Part 24 - Ivan: Lead Into Goldi

Her пизда glistens as she dances, and I force myself to look away. My mobilnik beckons. It’s the Giant. A choice.

When I look up, all I see is Red. Her name rings in my ear, like honey from her lips. I drop the device to the floor. Let it ring. The сука will wait. She will do anything for me now.

The color comes back into the world for a moment as I watch this golden flame flicker across the stage. The flush of her lips as a smile crosses her face. The blush of her cheeks when her warm voice crashes through the air between us. The searing heat of her, this девушка, who I first saw on 63rd street. A street rat, drowned and gaunt like a scarecrow. Then, not now.

Like Red. Then, as well as now. Then a product of a decadence and neglect, but flourishing with the right touch now. Like Red, this one was ангел, angel, more than a girl, more than a woman. Like Red, the city would flit to her light. Moths to her flame. For a taste of her, all would come. All would scrape and bow. All would thirst. The draw, the gravity of her orbit, like wolves to flesh, like rough boys cracking through the ice for an eyeless feast.

I set Red up on the stage, but stage was small. This one though; how she glides across the floor, amber locks playing across her shoulders like folded wings. Her voice soars, filling the darkness around us, echoing across the empty theatre. A single soul sits in the front row drinking it in, and I will drink as much as I like. My feast. My angel. My Red gone, but this one, this Goldi.

My eyes flick away from the spectacle, the house lights tracking her across the floor. Phone ringing again, and this one I must answer. I pull the phone to my ear, gray hands closing around it like my hands will close around Gretel’s throat. The Giant’s words in my ear. Money in hand. Prize collected and waiting. The business we discussed done. A customer awaits final delivery, but I will have my pound of flesh. Let me cast my line once more and pluck the slippery, eyeless thing from the abyss, let it flop on the ice for me until it falls still.

I nod as the report finishes, and leave the Giant with three words. “Send the cash.” Then I pocket the device, happy to be free of its touch. But the thought of the message another crack in the ice. Traitor no more. Long did I tolerate her two faces, one turned towards me with lust and desire, the other toward her Bureau. How did she not know that I saw all? Because she did not know how far my reach went — past her, through her, my network taking me beyond her to her contacts, her handler, where I planted the first seed.

How long I’ve watched her struggle. Where this one flits across the stage free from guilt and shame, a golden flame lighting up my world, the other, nothing but betrayal blackening her heart to the point that she ultimately betrayed herself. The money from the safe was hers, but she didn’t run. Her lists of my crimes long, but she didn’t report them. Her body aging but still supple, yet she gave it to me. And somewhere, a beautiful woman lay murdered in an alley — and somewhere, I knew, Gretel’s hand was at play. Everything she wanted, everything she was — she betrayed it all, and for this she will suffer.

I close my eyes for a moment and see her for the first time, then open them and find the angel standing before me, breathless, breasts heaving, a sheen of sweet across her unblemished skin. My face cracks when she smiles, all innocent and splendor, like the new day’s sun.

This one is different.

“My darling,” — ages since I used a word like that, and I freeze for a moment and feel the subtle beat of my heart, “you were meant for this stage.”

“You liked it?” She beamed, standing there unguarded, exposed, open. A child. There was a shadow across her face when I first saw her; no longer.

“I will fill this theatre for you, and you will enchant the city. Wine and honey will flow. Doors open. Bosses will invite you to their dachas, and lush carpets will keep your feet ever off the floor, golden one. This, I promise.”

She stared back at me, and I could see the stars filling her eyes.

“Now, we must go. I have business to attend to. Will you come?” I tilt my head, wondering if she will or if it’s all too big for her.

“Of course.”

I slip her dress from my shoulder, and she steps forward and into it with a singular, fluid motion, like a river slipping into the sea. The lights click off as we go through the main door. The car is waiting in the rain, and the night is young.

The building does nothing to impress. This is why I own it. The elevator feels like my knees on rainy nights. It groans and creaks and begs to be put out of its mercy. I will not oblige. No great мудак would live here, and so I have moved in. The beast shudders to a stop, and the doors open. The golden angel steps out ahead of me, standing before the great iron doors I installed. No bullets can pierce them. Plastics would only scratch them. The vault is the safest place in this city; it can also be a prison.

A door glides inward at the touch of the code keys and I usher my prize through. I watch her slow as the lights come up, the glint of her dress playing across the glass waterfall. Beams of light streak down from lamps in the ceiling to reveal an Ming vase, a Picasso, the Climbing Man. Her eyes are pulled from spectacle to spectacle, just as I desire. Her heels click across the polished concrete, slow, deliberate strides as the gravity pulls her in. Her eyes drink deep, and then she turns, eyes aflame.

“Who are you?”

And for the first time in a very long time, I smile. “Let me show you.”