CHAPTER 11. FRIDAY JULY 17, 21:00.
Sometimes life doesn’t get any better than this. Cash in the back pocket, a pretty woman to take out and the evening free to enjoy. Perfecto. The evening sun calmly shone on the old pastel coloured Italianate style buildings of the city centre. Caramarin strolled through the centre of Odessa, along the Prymorsky Boulevard among the tourists and the beautiful people looking to see and be seen.
Lots of middle aged men walking out with strikingly beautiful women. But unlike them, Caramarin didn't have to buy his girl. He walked past the cafes and restaurants, deciding which one she would like later on.
Unusually, Caramarin had put away his camo jacket and jeans and was wearing a blue suit and tie and a pair of Ray-Bans. He flattered himself that he was getting his share of female glances and a few little smiles. He was smiling himself. He felt good. He felt lifted with the help of a couple of lines of Bolivian best racing through his system. Took him to another level. He felt awesome.
He sat at a table under a shade tree and ordered a Zibert Light beer and enjoyed watching the people walk by. Valeriya showed up maybe twenty minutes later. She'd had her hair done and was wearing a floaty blue dress. She leaned over Caramarin, deliberately giving him a great view down her front and kissed him. He smiled. His day had just got better.
They moved onto a recommended restaurant nearby and ate good Ukrainian food and drank Georgian wine as the evening turned to night and the lights sparkled and the music made them happy. Yes, life was good. Only drawback, he'd run out of coke. When they'd finished eating and lingering over brandies, Caramarin suggested they go onto a nightclub. Hailed a cab down to the Skorpio at Arkadia beach. When times were slack, Caramarin sometimes worked the doors there and knew all the doormen.
Two of his mates, Belgian and Tailpipe were standing by the ropes. Another guy, Serhiy Bilokin, known as Oilfield, was with them. Caramarin knew Oilfield slightly. A muscular man with a broken nose and long hair oiled back into a pony tail, which also helped with his street name. He worked for Maiorescu’s lot on occasions.
But Caramarin had heard whispers that he was also an enforcer for Major Balashov's group. If that was the case, he was a dangerous man. Seriously scary. Balashov took on ex Special Forces types only. And only those who didn't care whose skulls they smashed or whose lives they rubbed out.
Oilfield's name comes from the time when he was guarding the huge oil pipes in the Trans Caucasus badlands. Wolves weren't really the problem out there. Nor frostbite. Chechen bandits, saboteurs working for rival corporations and poverty stricken peasants trying to siphon off the oil flow were the problem.
Caramarin had heard that Oilfield's unit had caught up with some bandits; took them for a ride high into the Caucasus Mountains, stripped them naked and left them. In January. When the temperature was down to minus fifteen and with the wind chill it was much lower. Their frozen bodies were probably still up there now. A nice chap.
Talked to the doormen before they lifted the velvet ropes and let him and Valeriya into the club past the queue of waiting punters. He led Valeriya round the packed dance floor to the bar. Strobe lighting flashed and the frenzied dancing of men and women determined to enjoy themselves. Had to shout over the banging Ibiza trance music to order a couple of Absoluts.
Caramarin wasn't really a big fan of nightclubs. Sometimes he felt too old these days. But tonight he still felt great. Couple more Absoluts and he was good. But felt he needed to get a bit extra to cope with the bouncing music smashing against his head. He shouted to the supermodel type behind the bar if Vasin was in tonight. She knew what he was after. Told him he wasn't but another guy could help.
Left Valeriya with a girlfriend of hers she'd met up with. A girl who appeared to be a head of blonde hair on infinite legs. Probably looking for a banker or an oligarch to take her home for the night. You can't get better than Odessa for great looking women. He found the dealer and scored a few lines. Enough for the night. He pushed back through the crowds back to Valeriya and the other girl. As he'd just found out, Valeriya didn't do coke but he invited the other girl.
She was interested so she led him down to the ladies toilets. Tipped the babushka collecting kopecks for toilet paper. The old lady was knitting and lost in a world of her own. They pushed past a queue of women and barged into a vacant cubicle. A few squeals of indignation and one girl beat on the door. Caramarin and Valeriya's girlfriend giggled with laughter at the desperate girl. He spread out the snow, rolled up a Shevchenko – a hundred hryvnia note and they snorted. Next to no sparkle up his sinus. Flat as a fluke. Might as well have taken sugar as snow.
"What the fuck? This shit is cut to fuck. It's just dextrose."
