CHAPTER 32. TUESDAY OCTOBER 6, 09:00.
The morning dawned brighter than his mood. A half formed plan was taking shape. Sort of. As with anything, it comes to first things first. No sense trying to get everything done at once because that meant failure.
Didn’t want to leave them at Bohdana’s place. Not if Major Balashov was looking for them. He drove the two girls over to the huge outdoors market on the Seven Kilometre road. He’d heard it was the largest outdoor market in the whole of Europe. To an outsider, it was a sprawling, chaotic jumble. You could get anything there. He knew some of the right people there, if they were about.
Caramarin pulled up in a field of cars. He reached into his pocket and peeled off some notes from his bankroll.
"Get yourselves some clothes and shoes and toiletries and whatever other stuff you need. Is that enough? Like I said earlier, I think it’s best if you two get out of Odessa." He pointed out a coffee shop at the end of a line of nearby shipping containers. "I’ll meet you there in two hours, okay?"
Caramarin watched the two girls head off to a container full of clothes. There were thousands of people at the market and that was just the part he could see. He thought there was little chance of the Militsia or Balashov's men picking them up. They were just three faces in a crowd of thousands and thousands. That said, he wrapped his black and white keffiyeh about his lower face and kept to where there were plenty of people.
There seemed to be people from all over the world at the market. Were more Afghans, Africans and Chinese than there used to be which added to the flavour and diversity of the place. He grabbed some rolls to eat and searched for a man he knew. Caramarin hadn’t heard he was out of business so hoped he was still around.
In another container, he found the printers. A stack of letter heads awaited collection, a few boxes of gaudy fliers for a night club stood on a table, rolls of posters stacked next to a photocopier.
"Hey, Hetsko," he called. A tall, thin, stooped man straightened up. Adjusted his glasses and stubbed out his smoke.
"Nicolae. Thought you’d be calling round soon."
"You heard?"
"Heard that idiot Maiorescu is in the shit. Don’t let him drag you down with him, mate."
"I won’t." Bit late for that, he thought. He had. "Need a big favour. Couple of passports for a couple of girls if you can do them."
The printer raised his eyebrows. "Course, I can. Only question is how quickly do you want them?"
"Yesterday."
"In that case, won’t be genuine ones. Not enough time to do the complex biometric stuff. Wouldn’t get you into the U.S. or the E.U. legitimately but good enough for day to day use for round here."
Caramarin nodded. That would have to do.
"I’ll need the usual. Photos and money to oil the machines." Caramarin passed over the girls’ internal passports and a large part of his bankroll. They shook hands.
He walked back to the car park and, as he thought, there was no shortage of old Opel vans and pick-ups in various stages of dirt and decay. He looked for one which he thought the owner would not want to tell the Militsia when he found the plates had been swapped over.
He saw one with beads and Arabic writing on a CD dangling from the rear view mirror. That would do. Glanced around, nobody in sight at the moment. Knelt and quickly unscrewed the plates with the little Swiss Army knife still in his pocket.
Then he decided to go find the two girls. He saw Ekaterina outside the coffee shop container. She looked beautiful standing in the sunshine. She’d changed into a sleeveless floral dress and it showed off her toned figure to good effect. She startled when she saw Caramarin.
He looked around. "Where’s the other one? Where’s Yulia?"
"I don’t know. I lost her in the crowds." She looked frightened. She was out of her depth. He knew the feeling.
"It’s all right." He glanced at his watch. "I’m sure she’ll be here soon." He bought Ekaterina a coffee and waited. There was no sign of Yulia.
"I don’t want to be here too long," he said. "Let’s find her." Not easy in a huge, crowded place like Seven Kilometre Market. Too many people, and he didn’t even know what she was wearing now. Keep calm.
It was only pure luck that he spotted her. She was behind a container on the edge of the market blowing some Afghan or Tajik guy. Her hands about her punter, pulling him forward into her mouth. He was about to rush forward, then thought. No, he couldn’t risk a scene, especially if the Militsia or Balashov's lot were looking for them. He waited a few minutes until the man zipped up his trousers and left, a look of pleasure on his face like the angels had already shown him the direct way to Paradise.
Caramarin stepped forward. Yulia looked up. He saw her pin point pupils and glazed expression.
"You want one, too, big boy?" He felt like punching her. Instead, he pulled Yulia to her feet. She swayed. He rolled up the sleeve of her blouse. Wasn’t surprised to see fresh needle tracks along her veins.
"Bloody junkie whore." He swore. "I’m trying to help you here. Or do you want me to just leave you? Let your friends stick you back in a trunk and rip you apart gang banging you and sell you on? That what you want?" He was angry, having trouble getting his words out.
Ekaterina stepped forward. "It’s my fault. I should’ve stayed with her. You’re a good man, Nicolae, Bohdana told us what you’ve done. I know you’ve got in big trouble now. Please help us."
Thought about what Videnov had said last night, this girl was a virgin. She was young enough to be his daughter. Hell. They both were. One a virgin; one a junkie. Both to be sold on around Europe for years and years of living hell as prostitutes. What a fuckin' lousy world. He felt sickened by what he’d become involved with.
He pushed Yulia forward. She nearly fell in the dirt. Ekaterina helped her stay upright and looked at him reproachfully.
"Give her a break, please."
"I have done. C’mon. Photos next and let’s get out of here."
