I wanted so badly to swim away.
35
Learn to Swim Faster
Sergei pulled out a small black and white TV and carried it to the table, huffing. “Mish, get the VCR.”
The setup took five (or so) minutes while I sat clutching my unopened soda. Something was happening, and it wasn’t good. Why was it never good?
Such is life.
The button popped and clicked, and a white dot in the middle of the screen expanded into horizontal static as Misha nudged in a new, unlabeled tape. Sergei returned to the table with his greasy fingers plunged into three empty glasses with polka-dot rims and a bottle of mid-grade (but sealed) vodka.
“I don’t drink,” I said as he splashed it across one and shoved it toward me. I hadn’t, not since Vitali told me.
“Everyone drinks,” he said flatly. “Friends drink, don’t they, Misha?”
“Makes the day go by faster,” he replied and lifted his in cheers.
“To friends,” Sergei said, and waited a moment for me to pick mine up. “And justice to those who hit women!”
The vodka hadn’t even touched my tongue, and I already gagged. But Misha drank, and I didn’t need him tapping my foot to know this wasn’t an actual choice, only the illusion of one.
The VHS tape clicked, then situated itself to better play out my nightmares. The TV spat up static, and then the image appeared.
A gray concrete room came into focus from the angle of an overhead corner-set camera. The picture wasn’t great, and I would be thankful for that in a few minutes.
A few pipes led to two deep sinks crowned with several rusty faucets, but otherwise it looked empty aside from something only partially shown at the corner of the screen. Just an old laundry room with a packed dirt floor, too small to belong to a facility like a hospital, but too big for a home.
“This from yesterday?” Misha asked. The other man nodded.
“See, I found this nice fellow stashed in one of my warehouses. And I told Vitali, if he didn’t come get his things, I’d throw them away. I’m not running a hotel.”
Misha swore suddenly. The thing at the bottom of the screen crawled out into the middle on all fours, being hurried along by a long stick being jabbed at the man’s sides.
“Come on Sergei, really?” he said. “Don’t make her watch this.Blyad, don’t makemewatch this.”
I realized it was a cattle prod just as Sergei topped off my vodka.
“Does this shit thing have sound?” he asked.
I hoped not, but it did. I also hoped it wasn’t Vitali holding the weapon, but it was.
The image swam with lines before steadying to show two men whose faces I couldn’t see standing at the wall. The one on thefloor was obviously Baranov, although he looked much worse than the last time I’d seen him, and wore only his underwear and most of a shirt.
“I heard you were looking for me,” Vitali said, spreading his arms as he strolled toward him. “Well, here I am, you found me! Now what? You have some questions,mraz?”
I flinched. Hearing Vitali swear had an acidity to it, but I wasn’t going to sit there and be surprised because I’d been present for Clipboard, and this would undoubtedly be worse, or Sergei wouldn’t bother holding me hostage like that.
Baranov spat at him, far braver than the other man had been.
“You know who was in the apartment?” Vitali crouched beside him, obscuring the man’s face from view. “My Kotik. And not only did you point a gun at her, Baranov, but you put your hands on her. I would have shot you if you’d just rang the doorbell and been polite about it. Now, bullets are off the table—too good for swine.”
The man hissed something unintelligible and kicked, but another man entered the screen and stomped—breaking Baranov across the knees. Someone else came in with a large, round mass, heavy enough to be carried in both arms. He dumped it in a sink.
I glanced at Sergei, horrified.
It was a pig’s head.
