HUNGER OF THE WICKED

3.

“I took a dip in the Tom. I’m afraid that this delivery will be the last of the year.”

Gord shrugged his shoulders. The weather was capricious, he knew, and this kind of setback was part of his business, he’d included it in the variables to be taken into account. Darya was in charge of receiving the cocaine at Priiskovy, in the republic of Khakassia, and getting it across the border—if one could call it that—across the mountains to deliver it to Zelenogorskiy. This required good physical fitness, courage, and a good knowledge of the terrain. But also a strong dependence on the elements. The Mafioso couldn’t complain: as long as the Tom was frozen, he made a steady income, which sometimes compensated for incidental losses.

“It doesn’t matter, next year will be better,” he said after a moment.

“Yeah, it shouldn’t be too hard!” she swallowed a new mouthful. “Another thing: Yuri is going to take medical leave.”

“Ah? Explain this to me.”

“He wanted to double-cross you, cut the product to earn more money.”

“What a dirty little rat!” Gord lit his pipe and drew a few puffs. “You didn’t mess him up too much, I hope?”

“He won’t play football again, that’s for sure,” she said with a sardonic smile.

“He was useless, nobody’s going to miss him.”

The Mafioso observed his young employee, looking anxious. She rarely looked him in the face. He was used to it and didn’t ask any personal questions, he knew that she had a good reason, even if he doubted he could understand it. But one thing was clear: she couldn’t stand being in contact with people. It’s as if we put her in the presence of her worst nightmare. As a result, he hesitated to offer her a job where, indeed, contact was inevitable. Darya had to feel his discomfort as she opened her eyelids and turned to him. A face muscle twitched and sorrow invaded her pretty eyes.

“There’s a problem?” she whispered, won over by Gord’s apprehension.

“It’s just that... well...” he tapped on his pipe, nervous. “I would have a job for you, but...”

He preferred not to finish his sentence. It was useless, besides, she had understood.

“Say it.”

“Do you remember the old house in front of the laundromat?” The girl nodded. “Good. I rented it to an unusual man, a rich Italian. He says he needs a guide who knows the region very well.”

“Not to pick mushrooms, I assume?”

“I doubt it. He chose me for my discretion.” Gord sighed. Darya didn’t eat anymore. She stared at his desk lamp, her heart was in her mouth. “Look, I’ll tell you what: go see him, talk to him, and if you’re not happy with it, I’ll find someone else.”

The girl appeared wounded. She flinched, stung, and looked at him again. That gaping wound that crossed his throat... that vile hole, with ragged edges, and mottled bruising... she snorted loudly and straightened up.

“I can do it, you know,” she said, a little abruptly.

“I often wonder, sweetie, what you see when you look at me,” he raised a peremptory hand. “No, don’t answer. It must be ugly, just to see your face. I won’t do anything that troubles you; then go see this Italian tomorrow night. You can give me your answer afterward.”

She thought for a moment in silence. Then she let out a weary sigh and nodded. There was no point in masking the truth: she doubted she would be able to accompany someone almost continuously, it would be too hard.

“You’re right. I’ll call you.”

She got up, blew a kiss at Gord, and then dragged her feet to the locker room. Pi had washed and dried her clothes so she got them back clean and still warm. She dressed without hurrying conscious that, if she had wanted to be honest, she would have refused the offer on the spot. Who knows, maybe after a good day’s rest... Depressed, she took her head in her hands. You dream big, you’ll never be able to do what he asks of you! You are condemned to live isolated from others!

The young girl chose a dark alley where the first light of dawn couldn’t yet penetrate. The buildings stood out as sadder and older. But she didn’t even notice them. She continued on her way to a small side road where the last shops in the area were dying. She headed out up to the area surrounding the Tom and followed a path leading to the cemetery. There, she entered the old gatehouse, Droski’s property since the city could no longer pay a person to occupy the place. Darya was paying an inexpensive rent and, the icing on the cake, she benefited from a silent and humanly reduced, shrinking neighbourhood. She could go to the grocery store without seeing anyone—apart from stray cats and dogs—an unspeakable blessing for her peace of mind.

She threw her bag and jacket on an armchair, opened the fridge, took out a bottle of vodka, and poured a generous shot. Then she wandered to the small living room and glanced out the window. The cemetery, just lit by the first reddish rays of the dawn, offered a magnificent spectacle, the mausoleums appeared almost alive. The rare sun veiled every detail of their finely carved architecture; all the more vast as the light passed through each crevice to give them the appearance of titanic works. At their feet, the tombstones looked very small, almost humble, as if they prostrated themselves before the magnificence of their elders. Darya adored this scene and never tired of admiring it. But, like a lot of times, a vision came to spoil her pleasure. Always the same. A woman with a weathered complexion was staring at her. Dressed in a very sober long robe of white linen, belted at the waist; an imposing veil on her head and strange soft shoes, she held a long stick which ended with a sculpture depicting stag antlers. True to the ceremony of each of her appearances, she brandished it in Darya’s direction, menacingly, with a finger pointing at the ground. Darya, jaded, put out her tongue and emptied her glass. It didn’t matter to her the oddities that polluted her existence since the accident. She knew she was incapable of understanding them and, worse, incapable of putting an end to them. Exhausted despite her nap at the baths, she returned to her tiny room before wallowing on her bed without even taking the trouble to take off her boots. She fell asleep almost immediately.