(2.2) Mob Woes

Dmitri forced out the woman’s lingering charm with a sound exhale. Her absence was all encompassing. Comparable to both a mother’s embrace and that of a noose. Never the less, Dmitri felt ever more cold and alone.

Babushka’s promise repeated over and over in his mind. By taking the pact Dmitri had completely surrendered from caution. His willingness was an oddity. Experience had birthed an air of canniness deep within Dmitri.

The confused man assured himself that the arrangement, even in its obscurity, was legit.

Even though her treachery was unparalleled she would not, could not, cross deal. Even if said deal only worked in her favor; towards whatever ends her ominous desires led.

Furthermore, even if he had wanted to decline it would’ve been impossible. Even stones drooled at her coaxing.

Satisfied with his justifications for throwing sheets to the wind. Dmitri took note that night was falling fast over the desert.

A fire would help with the unearthly chill she had left within. Likewise, it would keep animal trespassers at bay.

A chorus of coyotes yipped in the far distance.

There was still a fair amount of unspent wood in his makeshift fire pit. A dash of gasoline and a struck match later illuminated the rubble of his den with flickering flames.

The charred meat smell of his previous meal tickled his acute scent.

Smoke from the newborn fire wafted through his nostrils and into his lungs. Dmitri sat down, cross-legged, in front of the fire. The smoke overflowed his senses. He focused on the acrid fumes, the meditative passage opened once again.

The fire doused his face with boisterously silent shadows.

Winter 1991, St Petersburg, Russia

Dmitri watched the darkness at the edges of his vision. It was enveloping him slowly. Inching, or perhaps oozing, he was not sure.

At first he might have been afraid of the encroaching darkness. However, it seemed inviting, friendly.

Much to his dissatisfaction the darkness was blown away in a blinding white flash.

An ugly sound of flesh striking flesh reverberated off cement walls.

Dmitri did not know where he had been taken too. He barely remembered being thrown into the back of a sedan and sped away.

Wherever this place was it was unnecessarily cold. Probably since his coat and shirt lay strewn across the floor.

What are they doing on the floor?

The teen opened his mouth to ask. The question never made it passed his lips.

Blinding white pain again.

After his vision cleared Dmitri saw two men standing before him. One of these men had blood on his fist.

He should bandage that up, it looks like it hurts… Wait, that’s not his blood.

Dmitri’s self conscientiousness came back in a flood of hurt. Everything screamed, especially his head and chest. The pain of his body muted the world. Slowly, as his ability to rationalize returned, sounds started to come back.

To include the sound of something heavy striking his rib cage.His scream was muffled in a blood soaked cough.

The blood covering his face must have been sitting there for awhile, it was sticky enough to prevent his eyelid from opening. When he tried to wipe the blood from his inflamed eye he found his hands had been bound behind a chair.

The boy was grateful he had been absent for a majority of the beating. Despising the fact that he could not have stayed unconscious longer.

Dmitri leaned forward in the chair hoping the blood would fall away and clear his vision. With his head bowed he took note that feeling had been lost in his feet. Just looking at his bare feet, bloodied, twisted, and mangled toes, caused him to feel pain for them. It was going to feel a lot worse when the nerves came back to reality.

His head tilted up with the aid of a helping hand. The man before him held the tool that had destroyed his feet. The ball pin hammer had Dmitri’s own blood caking over the metal head and wooden handle. The instrument was not satisfied yet, and returned to Dmitri’s chest in its lust for more of his life.

The blow forced the teenager into full, painful, reality of what was happening.

Dmitri screamed audibly, piercing his own ears. It helped though, helped alleviate the torment.

He wanted his body to shut down, his mind to take a step aside and watch his body get massacred. He didn’t want to be a part of it.

His scream choked off and he felt the fluid building up in his left lung. The choking turned into a spasm and Dmitri wretched across the floor.

“God dammit, I hate when they do that,” Ball pin man criticized.

“Don’t look now, but he got some on your shoes,” Blurred figure in the back countered.

“Fucker!” The hammer raised in the air.

Dmitri inhaled a sharp breath when the head came down across his collar bone. Something cracked solidly, and Dmitri prayed it was the handle of the hammer. The wave of agony that washed over his shoulder proved otherwise.

The man lofted his tool in the air again. Dmitri told himself that he would try to catch the blow with his head and return to painless unconsciousness. Or perhaps end this pain entirely.

