured the funeral, trying to imagine what kind of eulogy he might receive. This was somehow more comforting, but as he looked down upon the small congregation in the church of his mind's eye, he started to contemplate death itself. Would he just cease to be? Are we just enveloped by nothingness? What else could there be? Born to secular parents and schooled in religious diversity, like so many of his generation, Doug had no need for God or religion. He didn't particularly like the label atheist, due to the militant connotations it carried, but if pressed, he would accept it. Most of his contemporaries would probably describe themselves as agnostic, in order to avoid confrontation. To a theist, declaring oneself an atheist was tantamount to calling that person an idiot, whereas agnosticism was more like a gentle admission that you hadn't really thought it through - or just didn't care enough to have taken a position. Either way, the religious hatred that might be inspired by atheism would be traded for mere pity and condescension. But as he pondered his potential passing, the idea of endless nothingness still seemed hard to conceive. Presumably this was why all the religions had invented some version of an afterlife, he concluded.
Finally, this morbid reverie was brought to an end with a large but tepid plate of chicken and rice. Doug's appetite had returned with a vengeance, and within a few minutes the plate was clean. He then downed the accompanying glass of water, emitting a sonorous belch, which reverberated satisfyingly down the corridor.
“I heard that!” came Cindy's voice as she appeared at the door carrying a rucksack. She had changed into a black trouser suit with a white blouse, and her hair was tied up into a bun. “Nothing wrong with your appetite I see!” she said, eyeing the empty plate, and kissing him gently on the good cheek. “What did the doctor say?”
“Wants to do an MRI this afternoon, otherwise nothing much,” replied Doug glumly. “Says I shouldn't fall down any more steps,” he added with a note of sarcasm.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. I meant to tell you about that. Thought it might be better for everyone if we kept the police out of it. We don't want Sergei any more pissed off than he will be already, trust me.“
Doug huffed. “I hope you're going to stay away from that jerk from now on!” He took Cindy's hand and then smiled. “Thanks for bringing my stuff. I've been bored shitless all morning. Even my computing assignment would have been more interesting than staring at this bloody ceiling.”
Cindy removed Doug's laptop from the sack and handed it to him. “Power that up and log in,” she said, rummaging in her handbag and producing a small white object and a CD. “Here's the 3G dongle. Plug it into your USB port, and then pass it here so I can install the software.”
“It's all right, I can do that.”
“No, it'll be easier if you let me. Sometimes the driver can be a pain, but I've done it a few times before.”
Doug handed her the PC with a mixture of amusement and admiration.
“Here!” she said finally, sounding pleased with herself. “You're now connected to the Internet.” She then placed the rucksack by the side of his bed. “In here you've got a toothbrush, a change of clothes, a couple of books I found on your bedside table and ... your iPod.”
“Ah, brilliant! I for
got to ask you to bring that!” said Doug jubilantly, as he stretched down for the iPod, groaning with pain as he did so.
“Here let me get it for you,” she said. “I even brought the cable so you can charge it.”
Doug sighed and looked into her eyes. “You know something? You're truly amazing!”
She stared at him for a moment, her face displaying both confusion and sadness.
“I think I might be falling for you!” he whispered.
“You hardly know me,” she replied, walking over to the window and placing her hands on the sill. She gazed out distractedly and shook her head. “It's thanks to me, you're lying here in hospital with a broken face.”
“I don't care,” he said, “I think I'm in love with you.”
She glanced at her watch. “I need to be going now. I have some meetings this afternoon.”
As she bent down to kiss him goodbye, a tear welled in the corner of her eye. “Look, I'm very fond of you too,” she said, “but love is a big word. Take care of yourself and I'll see you later.” And then she was gone.
Doug stared at the doorway for a while, hoping she might have forgotten something – hoping she might suddenly decide to blow off her meetings and come back to declare her undying love for him. But the doorway remained empty. He picked up the laptop in frustration and opened his email.
The first message in his inbox was from a “Peter Sawyer” with the subject “Dream-Zone.”
Dear Douglas,
I am writing to you in reference to a paper you co-authored with Kal Gupta. It appears my late brother, Martin Sawyer was in contact with Kal via email – see attached.
It seems the two of them were working on some kind of video file combining the evolving fractal patterns described in your paper with some audio files that Martin had created. Unfortunately, Kal's email address no longer appears to be valid so I was wondering whether you could put me in touch with him or help me to locate a copy of the files they were discussing.
I look forward to hearing from you. My contact details are below.
Best regards
Peter.
Doug reread the message a couple of times, the words “late brother” leaping from the screen, then opened the attachment. As he read through the correspondence between Kal and Martin, he wondered why Kal had never mentioned this to him. Then he remembered the party, and the way Kal had seemed so eager to show him something. It must have been this, he thought with a sickening sense of regret. Maybe if he'd just shown more interest, Kal would still be alive. But at the time, he hadn't seemed at all troubled by Doug's temporary rejection. And then there was the text the following morning. As he thought about it more, there had been absolutely no warning signs in any of their interactions over the past few weeks. If anything, Kal had seemed happier. He looked at Peter's contact details at the foot of the email, and dialled the number on his mobile.
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