As tears go by

// 29 Belluno

She took the escalator in Lambioi parking lot and arrived directly in Piazza Duomo. To reach Belluno had been a bit difficult by skiing all the way from Lago del Miss, but she coped. She skied most of the route; the last clicks, she felt safe enough to hitch a ride by a lorry driver. Once seated, the lorry driver stroked her knee, and told her he wanted to buy her a full lunch in a nice trattoria. Once at the trattoria, she asked for the women's room. It was on the back of the joint. She exited, walked to the lorry, got her skies back and hid her and the ski boots behind the shoulder of the road and walked the rest of the way to Belluno. She was peckish, but she knew what wanted the lorry driver in change of the meal.

In the historic centre none was around. A police car patrol was stationary at the corner. The two cops were seated in it with their elbows sticking out of the car windows, also if it was a cold day. They stared idly at the cars passing by. They leered at her legs and ass but didn't give a shit to stare at her face. She walked away without safely. She strolled a bit around the old square, watching around, but all was quiet and sweet in that gentle old town. She waited a spell, stepped in a bar full of old people cursing, smoking, and playing cards, had a nice double cappuccino and a two cornettos stuffed with custard then headed for the cathedral. She checked again around her for surveillance, saw nothing and went in.

The inside of the holy building was quiet and impressive as a Gothic cathedral should be. Three naves, but different styles. She sat on a bench in front of the high altar. She did not wait long. She heard irregular steps on the floor. She whipped around. A thin, bald man with a hard face walked over. He was wearing an old coat and limped. He sat beside her. At his left hand he wore a golden ring on one of the two left fingers. The other three were missing. He stared at her. She looked at him and spoke first. "Cubays gave me your phone number. I am in a predicament," she said right away in Russian.

He stared deadpan at her.

He did not trust her, she read on his wrinkled face. His eyes were deep dark wells.

"He left me a recorded message in an answering machine. Your name," she added and swallowed.

"Is he dead?" He asked with a low-pitched voice.

Tears filled her eyes and streaked her cheeks.

The man closed his eyes for a moment then stood up.

"I am Kirill. Come with me. We cannot stay here. You will tell me the truth later, don't bother." He turned about and walked away.

She followed him and understood why he limped. He had a peg leg. Another soldier. He wasn't old. Cubays' age. The man had to have something in common with Cubays. He had the same age and same light in his eyes. A frozen understanding light able to x-ray in a split-second people in front of him. He was no more operative, but he was still working for Moscow. Suddenly she had a bad feeling about that in her gut; she wanted to run away, but somehow she couldn't run. It was too late. She had to trust someone. Her second thought was that Cubays's dead because trusted the wrong guy.

Just outside the cathedral there was a G 500 four wheel drive canary yellow Mercedes Benz. The driver, a young man with a trimmed trendy beard, looked at her without a word. He looked like a spoiled brat or a brazen accountant. No way he was a goon, but she sensed he was dangerous in a different way, like a scorpion's tail. She had again in her gut that feeling of wrongdoing, but again she thought it was too late to get cold feet. She wanted to know why Cubays gave her Kirill's phone number.

The spoiled brat opened her the car door. "I am Pavel," he said.

She plumped in the black leather car seat.

Pavel took off from his pocket a black mask. "Sorry, I have to blindfold you." She got hold of his wrist fast as a whip.

He gawked at her. "Listen to me, you have to comply. We don't know who is telling the truth. You are wanted by Moscow."

She tried to fight back. Pavel was faster. Something appeared in his hand. A metallic pre-filled syringe. He stung her maliciously. She sensed a pinprick in the neck.

"What is it?" she shrieked.

"Suck it up, slushy, it's sleep juice." Pavel spoke through gritted teeth.

"Fuck off sleazebag." She tried to exit the car but blacked out.

The two men traded looks.

Pavel was white.

Kirill was deadpan as usual.

"Put her in the back under a blanket, Pavel. Too risky to keep her in front. Her face is everywhere."

They left Belluno and followed the river for a while, then motored through a deserted area covered by woods. They forded a creek. After a few clicks inside the woods, they veered in a small dirt rutted street. Bushes brushed the car sides. Impossible to arrive there with a sedan car. You needed a Four wheel drive or a motorbike. The car stopped in front of a gate that completely closed the lane. The gate opened electrically and closed after they entered. They drove another click through a wood that screened the skylight. They arrived in a snow-covered clearing. An old stone house with a tin roof covered by solar panels stood in the middle. Around the building, copses of trees. Pavel killed the engine. They watched the house for a couple of minutes without moving or uttering a word. They studied the footsteps on the snow. Nothing troubled their eyes so they unlocked the doors and exited the car.

Pavel opened the tailgate, shouldered Anastasya over and headed for the house. They sidled around it and stopped in front of a massive hothouse covered by a huge camouflaged net. Kirill opened a glass door and Pavel followed him. Inside was hot and dunk and covered by tropical species: the titan arum that produces a characteristic fragrance when it blooms, similar to the smell of a decomposing body; the Licuala miniature palm tree;the Rafflesia arnoldii, a parasitic species, that produces the largest flower in the world; the carnivorous Nepenthes pitchers; the Thrixspermum erythrolomum, a wild endemic orchid; the colourful Bougainvillea; the Sealing Wax Palm; the Utricularia Aurea, golden-yellow flowers also called the Golden Floating Bladderwort; the large fibrous plant called Elephant Ears and Banana plants. Exotic butterflies crossed the damp air. A blackbird sang its song. Another bird answered the call with a chortle. A strange lizard showed over a rock. A green snake with a red tail darted away. Overhead swayed a huge spiderweb. The buzzing of trapped flies was deafening and never stopped like a white noise. They headed for a cage wrapped in a rugged mosquito net. They closed carefully the door behind them and placed the drugged out women on a long metallic table. A bulky refrigerator full of red, green yellow warning lights and two tall and thin metallic chests completed the furnishing. Kirill fished out from his pocket a golden cigarette holder, got out a cig and a light. He lighted it and blew a couple of smokes overhead, opened the refrigerator door and took out two vials. He put them on the table, and checked the time. From a drawer he pulled out a metallic sterile hypodermic syringe, disposable rubber gloves, cotton paddings. He put everything in front of him. He donned the gloves. Stick the syringe needle in the fluid of the first vial, sucked it out. Pull out the syringe and injected the fluid in her arm. "Now we will know the truth." Kirill smiled.

"What if she is a dishonest woman?"

Kirill laughed. "You a poet, Pavel, if she is a total fraud or an agent provocateur we can always shot her with some snake's poison and it will be the end of it. But before I heard you call her names."