Chapter 30 Happy Birthday, Kotik #2
“The servant of God Ruslan partakes of the precious and holy Body and Blood of our Lord…” he started, and Ivan helpfully uncorked the holy (vintage) blood.
“All of it,” Vitali said flatly. I grabbed onto him because the room was no longer a steady place. He pulled me in close and put an arm around me. “It’s okay, Kotik, we’re almost done, and then we can go home. Draw you a bath.”
The priest took a few steps toward his screaming brother and tipped the bottle until the wine came splashing in bouts over his head. It wasn’t drained by the time the prayer was over, so for several moments we all stood in silence and listened to it glug and gurgle to a stop.
“The Lord said ‘Into whatsoever city or village ye enter…’” the priest continued.
“Skip to the anointing,” Vitali said. “Kotik is tired.”
The priest nodded. Boris and Ivan left the room.
I blinked and tried very hard to remember what came next. What I recalled of the rites upon Papa’s passing.
Oh no…
I placed a hand over his chest.
His heart wasn’t even racing. Just a steady, resting beat.
They came back from the kitchens just as the priest began the anointing prayer. To his credit, he didn’t falter when they tipped the hot oil over poor Clipboard’s head.
The room swayed, and bile rose in my throat as a skin bubble burst across his forehead—then another—like watching bone broth come to a boil in slow motion.
The screams were not quick to stop.
Vitali crossed himself, and I heard the words only because I stood beside him.
“Give no rest to the soul of Thy departed servant…”
Satisfied with the performance, he scooped me up and carefully stepped over the spill. In the same moment, Ivan took the pistol out, and one quick pop put down the priest.
Misha opened the door for us and followed us out back, where the Mercedes was already running.
Vitali placed me in the backseat and fixed his jacket around my shoulders, then told Misha, “I’m going to wash up. Put the heaters on.”
Misha got into the driver’s seat. We were silent, and then I risked looking up at his reflection in the rearview mirror. His eyes were downcast, and his pallor green.
“If what you saw tonight doesn’t persuade you, I don’t know what will,” he said quietly. “I won’t come to you with these things anymore, because I think you’ve seen what you need to see. This is the last time I’ll tell you anything, because I like you, but suppose you made your decisions clear.”
“Misha…”
“No. Listen to me. The last time. One last thing, because it affects you directly.” He took a deep breath, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a flask. I’d never seen Misha drink and drive. “He said a month was long enough.”
“What?”
“He said a month was long enough,” Misha repeated. “He got tired of waiting for you to call, so he did what he had to, to get you to call.”
I leaned forward, grabbing onto the back of the passenger seat. “What are you talking about?”
“You want to know how long he’s known you, Katya?
Ask Sergei when he first sent Vitali to meet with Moscow.
There were a few girls at the Manhattan Club when we entered, but they were just leaving.
I remember commenting that the blond one had a hell of an ass, but there are lots of asses, and asses are forgettable, and I could never pick her out of a crowd.
He looked, but it wasn’t the blond he noticed.
He liked the brunette—about your build, your height.
But see, Vitali doesn’t forget asses like I do.
That was two years ago, Katya. I didn’t know who the hell you were for a long time; we just joked about some girl because he’s nuts, and it wouldn’t be the first time.
And when I connected the dots on you—two years. Do you understand that?”
I didn’t. I didn’t understand anything that happened. I didn’t understand when the back door of the club opened, and two men came hauling something out. I didn’t understand when they tied it onto a rope connected to the trunk.
Vitali got in beside me, polished like he was at the beginning of the night—less his jacket.
He rested an arm around me. All leather and imported cologne.
I twisted to get a better look at the thing behind us, but he took me by the chin and gently guided me back down.
His mouth tasted like the kind of glamorous sex they have in the movies, and the kiss was slow and tender.
He controlled the tilt of my head, and his hands were warm, so warm.
When we got on our way, he slid his fingers onto my thigh, careful not to touch the bruising.
“Go through the center of town,” he told Misha without looking away from me.
“Vitali, you can’t drag that thing through the center of town.”
Vitali placed a cigarette between his lips. The lighter clicked. “Nobody is going to call the police on a Mercedes S-Class. Take him through the center of town.”
I didn’t look back for the rest of the ride.
When we stopped, very little remained of Clipboard.
Most of him stuck to the ice on the drive.
“Happy birthday, Kotik.”
* * *
About Russia:
Batuyshka – Father/priest
Sergiev Posad – a Russian city that is known to be a large religious center