Before the connection of the strike was made a metal door opened up somewhere in the room. Someone entered and closed the door. Dmitri dared to turn and look at the newest tormentor.

It was an elderly man covered in an overly expensive fur coat and walking with the aid of a silver tipped cane. The man’s face was leathery with an obtrusive nose that reminded Dmitri of a vulture. The feathery wisps of white hair added to the vulturine appearance.

“For the love of Jesus and the Mother, please tell me there is still life left in that boy.” The old man had a raspy voice that gritted at Dmitri’s ears.

If the clothes he wore didn’t prove his importance, the reaction of the other men did.

“Yes sir Mr. Yuri, he just came back around,” Ball pin answered earnestly.

Vulture-man walked around to Dmitri’s front and looked him up and down.

“You two certainly had a go at this boy. My child what is your name?” Yuri had a kindly voice, akin to a grandfather’s, even with the rasp.

Dmitri looked up and locked his eyes deep into this man’s own.

“I am not your child.”

All of the torture and anguish the previous two had caused did not shine a light to having this decrepit man strike him with his cane.

“What is your name,” a dangerous overtone filled the old man’s voice.

Dmitri’s eyes burned with fire as he answered, “Dmitri Konstantinovich Volkev.”

The old man smiled and waved his hand to the other two. They promptly brought him a chair and took his coat, draping it across the back of the chair. After placing his cane down the man sat in front of Dmitri and stared him down.

“Now listen to me closely you little shit stain,” he had his full attention, “you killed a man today. Do you remember that? Now, this man was very dear to me. A nephew. One of my favorites in fact. By all rights I am going to have your life as payment for the pain you’ve caused me and my family. But I will make a deal with you. Explain to me why you murdered him and I’ll possibly make the end quick for you.”

“What does it matter?” Dmitri couldn’t help but be caught up in the confusion of his impending doom.

“It may not seem like much but it will bring closure for the rest of the family,” the man’s voice was assuring.

Dmitri took a moment to measure his current situation. They were going to kill him anyways and he didn’t feel like leaving this world with a guilty conscience.

“He killed someone who was dear to me,” speaking those words brought the cold, hard truth that Sof’ya was gone and caused tears to well up inside, “He slaughtered my sister and left her gutted in that park. And if you’re talking about a life for a life then you owe me one more for the unborn child he killed as well.”

Dmitri didn’t know why the man reacted the way he did. The old man spun, deceitful of his age, and pulled off two shots into Ball Pin’s torso. Dmitri had not even seen the handgun drawn.

Ball Pin’s dead body fell to the floor in a furry of cursing from the elder.

“Why didn’t you two tell me he was fucking that thirteen-year-old twit? I would have had his balls for doing that shit!”

That thirteen-year-old twit had a name.

The other of the two men left alive started to wave his hands and opened his mouth to answer, or explain. It didn’t matter, before a word left his lips he was silenced forever.

The smell of gun powder mixed with the pungent aroma of fresh blood.

After a moment passed the old man turned once again to Dmitri. He assumed he’d be the next to meet a bullet’s fate

In a calm, almost placid tone the old man spoke up, “I am sorry for your loss. And I thank you for bringing my late nephew’s sins to light.”

Confusion was blatant on Dmitri’s face. It would help if the man didn’t have the barrel of a gun eyeing down Dmitri’s chest. Even if the gun was rested in the man’s lap.

“Let me explain,” the man swallowed and continued, “There are certain unorthodox practices in the family. And it seems my nephew was trying to cover up the affair he was having with your poor sister. That’s the only explanation for his actions. Now, despite our family’s illegitimate and unlawful business… a sin such as my late nephew’s is not tolerated.

“I am sorry it had to come to these ends. We all had our various suspicions about him. I regret that it cost your sister her life for us to prove his guilt. Consider those two as payment in exchange for her life, and that of your unborn niece or nephew.”

Dmitri watched as the man went to untie him. This was too much. Sof’ya was dead and this man treated it simply like a balanced account.

“Am I free to go then?” Dmitri was too shaken to say anything else.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that. I might have been generous to you. The others in the family might still want to see your blood on the ground.”

Dmitri rubbed his aching hands across even worse torso.

“Then what are you going to do?”

“I am going to ask a favor of you.”