CHAPTER 3. SATURDAY JUNE 27, 14: 00.
It all went back to earlier that summer.
Maiorescu was hosting a hunting weekend at his country villa outside of Yuzhne further up the Black Sea coast. He'd bought it fire damaged off some business man who desperately needed money. So the man had torched it for the insurance.
It had cost a lot to do up and he wanted to flaunt it. Maiorescu had done very well out of a property deal with some gullible British men from Manchester who'd believed too much in what was on show on the website. To them, the price of Ukrainian land and the possibilities for development had been too good to be true. Trouble for them, it was too good to be true. Now they'd been well and truly burned.
The trouble was, Caramarin felt out of place as soon as his beat up Opel Combo was let in through the electric gates. Most of the men were wearing designer leisure clothes, golfing clothes and expensive knits. The women were like birds of paradise in expensive looking dresses and immaculately made up.
Because of the sweaty heat, he was wearing a just a white shirt and jeans. He drove round the back and parked next to the rust buckets driven by the hired help.
Didn't matter what Maiorescu wore, he still looked like what he was – a crook. The gang boss looked like the late President Nixon's uglier brother. That's if President Nixon had ever had a brother with a lifetime of sin and hard living etched on his face. In his mid fifties and looked older. He had a heavy, jowly face with a permanent shadow and home dyed black hair. The hood was holding out a cold Zibert Light beer with the condensation dewing the outside. Caramarin took it. It slipped down easy on the hot day.
Maiorescu led him over to the buffet. Salmon, sturgeon, even caviare. The best Scandinavian import vodka and not the bathtub horilka moonshine Caramarin was used to. He'd even brought over a chef from one of the top French restaurants he protected. But there was also the Ukrainian food that Caramarin preferred.
Maiorescu had invited many of his business associates. A gathering that the Ministry of Internal Affairs should be interested in. Except Caramarin saw the Odessa Colonel of Militsia talking to a head Caramarin knew had personally rubbed out several men. Not his problem.
He broke bread with Maiorescu and drank another couple of Zibert Lights. These gatherings didn't do much for him. He drifted over to the buffet. Maiorescu's wife, Natalya, was talking to the wife of Maiorescu's property developer partner. She was definitely a trophy wife, wasn't too sure whether she was Maiorescu's second or third.
Caramarin also knew that Maiorescu usually brought hostesses from the Casinos to his parties. Didn't know for sure if any were here. Though he guessed that some of the girls had been brought in to provide comfort to his important associates.
Maiorescu strolled up. "Nicolae, I'm just going out for an hour or so. Big boy's toys to play with."
Caramarin knew by this that Maiorescu wanted to go out in the forest to let off a few mags of his new Kalashnikov AK-47 assault rifle. The peasant probably thought it would impress his property associates. And the gun almost certainly would. "Stay here and keep an eye on the girls won't you?"
Caramarin was a bit annoyed to have to hang about the party. Wouldn't have minded loosing off a few bursts with the Kalash. Would've reminded him of the good old days. He nodded and took another pull of his beer to show he was man about it.
Maiorescu's Mercedes drove away followed by a couple of other limos and 4X4s in convoy. Couldn't have looked more like gangsters if they'd tried. He shook his head and walked over to the buffet tables.
However, there were good sides to staying behind. Natalya was worth any man looking at twice. Or as much as you can get away with without being caught perving. Beauty may be only skin deep but what do you want – a great looking spleen?
She was in her early thirties, a full figured, dark haired beauty. She was wearing a white Dior dress, off the shoulder that clung to her body, also showed off her deep tan to great effect. Her hair was down to way past temptation and a mouth just made for kissing – and other pleasures as well.
He'd been told a woman's reputation is a brittle thing. Once broken, it can never be whole again. One thing Caramarin knew about her, she'd made some porno tapes back in the day. He'd even watched a few. If Maiorescu didn't care, neither did he. Maybe that's where Maiorescu had found her.
