I stared at the vodka in my hands, then twisted off the cap, took a swig, and stuck the bottle’s lip against the bloodiest part of the bandage.
“BLYAD! Warn me first! Jesus Christ, where did he even find you!”
“Sorry,” I muttered. “You were there.”
“HA!” he roared, then slapped away the bottle. “You know what happened that day? Funny story about your ‘Why’s he sucha scary guy’friend. Great story. He told us,‘Get in the car, we’re going,’ and I didn’t even have a chance to put my good hat on. He never said where, just piled us in. You might wonder, who is‘us?’Well, I’ll tell you. It was Vitali, me, and a man named Pasha.”
I immediately knew I didn’t want to hear this story. Histonesaid I didn’t want to hear this story.
“Pasha was unfortunately already piss drunk, but Vitali didn’t care because Pasha was the one who knew the bastard whose party it was. Dima or something. Well, you see, Pasha couldn’t handle just listening to the radio. He’s messing with it in the front seat while I’ve got my ass pressed to the back of my throat in the rear. I tell him to shut the fuck up because he is getting rowdy. Disrespectful. But it’s to me, so I know I can cave his face in later, but I’m thinking he’s about to cross a line with Vitali. Which—Konstantinov doesn’t have a thin patience. He’s diplomatic that way. But I can tell Pasha is getting on his last nerve, and that’s not good. I start thinking maybe once we get to this party, I’ll feed Pasha a glass or two so he is out cold.”
I tapped my fingers on the bottle’s glass.Tap-tap-tap.
“Well, we didn’t get far enough for that to happen. Because Pasha is fiddling with the CD player, trying to stick his fat fingers into the slot because the CD is jammed. Vitali tells him to get his filthy hands away from it, and if he busts it, Vitali will break his jaw. Here is where Pasha really fucked up.”
I pressed the bottle to my lips and tipped it back, trying desperately to outrun his story.
“He starts getting in Vitali’s face, but careful-like because somewhere in that idiotic head of his, he still knows what’s good for him. But he’s getting no reaction. So, he says,‘You know, goodboys listen.’”
I gagged, but I was a soldier, and took another swallow while Misha flicked the cigarette butt out the window and lit another.
“There was no going back. Vitali looks at me through the rear-view mirror, and I’m scrambling, searching through my pockets, because I can’t shoot inside the car and break the glass. I can’t get his leather dirty.”
I absently surveyed my seat. This seat. Pasha’s seat.
“So I reach over and open the passenger door. Pasha doesn’t realize what’s happening yet, and Vitali’s eyes are back on the road. I opened my window and reached through. Got hold of Pasha’s collar. The car is still going. He starts swearing, grabs onto whatever he can. Grabs onto the gear shift. But I’m bigger, you know? I’ve got him up to one asscheek out the door. So he bites me. Right on the forearm. Bites hard. Draws blood. And at this point, I’m done, and Vitali is done, so he slams the butt of his gun on Pasha’s fingers. Let me tell you, the bastard released the shift right quick because his thumb was the only thing left intact. I throw him out, thinking he’ll break a thing or two on the way, maybe enough to be handicapped for the rest of his life. Learn to keep his mouth shut, and someone will pick him up off the side of the road and take him to the hospital—it’s still daylight out, you know?”
Oh good. So it was Misha’s blood I stuck my fingers in.
“But Vitali doesn’t keep driving. He stops, and then, calm as if coming out of a parking spot, he shifts gears and reverses. And at this point, I know what’s happening, and Pasha isn’t going to be handicapped anymore. Vitali backs the car over Pasha. I don’t like the screams, so I try not to listen, but I still feel the crunch because Vitali is a good driver. He lined the tire up with Pasha’s head. And all I can think about is this was the least cleaning up I’d have to do other than choking him. Shouldhave choked him. And now we wouldn’t get to stop at the store for cigarettes because we’d be late, and whatever Vitali wanted with that goddamn party, I wasn’t about to be the reason we were late after all that.”
The vodka came back up my throat, but I gulped it down. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t a real story, I was just in shock.
Misha raised an eyebrow. “Take it easy, you don’t want to be plastered for this.”
“That’s exactly what I want to be…” I choked out, three-fourths of the bottle sloshing around in my grip.
“Turned out you were the why. Could even say Pasha was your fault.” He laughed, but seeing my expression, tactlessly waved it off. “Relax, I’m kidding. Thatmrazsaid the magic words, and if you say the magic words, the bad thing happens. Had nothing to do with you.”
“What magic words?” I trapped the bottle between my feet to keep it from rolling and rubbed my temples. The liquor drummed through my veins.
“Good boy.”
The words gave me a discomfort I could only describe as oppressive. “Who is good boy?”
“Oh.” Misha tightened his lips and scratched his itchy heart. “Well,blyad, if you don’t know, then I definitely shouldn’t be the one to tell you. Sergei is the only one who isn’t scared to say it. Go ask him.”
Knowing this became imperative to my life. Maybe I was a little drunk. “I don’t want to ask Sergei anything. Come on, tell me? I haven’t told anyoneANYTHINGyou’ve told me.”
“Just nice to talk to someone who listens, you know?” Misha muttered, then scrunched his nose. “If I tell you and you openyour fucking mouth, you’re digging my grave, and you better believe I’ll get to that shovel first and yours will be deeper.”
I pinched my fingers and dragged the imaginary zipper across my lips.
“I’m sure you’ve had the pleasure more than once to see the… the tattoos, right?”
Nod.
“You know what they’re covering?”
