A Bride of Allah

“Why do you want her?”

“I don’t care, as long as she’s Chechen.”

Viktor took a pause, but not a long one.

“Okay, I’ll tell you. But don’t get me involved.”

“I can handle it myself.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. If something goes wrong… don’t tell on me.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not a baby.”

“Good deal; now listen.”

Viktor gave detailed directions on finding the building and apartment to which he moved the Chechen single mother with children.

“Just don’t do anything rash! Do it properly,” the neighbor urged before saying goodbye.

“I’ll manage,” Vlasov promised heading out.

“When?”

“Now.”

“Maybe – » Chervyakov started to worry.

Andrei turned around abruptly and pulled Victor closer.

“He started it. Now it’s my turn.”

“Of course,” Viktor mumbled, shivering as he took in his buddy’s insane look.

The neighbors said their goodbyes at the apartment’s front door. Viktor Chervyakov stood still and listened to the heavy stomping of his old buddy Andrei Vlasov’s shoes. The footsteps were getting more distant, but not dying down. Then, the building entrance door slammed resonantly. In the silence that ensued, Viktor, trying to control the shivers of excitement, knocked on the wood of the doorframe three times; he wanted Andrei to succeed.

If everything goes right, he’d throw another address his neighbor’s way. After all, the swarthy did take over mother Moscow!

Chapter 17

August 31, 10:15 PM

Vlasov’s Kitchen

“Yeah, Andryukha, you were right back then! They kill us, we kill them!”

Viktor moved closer and tried to look up into his neighbor’s eyes. Andrei, looking down, kept turning his empty glass in his hands. The glass bottom knocked on the plastic tabletop.

“Those bastards blow stuff up for big bucks; you wanted to do it for an idea. Revenge is a noble business. If someone did that to my girlfriend, I would… Remember Nord Ost?”

Andrei jumped up from behind the table; his chair fell over on the floor.

“I remember everything! I remember too much! I don’t know what to do with those memories! They are in me, burning me, burning – ”

Viktor hastily splashed into the glasses the remained of vodka.

“Drink it down, Andryukha! And forget everything!”

Yekaterina Fedorovna stuck her head out of her bedroom and winced.

“Another bash. Go easy on the furniture. Who’s gonna replace it? And they’re gonna it all the bread.”

“That bread really got to you, didn’t it?” Andrei grabbed the remains of the loaf and rudely pushed them into his mother’s hands. “Take it and hide it. And go to bed, don’t be in the way.”

“Got drank, didn’t you? Have some food after you drink. There are dumplings in the fridge. I’ll boil them.”

“I’ll do it myself, Mom.”

Andrei almost pushed his mother into her bedroom and came back; he grabbed the glass, vodka splashed out on his fingers. Andrei licked the wet palm of his hand.

“Tomorrow is Sveta’s birthday.”

“Will you go to her?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s drink to her,” Viktor lifted up his glass.

“To Sveta!” Andrei said and tossed back the glass. His lips pursed; he noisily inhaled through his nose. Vlasov looked at his buddy from under his eyebrows. “Now go.”

“Do you want to spend some time with the girl?” Viktor asked playfully, picking at the salad. “She doesn’t look right.”

“I told you. She’s sick.”

“Call her out here. We’ll cure her.”

“No. Go home.”

“And she’s dressed like a scarecrow, too. Hey, should I run and get another bottle?”

“Just go, okay?”

“Are you in heat?”

“Go, Vityok.”

“Look here, Andryukha. A pussy’s a pussy, but I wouldn’t do it with a Chechen. If her uncle isn’t a bandit, her brother just might be. Or she is a Shahid herself.”

“Nobody is asking you to do anything.” Andrei nodded toward the exit. “Go, I’ll explain everything later.”