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Writer's pictureArthur Chrenkoff

43.

30 June, 5:10 PM, Czernograd, Hotel Casino



There is the early local news on the TV halfway through the bulletin, a half empty can of Coke on the table, a half-naked half-Gypsy woman in Jake’s bed, watching the news with one eye and even less attention, and there is a burly cop in a standard issue civilian cop attire sitting outside his hotel room, on guard. Not quite the holiday he expected, and the holiday he expected wasn’t much of typical holiday to start with. So much for the magic.


Jake called his sister about an hour ago, while Marina was in the shower.


“Guess what, sis, I’ve got my very own police protection now.”


“Jesus,” Jackie gasped at the other end of the line, a few thousand miles away. “You’re not shitting me, are you?”


“No,” he said, falling into the bed. The quilt sucked him in like a quagmire.


“I didn’t think so either. Unless it’s been an ongoing joke for the past few days. Which doesn’t sound like you. And you’re not that funny anyway. Not that this is funny...”


“Thanks.”


“Jake, whatever it is... whatever you walked into, it’s not worth it. It’s not worth... dying over. Screw the money; just dump the fucking ashes in a bin and get your ass back over here.”


“Do you think the parents would understand?”


“Oh for God’s sake,” his sister hissed. “Screw them too. Face it, Jake; none of us are exactly starving, aren’t we? Yes, the grandpa’s loot sounded like a nice bonus... a very nice bonus for everyone concerned, but at this price? Seriously? None of us knew, and if we knew... You’re a pain in the ass sometimes, Jake, but on occasions I actually like you.”


“Aren’t you just a bit intrigued by what’s going on though?”


“Nope,” she answered curtly. And then: “Jake, you’re not some Navy SEAL or a CIA agent, for goodness’ sakes. You write a copy for an advertising agency, remember? Your day job, hellloooo? You’ve walked into some weird shit that’s waaaaaay over your head. Walk off, Jake.”


He rolled on his side. “You haven’t told parents any of this?”


“Are you crazy?” Jake could almost see her, pacing around her living room and down the corridor, taking nervous drags from her e-cigarette. “If I had, dad would now be in intensive care, and mother would be on the next flight to Cz... Cz...”


“Czernograd.”


“Yeah, the ‘grad, to kill you before whoever else wants to kill you could get to you.”


“Keep it that way.”


“I will, if you promise me you’re coming back. And I mean real soon.”


It was promise Jake very much intended to keep. It’s just that the definition of “soon” wasn’t really clear in his mind. Neither was the place in the puzzle that was his future of the woman who was standing in front of him in the bathroom’s doorway, her left arm raised and left flank leaning against the wooden frame, droplets of water from her wet curls dripping and rolling like dew down her naked body. Maybe there was no place and no future, but the present looked certainly glorious. It would have to do for now.


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