brought someone with him on this trip. Even if it was only Boris.
“Hey, Boris, you take it in, eh? Give me a break tonight?” he said, looking over at the older man, whose huge frame seemed even larger in the small interior of the sports car. He had to cross his arms uncomfortably in front of him to fit his broad shoulders into the car.
“Fuck off, Sasa.” But there was no conviction in it, maybe a little sadness, maybe a little fear. Nobody wanted to go in, not even the tough guys like Boris.
Boris smelled of vodka and body odor. With his moist baby-doll eyes edged in girlishly long lashes and the black canyons of fatigue, the pasty-white skin of neglected health, and a permanent five-o’clock shadow on his multiple chins, Boris always looked to Sasa like a malevolent Pillsbury Doughboy. Instead of giggling, if you poked him in the belly, he’d blow your head off.
Boris sat shaking his head at his own thoughts, coughing a hacking cough that was usual for him when he was upset. “He only wants you,” Boris said finally, his voice raspy with phlegm. “They’ll only see you. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here at all.” Sasa said nothing. It was true, and they both knew it.
He was relieved when they pulled off the highway and onto the dark road that brought them closer to the end of this errand. He could see the lights of a house ahead of him, though there were still miles to go. It was that dark and that isolated. There were a million gleaming stars above them, and the only noise was the Boxster sounding like a jet engine in the stillness.
At the gate, a man wearing a cheap gray suit, a wrinkled navy tie, and sunglasses with a wire hanging from his ear put a hand out for Sasa to stop. His breath rolled in like a foul fog as Sasa lowered the window. “Sasa Fitore,” he said before the man could ask. As the man repeated his name into the Nextel phone he pulled from a pocket, Sasa squashed the urge to put a bullet in his brain. He hated people who tried to exert authority over him. And he really hated people who wore sunglasses at night.
The man stepped aside, the gate swung open, and the Boxster glided up a long, winding drive edged on either side by thick foliage. Boris emitted a light snore, and Sasa elbowed him hard as they approached the house. Boris sat up straight and put his hand inside his jacket, looking instantly alert and deadly. They approached the stately home dominated by white columns and large bay windows. Landscaped artfully with lighted palms, it was grander and far more isolated than the Snug Island house and thus far better suited to his client’s needs this evening. There was no hint as to what went on inside.
Sasa pulled up and found a spot to leave the car. There were more than twenty black sedans and limousines parked in front of him. Some of the chauffeurs stood outside their vehicles, smoking cigarettes or chatting with one another. Sasa counted three diplomatic and two government plates just at first glance as he stepped out of the car.
He jogged up the steep flight of stairs. He rang the bell and was admitted by a butler in a leather bondage mask. Sasa kept his head down as he was escorted through the house—he didn’t want to see anyone he shouldn’t. He heard a drunken cackle come from somewhere behind him. Somewhere deeper in the house, he heard a keening wail that could have been pleasure or pain—or both.
The butler opened the heavy wood door at the end of the hallway by its brass handle. Inside, the client was fondling the large artificial breasts of a tall, gorgeous woman, whose face Sasa had seen before but couldn’t place. She was a striking redhead, her skin like snow. Her mouth was as red and wet as cherry candy, and she pouted at Sasa in a pretty, nasty way, which made him stir inside. She straddled Sasa’s client on the sofa, though he was fully dressed. He was touching her when Sasa entered, and the woman did not move to cover herself. Sasa tried not to
“Hey, Boris, you take it in, eh? Give me a break tonight?” he said, looking over at the older man, whose huge frame seemed even larger in the small interior of the sports car. He had to cross his arms uncomfortably in front of him to fit his broad shoulders into the car.
“Fuck off, Sasa.” But there was no conviction in it, maybe a little sadness, maybe a little fear. Nobody wanted to go in, not even the tough guys like Boris.
Boris smelled of vodka and body odor. With his moist baby-doll eyes edged in girlishly long lashes and the black canyons of fatigue, the pasty-white skin of neglected health, and a permanent five-o’clock shadow on his multiple chins, Boris always looked to Sasa like a malevolent Pillsbury Doughboy. Instead of giggling, if you poked him in the belly, he’d blow your head off.
Boris sat shaking his head at his own thoughts, coughing a hacking cough that was usual for him when he was upset. “He only wants you,” Boris said finally, his voice raspy with phlegm. “They’ll only see you. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here at all.” Sasa said nothing. It was true, and they both knew it.
He was relieved when they pulled off the highway and onto the dark road that brought them closer to the end of this errand. He could see the lights of a house ahead of him, though there were still miles to go. It was that dark and that isolated. There were a million gleaming stars above them, and the only noise was the Boxster sounding like a jet engine in the stillness.
At the gate, a man wearing a cheap gray suit, a wrinkled navy tie, and sunglasses with a wire hanging from his ear put a hand out for Sasa to stop. His breath rolled in like a foul fog as Sasa lowered the window. “Sasa Fitore,” he said before the man could ask. As the man repeated his name into the Nextel phone he pulled from a pocket, Sasa squashed the urge to put a bullet in his brain. He hated people who tried to exert authority over him. And he really hated people who wore sunglasses at night.
The man stepped aside, the gate swung open, and the Boxster glided up a long, winding drive edged on either side by thick foliage. Boris emitted a light snore, and Sasa elbowed him hard as they approached the house. Boris sat up straight and put his hand inside his jacket, looking instantly alert and deadly. They approached the stately home dominated by white columns and large bay windows. Landscaped artfully with lighted palms, it was grander and far more isolated than the Snug Island house and thus far better suited to his client’s needs this evening. There was no hint as to what went on inside.
Sasa pulled up and found a spot to leave the car. There were more than twenty black sedans and limousines parked in front of him. Some of the chauffeurs stood outside their vehicles, smoking cigarettes or chatting with one another. Sasa counted three diplomatic and two government plates just at first glance as he stepped out of the car.
He jogged up the steep flight of stairs. He rang the bell and was admitted by a butler in a leather bondage mask. Sasa kept his head down as he was escorted through the house—he didn’t want to see anyone he shouldn’t. He heard a drunken cackle come from somewhere behind him. Somewhere deeper in the house, he heard a keening wail that could have been pleasure or pain—or both.
The butler opened the heavy wood door at the end of the hallway by its brass handle. Inside, the client was fondling the large artificial breasts of a tall, gorgeous woman, whose face Sasa had seen before but couldn’t place. She was a striking redhead, her skin like snow. Her mouth was as red and wet as cherry candy, and she pouted at Sasa in a pretty, nasty way, which made him stir inside. She straddled Sasa’s client on the sofa, though he was fully dressed. He was touching her when Sasa entered, and the woman did not move to cover herself. Sasa tried not to
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