She saw Caramarin standing there, the Zibert almost finished. She blew a smoke ring kiss to him and brought him a fresh bottle. They clinked bottle to vodka glass and kissed on the cheek.
"Don't just stand there," she swayed slightly on her feet sort of but not quite in time to the music. How much has she had? She dragged him over to a wooden dance floor. They danced, she with experience in the clubs behind her, he self consciously. A few other couples were dancing.
He noticed Videnov the accountant talking to some business types over by the pool. A cloud of smoke over them, drifting up in the summer's heat. The man's bald head now reddening in the sun.
The golden sun burning down to orange. The long hot day turning to evening. The booze. Beautiful women. Western dance music. Sweat trickling down his camo vest. Ice cold beer. People coming and going Natalya tripping against him, her breast pressed on his arm just a little too long, her vodka spilling down his front. He mumbled something.
"What was that?" she said.
"I need the toilet," he said again. He had rarely been to this place out in the woods before. She picked up a fresh champagne bottle from out the ice bucket.
"Come with me, I'll show you," she said. She took him by the arm and led him into the house. No one else seemed to notice. There was a cloakroom downstairs but she took him up the wide sweep of curved stairs to the first floor gallery landing and into the master bedroom.
She pointed to the en suite. He looked around the mosaic tiled wet room as he pissed out the beer in an unending flow. Marble tiles, gold everywhere, even a flat screen TV over the bath. Better than any luxury hotel. Washed his hands and came out.
Natalya was naked on the bed, the white dress dropped over a Turkish rug. He looked down, she was still gorgeous. Kept herself in shape, hadn't put on a kilo since making those porno tapes. A body like hers wasted on a slob like Maiorescu.
"Open the champers," Natalya said. "I need you inside me."
There are times when you know you are fucking up big time but you still go ahead and do it anyway. Now was one of them. He picked up the bottle and uncorked it. Didn't do anything stupid like spray it over the room. He wasn't that far gone. She hadn't brought glasses so he put it to his lips and drank deep. The bubbles slipped down very nicely.
Natalya was now kneeling on the bed in front of him. She unbuckled his jeans and pulled them down. His cock stiff and ready. Natalya took the bottle from him and drank. She licked and sucked the neck like she was giving it a blow job. He sighed with expectation. He took the bottle again and drank. It was mostly empty now. Natalya took hold of his buttocks and pulled his body towards her.
She put her mouth over his cock and gave him head. The feeling of her trained lips sliding up and down. She wouldn't let him explode in her mouth but timed it just right just as he couldn’t hold on any longer. She took her wicked mouth away and lay down on the satin sheets. Spread her legs letting him see her shaved cunt with her swollen lips. With one hand, she opened herself, with the other she pulled him up the bed, slipped a rubber onto his cock and guided him in.
His hands on her breasts, hers on his arse. Took her hard, deep thrusts, no mercy. Explosion, ecstasy, a groan of extreme pleasure. Soon, too soon; spent exhausted, lying together. One whole separated into two halves again.
Natalya rolled over, her back to him. He could feel himself stiffening again.
"No, not now," she said. "Nicolae, I need you. I've fancied you for ages, you know that."
He wasn't bragging but he had an idea maybe she had.
"Eugen can't make love to me like he used to. He can't get it up much these days. He drinks, you know." Not telling him anything Caramarin didn't know. Maiorescu could handle his booze if not his woman. She cried a little.
"And he beats me sometimes, too. He stands over me, likes to hurt me and make me cry. I hate him sometimes."
Caramarin didn't ask any stupid questions about why she stayed. He knew you don't just walk away from a gang head like Maiorescu. And she probably needed the money. Liked going shopping in Odessa's boutiques, the jewels and the cars and respect. And what's an ex-porno chick going to do anyway? He put his arms around her and held her tight.
He could feel himself nodding off. Sun, booze and sex. Always does that.
"Do you want anything?" she asked.
He grunted. Could be taken any which way. She stood up. He watched her tanned naked body walk across the room. She came back with a small mirror and two fat lines of coke and a rolled up picture of Taras Shevchenko - a hundred hryvnia note. He snorted up the coke; felt the buzz and tingle shoot up his head and the world became even sharper, clearer and more vivid than before.