The girl looked at Caramarin as he swept the white powder onto the floor. He flung the cubicle door open and shoved past the line of wide eyed girls waiting to use the toilets. He stormed into the corridor. The dealer looked up in alarm at the fury coming his way. He turned to run but Caramarin slammed into him.
Caramarin punched the man twice in the face, blood fountained from his nose. He threw up his arms to protect his face; Caramarin punched him in the stomach, doubling him over his fist. Girls fled screaming from the corridor. Heavy nightclub music spilled down the corridor, their shrieks muffled by the volume.
He slammed open a cleaning cupboard. He knew its lock was broken. A couple were inside, trousers round his ankles, little black dress hitched up over her waist. Their hips moving in time to the bass beat thudding through the walls. The girl looked up and screamed. Caramarin grabbed the two youngsters and hurled them into the passage, the boy tripping over his trousers.
A fist and a boot sent the curled up dealer into the cupboard. He picked up a broom and smashed it down onto the scum bag. The man curled up even tighter and screamed and whimpered uncontrollably. His pathetic defenceless body on the floor enraged Caramarin even more, sending him into a fury. He was putting severe leather into the man, laying into him with the handle, swearing incoherently, froth mixing with the obscenities from his mouth.
The cupboard door opened behind the violence. Strong arms wrenched him off the man, out of the cupboard and slammed him up against the far wall. His red eyed stare saw the giant Belgian and Tailpipe holding him back.
"Take it easy, mate, take it easy." Belgian told him, his slab of an arm across Caramarin's chest.
Caramarin took a few deep breaths. No way was he fighting his two friends. In a cluster at the end of the corridor, he saw Valeriya and the other girl. Shock and horror made huge 'O's of their eyes and mouths. He tried to relax. Belgian nodded at Tailpipe, who checked the cupboard.
"He'll live." said Tailpipe.
"I think you've had enough for tonight." said Belgian.
Caramarin nodded.
"I'm sorry, comrades. Don't know what come over me."
"It's OK, mate. Dunno who that rip off merchant is. Didn't get permission off us to work here so you've done him a favour – we'd have given him worse. Who put you onto him?"
Not wanting to get the girl behind the bar into trouble, Caramarin shrugged his shoulders. Belgian let him go and showed him to the back fire exit.
"Don't worry, mate. I'll wipe the tapes."
"Thanks, I owe you one, comrade."
They shook hands and Caramarin headed off past the bottle bins and dumpsters down the alley to the front. He looked at the queue still trying to get into the nightclub. He'd given those who'd seen the beating something to talk about tomorrow.
The anger, no the sheer bloody fury had cleared his head. He didn't think he'd see the girls tonight. Hell, he didn't even know Valeriya's girlfriend's name. Too early to go home but he didn't want to go to another ear splitting club. Picked up a cab heading back into Odessa and over to one of Maiorescu's new massage parlours. The young Russian girl knew how to use her hands and Caramarin felt cooler and more relaxed when he left.
The next day, had a long shower. Had a few hours to kill before Maiorescu needed him. He felt a prickle of conscience. Not about the fake dealer. He got the kicking he deserved and he guessed Belgian and Tailpipe would've finished off the job. No, felt he'd let Valeriya down. He bought a bouquet of flowers and headed over to her table at the casino.
Walked past the players to the front of the table and handed over the flowers. She looked up and shook her head.
"Go away, Nicolae. I don't want to see you ever again."
"Come outside. I need to talk."
"I can't. I'm working."
Caramarin knew the woman who pit-bossed the roulette wheels on the floor. She was well in with Maiorescu and his under the counter activities and couldn't object when Caramarin led Valeriya out into the sun.
"I'm sorry, Valeriya. I lost control last night."
She lit up and blew smoke into the blue sky.
"I don't like that side of you, Nicolae."
"I don't either. That man ripped me off and I lost it. Sorry. I'm over it now." He paused whilst she smoked furiously.
"Look, you like your smokes. I don't smoke but I like a bit of blow now and again." Liked it more than he used to. Have to cut it down a bit.
"Yeah, but I don't go around beating up people in clubs, do I?"
"No. And I promise not to do it again." He spread his arms wide. "Give me another chance, okay? I'll make it up to you later."
She nodded, but looked unconvinced.
"I've got to get back now," she said.
"I'll give you a call then. Catch you later." He waved as she went back into work. He was encouraged by her little smile at the end.
Sort of.