Drove them back into Odessa. All of them deep in thought. The only sound in the cab was the hit music station Prosto Radio 102.5 FM. He booked them into a cheap room for the night. Noticed his bankroll was getting very thin now. Gave Ekaterina strict instructions not to let Yulia out of her sight. Not for a minute. She nodded, then leaned up and kissed him on the lips. Unexpected.
"Thank you."
"Don’t thank me yet. We’re still deep in the shit."
"I know. But you’re a good man, Nicolae. Thank you."
He felt embarrassed. A confusion of emotions boiled in his mind. He hurried away and back into his Opel Combo.
Caramarin needed to know whether Maiorescu had made a mistake or had set him up. No point asking any of the gang. Needed to hear it direct from the gang head himself. As he drove back through the lunchtime traffic, his cell rang. Natalya Maiorescu.
"We need to meet," she named a small hotel on Deribasovskaya Street in the centre of Odessa where the attached restaurant was small and discreet. He pulled a U-turn in the street, giving the finger to the horns from the other cars and parked a few streets away.
Bunged a few hryvnias to the maitre d’ to take no notice of his attire and sat down in a booth in the back of the dimly lit restaurant. Natalya was already there. She was wearing a cream linen trouser suit and Ray-Bans. Seemed a shame to be sitting inside but knew neither wanted to be seen together. While he waited for the food, he looked at the old fashioned portraits of long forgotten dignitaries hanging on the dark wood panelling.
He smiled. "What’s with the shades? Become a Hollywood star?"
"Maybe I’ll tell you later. Look, Nicolae, what’s going on? It’s not often I’ve seen Eugen so angry. He had that psycho nutter Dmytro Litovchenko round last night. I’m scared."
In a low voice, Caramarin filled her in on what had happened to him whilst they ate. Even she looked terrified when she found out her husband was mixed up with Major Balashov.
As he expected, after lunch she took him up to the room she’d rented. He kicked the door shut behind him and took Natalya in his arms. He hugged her close and kissed with passion. Her shades got in his way so he unhooked them. He should have suspected because he saw she had swollen black eyes. Tears flowed from them, leaking out from her swollen lids.
"Eugen." He said. She nodded. "He went berserk last night. Like a madman." She pulled away from Caramarin and stepped out of her trouser suit. Her lacy underwear couldn’t hide the purpling bruises and strap marks that seemed to cover her belly and legs. She turned around. Her back was even worse.
"He really laid into me this time," she wept. "He’s been bad with me before but never like this. It just went on and on. I thought he'd kill me."
Caramarin kissed her and carried her over to the bed. But his desire had gone. He lay down next to her.
"Does he know? About us, I mean?"
"No, I don’t think so. It seemed like he lost his rag over losing some girl and now you've told me having Balashov against him."
"Did he set me up, do you think?"
"I don’t know, but I don’t know why he would. Not if he doesn’t know about us. And he’s never said anything."
Caramarin thought. Doubted if Maiorescu told his wife everything. He certainly wouldn’t have told her anything about that poor Kurdish girl at the bottom of the Black Sea. That information would have been like handing her a loaded gun then asking her to pull the trigger.
"It’s all gone wrong, love." She pulled him to her. "I’ve got a really bad feeling now. Oh, help me. I need you now." She unhooked her white bra and tossed it over the side of the bed. She raised her hips and slid down her panties.
Caramarin looked at her poor battered body.
"You sure about this? Honestly?"
She shook her head. "Yes I need you, you're what I need. But it’s all going wrong." She tugged at his jeans and took his penis in her hand.
"Don’t you want me?" she asked after a while.
"Yes, but...I’m sorry. It’s seeing you like this."
"I’ll get over it," she said with a tired little smile.
She opened her handbag and took out a small bag of powder. She sprinkled some over her vagina and pressed his head down. His tongue found her most sensitive place, lapping in and out, all around; the taste of her natural juices mixing with the salty taste of the cocaine. The drug helping his passion rise, getting harder.
She squirmed in ecstasy as he licked her. Before she could climax, he moved up her body, kissing the bruises and weals. He entered her powdered vagina and took her to orgasm, quickly coming himself, exploding deep inside her, the release draining his stress.
Lying worn out, watching the afternoon shadows moving slowly over the walls. He dozed a little, forgetting their problems and pains.
He was jerked out of his sleep by the jangle of his ring tone. Maiorescu himself. He put a finger to Natalya’s lips and sat up.
"What’s going on," Maiorescu demanded. "Why haven’t you called me so far?"
"I’ve been thinking. I want to know what you’re playing at, what’s going on, too. Why did you set me up?"
"I never set you up, you know that. Listen, can’t talk now. Come out to the villa."
"No, not your villa. Meet you at the Red Star at eight. Just you. Not Dmytro Litovchenko or any of the others," said Caramarin.
Maiorescu blustered but agreed. Caramarin broke the connection and turned to Natalya.
"I’ll find out tonight. Are you going back to him?"
She nodded, slowly.
"What else have I got? He said he’d never do this to me again." She kissed him. "I think I love you, Nicolae, but I can’t leave Eugen. He’d kill me. You know he would." She wiped her swollen eyes and tried to smile. "What a messed up world."
Caramarin got dressed. He tucked his shirt into his jeans as he stood. He still had no real idea whether he’d been set up or if Maiorescu had just messed up. Felt sure that Natalya was not in on it, so he trusted her as much as he trusted anyone.
"I’m going to sort this balls-up out. And he’s not going to knock you about no more."
"Good luck. You’ll need it," said Natalya.
They chopped and shared a few fat lines together before he left. More than enough to give him a boost for the evening. Took him high enough to feel confident again.