"Good stuff."
"Should be – only the very best for Eugen Maiorescu."
Natalya lead him to the wet room, she stepped into the shower and gasped as the initially cold jets hit her body. Caramarin stepped in after. He returned the favour, knelt down in the spray the water dancing off his back and placed his mouth and searching tongue into the tender folds of her sex. She moaned, took his long hair and forced his head down and forward, deeper into her.
Just as she was about to come, she pulled him up and towards her, pushed his wet cock into her vagina. He forced her back against the tiles and his powerful thrusts took her to ecstasy again. He came a second time as she was subsiding. He pulled out and then they showered together gasping, the soapy water sluicing off them, washing away their lusts.
"Wow," he said, drying off. Pulled on his sweaty old white shirt and jeans. She picked up something from the floor.
"For you," Natalya said. She gave him her lacy white thong she'd been wearing earlier. She smiled. He stuffed them into his pocket. Knew now that there'd be other times in the future. She slipped the Dior dress over her shoulders and turned so Caramarin could zip it up. No, she hadn't put on fresh panties.
"Our little secret," she said. "Look, you go down now and I'll follow in a few minutes."
Caramarin knew they couldn't be seen together. Hurried downstairs and found a recliner by the pool side. It was almost dark now. The other guests had probably all gone into the marquee or eating their heads off at the buffet. Didn't think anyone had noticed his absence. Hoped not anyway.
Maybe it was the coke bringing him down but his mood darkened as he lay there. Couldn't shake off a bad feeling that he was going to pay for what he'd done with Natalya. Sure, if Maiorescu found out he'd discover what the bottom of the Black Sea was like. With his balls in his mouth. Yeah, she was a great lay but was it worth his life? Wasn't like he was short of female company if he wanted any.
As his mind slowed down but somehow; and he couldn't explain it to himself, he thought it was going to be worse than that. Felt a great sensation crawling over his brain; of doom, of collapse, of oppression. Fear of something looming towards him. Far worse than the terror he'd felt before his first proper paratrooper drop all those years ago. Couldn't tell you what but it was bad.
Suddenly, a great cold shock, total darkness, splashing, out of control, no way up was right, unable to breathe, a great weight bearing him down to the depths, death itself. His legs kicked, his head surfaced out of the pool. His recliner floated a few metres away.
On the side, standing there like an ugly troll, Maiorescu laughing his head off. By him, a couple of his associates from earlier also bellowing with laughter. Pissed out of their skulls.
"I thought I told you to keep an eye on the place." he joked.
Maiorescu staggered off. Caramarin pulled himself out the pool. He swept his hair back. The shock had cleared his head and purged the coke from his system. The good thing was, he thought, was that Maiorescu was so pissed he wouldn't be interested in Natalya tonight. Wouldn't have a clue what was going on until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest.
It was later than he thought – he'd slept for hours. It was cold standing in his soaking clothes. A few of the guests were still up and about but nearly all were pissed. A couple of the help were clearing away the buffet and taking down the tables.
"Fuck it, I've had enough." he decided. Walked over to his Opel Combo, fired it up, put the heater on full and floored it.
His mood had lifted slightly by the time he returned to Moldavanka. The grey light of dawn was gathering over the Black Sea. He fumbled in his pocket for his keys. Shouldn't there be something else? What the fuck could it be, what?
Where's her thong? He searched his jeans. No way. Guessed her panties would still be floating in the pool. Nothing to tell Maiorescu that they were Natalya's anyway. Probably, the help had scooped them out when they cleaned the pool and they were now in the trash. And Maiorescu was so pissed he wouldn't have noticed a whale in the pool let alone a pair of lacy white skimpies.
Half way up the stairs, he remembered the empty champagne bottle in the bedroom.
When Maiorescu showed up at his office at the realtor’s on Monday, he didn't say anything. And neither did Caramarin. Least said, soonest mended on both sides.