“See, Katya,” he said without looking at me, “I like to know what’s going on. Keep my eye on things. But I have more places than I do eyes, so I have to record them. Sometimes I get lucky—like this. Great film. My favorite star. Yours too, isn’t he,Kotik?”
The blood drained from my face, and my body would soon follow.
“You pass biology in primary school, Baranov?” the black and white Vitali asked. “Because I see a pig in front of me, but it only has thirty-two teeth. I don’t think that’s right. In my opinion, there should be forty-four. So, we’ll remove yours and start all over. Clean slate.”
The clank of a metal cart came ahead of the girl pushing it along, and I watched as the policeman shouted and thrashed against the two men who restrained him while Vitali helped the woman set up the table.
“I want him awake for the whole thing. Start out with a small ketorolac injection,” said Vitali’s voice, all business. I couldn’t see him. “Get ammonia and gauze. Pavel can keep him conscious.”
Another shot of vodka appeared before me. This time, it was Misha who poured it. We exchanged sad glances; a mournful‘cheers’ for our mutual fate.
The static buzzed, and the image flickered, skipping a minute or two ahead. No longer a concrete wash area, but a makeshift hospital room. The pig’s head was set up beside the surgical equipment, within reach of the table where Baranov was strapped in. Vitali stood to the side, watching the girl prepare her tools.
The man screamed profanities, but they went unheeded.
“See, the interesting thing about pigs is, their teeth aren’t that different from ours, on a structural level,” Sergei said. “But their proportions are all off. They’re bigger, and often pointier. I know this because I grew up in aposyolok. We had lots of pigs. You know who shouldn’t know that? A kid from a city slum. But he’s brilliant, you know? Creative. If I had known how creative, I would have bought him before New Zealand did! But maybe that’s where the inspiration came from. Anyway, ifyou watch, he makes all forty-four of them fit. Baranov won’t be able to close his mouth.”
He laughed and passed me the bottle. I gulped down a few swigs and wondered if this was a part of my birthday present.
“I don’t want to watch anymore…” I mumbled.
“What’s that American saying?Never watch sausage being made?” Sergei whooped.
“What are you doing?” Misha asked. “Why are you showing her this? Come on.”
“You know why he isn’t just ripping them out? Bothering to go through the trouble—thefucking surgery?” Sergei asked me. I shook my head; he would tell me either way. “Because—OHI don’t want to spoil it, watch! Watch!”
Vitali leaned in and posed a similar question to my attacker.
Sergei spoke quietly, reciting the line along with the Vitali on screen.
“…you know why you need teeth, Oleg? Because I’m going to feed you your hands. The same ones you used so liberally on myfuture wife.”
“It only took a few hours, you know.” His wet chicken smacks resumed. “I thought he’d cut them off first, but no. Made the cop eat the cherries right off the stems.”
The image blinked and cut out. Misha cracked the tape in his hands and pulled out the reel in dark, billowing ribbons.
“Barbaric,” he said. “I’m taking her home.”
Sergei hooted, but didn’t stop us as we walked toward the front door. He only shouted as it closed.
“I’ll ask around about your friend, Katya! See you soon!”
My head swam, but not enough. Misha and I were silent for most of the drive, except when I asked him if I could have the crusty bread bun I found at the bottom of his lunch bag. Ineeded something to soak up the vodka.
We were a block away when I finally said, “If that was yesterday, why is he gone for two more days?”
Misha scratched his head. “Don’t think about it too much. I know he put a bullet in him before midnight. There’s just… cleanup. Never asks anyone to do a job he wouldn’t do. Then, we have to use the cop-killing for something productive. Let whoever know, get some money in the right hands. Sergei likes to make a public spectacle, so he’ll probably hand the body over to the morgue and let the Senator explain himself. Really puts it in people’s minds that there are monsters in the shadows. Of course, in reality, monsters don’t need shadows. He’s right there, in the open.”
My future wife.
“No,” I said. “You had it right the first time. Vitali isn’t a monster. He’s a hungry dog. And hungry dogs guard their bones.”
* * *
About Russia,
posyolok- village/township outside of big cities, often farming communities
