Caramarin crouched underneath a broken factory window. Outside a fire fight was blazing. The sound of gunfire was loud in his ears. Strange shadows fell across the floor around him. Turning and looking behind, Caramarin saw the huge, rusting remains of industrial machinery. Countless hiding places for the enemy to lurk then shoot him in the back.
Slowly, he moved across the floor, gun held out in front of him, swinging the powerful Desert Eagle semi-automatic pistol to and fro, covering all approaches. Running low on ammunition now but he knew where he could resupply. He crept up to an open warehouse door, let into the side of the factory. Paused for a brief moment to gain control of himself. The fire fight in the yard was still raging.
Bright sun spilled into the factory through the open gateway. Caramarin hurled himself forward in a combat roll; bullets sprayed into the factory at him, missing his vulnerable rolling body by a miracle. He was lucky, thought the enemy had access to an assault rifle, maybe an American M16. And all he had was this pistol. It wasn't fair.
He fetched up in temporary protection on the far side of the open gate. Picked himself up and ran in a fast crouch under another window, its glass in shards on the floor beneath his feet. He stood and raced round the corner of an internal wall.
Not a moment too soon. Sounded like a grenade bouncing in through the open gate behind him. It exploded where he had been standing an instant before. But thanks to his reflexes he was protected by that solid wall. The enemy had massive fire power against a man with only a pistol. But the enemy didn't know what he had. That was the only thing he had going for him.
Caramarin moved as quickly as he dared to the rest rooms at the back of the factory. He kept his pistol in front of him, leading his way. Away from the windows, the factory grew gradually darker, more shade now than light, making it easier for someone to hide and blow him away.
He froze. Ahead of him stood a man in what looked like a black coverall. The enemy. The bad man. Caramarin took a split second to aim, and then snapped off a shot. Fired a second time as the man went down in a crumpled heap; the sounds of his gunshots mixing with the bedlam outside the factory. Very low on ammo now. He sprinted away from the corpse, weaved round another hulk of rusting machinery looking like some avant garde sculpture in the half light.
Caramarin fetched up against the rest rooms. As always with his Desert Eagle in sight before him, he moved in a low crouch into the rest rooms. Swung his body both ways. No one in sight in either direction.
The rest rooms were totally trashed, whether by vandals or a previous battle he didn't know. The wash basins were smashed onto the floor and graffiti covered the tiled walls. Glad he didn't need to use them. Caramarin made his way over to the last cubicle where he knew he'd find a cache of ammunition for his Desert Eagle. No, he wasn't disappointed. He instantly reloaded his pistol then carefully made his way back out into the main body of the ruined factory.
A ramp led up to the next floor of the factory. He hadn't been up here, so crouched and followed his pistol pointing up to the top of the slope, covering all the angles. As he ascended, the sounds of the shooting outside declined. This level contained just as much abandoned rusting machinery as the ground floor. Again, far too many places to search for a hiding enemy. And he didn't have the time to complete a thorough recce, neither.
Another opening in the wall nearby led onto a rusting metal spiral staircase leading down. Cautiously, Caramarin approached the fire escape. The sounds of fighting outside grew louder again as he approached the opening. Bright sunshine poured into this level of the factory from large, but broken windows. His heightened senses even noticed a cloud drifting past.
Desert Eagle held at the ready, Caramarin peered out of the opening at the top of the exterior staircase. Despite the gunfire, he couldn't see anyone outside. He stepped out onto the little platform at the top. Took a combat stance. A shot cracked out. He toppled back.
Bloody red death filled his sight, and then his vision went dark. All he saw was the pure blackness of death. Again.
Caramarin flung his joy-pad down onto the couch.
"Fuckin' head shot. That's the fourth fuckin' time that sniper's got me," he swore and glanced at Artur. "How do you get out that fuckin' factory?"
"Language. There's ladies present," said Ewelina looking up from the other couch.
"Sorry," he said, standing up. "Anyone fancy a brew?" He turned to Artur. "I'll play again later, that's okay with you?" He collected the used mugs then walked out into the kitchen.
Meanwhile, as the boys played their noisy war games on Artur's X-Box, Narcisa and Ewelina sat together on the smaller two-seater couch like bookends. A chilled bottle of supermarket Chardonnay and two glasses sat on a little table in front of them. Anyone looking at the two young women would see the closeness between them.
Both women were sitting with their legs folded underneath them. Ewelina wore her white towelling robe, her light golden-brown hair drying loose around her shoulders, her fair skin clean of make-up. Her cool, blue-grey eyes slightly crinkled with concentration as she tapped away on her laptop.
Sitting on the other end, Narcisa had on her leopard print robe, her dark brown hair wrapped up in a green towel. A celeb magazine lay open on her lap, but she had stopped looking through it, the glossy life styles on show ignored. Her deep brown eyes were lost in thought.
Narcisa touched her friend on the arm. Immediately, Ewelina stopped typing and faced her friend.
"Have you got a few minutes, Auntie 'Lina?" asked Narcisa. She looked like she had reached some sort of decision, but her eyes still held her worry.
"Of course. All the time in the world. You know that, Narcisa."
"Thanks. Look, don't say his name, okay? He can't speak any English but talk quietly 'cause Artur can," said Narcisa.
Ewelina nodded. She'd sort of expected this conversation. "Shall we go upstairs?" she asked. "If it's personal?"
"No. I just don't want him to know I'm talking about him. Anyway, it's cold up there."
Ewelina let her friend take a moment to think before she started talking.
"What do you think of Ni... him 'Lina, as I just don't know? I mean I like him a lot, he's sort of got under my skin, somehow."
"Well, it's not really for me to say, is it? I can see why you're attracted, like, he's got that 'Bad Boy' image all over him but I thought you were sort of over that type now."
"Yes, but what do you think of him?"
Ewelina saw her friend couldn't be put off. She sighed quietly. "All right. I think he's dangerous. Oh, I don't mean that he'd deliberately hurt your feelings or beat you or anything, I'd trust him that far, but he could get you into all sort of trouble without his thinking about it."
Narcisa opened her mouth. But there was no way she could tell her friend about their recent visit with that painting to Bronstein's office. Narcisa figured Caramarin was already taking her down that road.
"The thing is," said Narcisa, "is that he makes me feel more, I dunno; my English isn't good enough to describe how I feel; more 'alive' somehow." She blushed slightly, "More... sexy... I mean I know I'm not going to make my fortune here in England. But I like my job and I love living here with you and the girls but I mean it's not going to last forever..."
Ewelina gripped Narcisa's arm. "Oh, be careful, babe. You've got a good life here now. Lots of girls back home would envy you now. You told me you went a bit wild when you first came over. I know you lost a baby..."
"Please don't talk about that now," said Narcisa, her eyes filling up. She curled up a little tighter, shrinking herself down as if to hide from remembered pain.
"No. But is Ni... good for you? He's not come over to look for a job. That's obvious. Acts like some hard man but he gets beaten up, seems to have money to spend but he's not working. He's not into drugs is he?" A big question.
"Definitely not," said Narcisa. That came as a relief to Ewelina.
"Well, he's definitely into something then. But do you want to be into his life? I hope you don't mind," continued Ewelina, "but I messaged my female Facebook friends about you." She stopped when she saw the look of horror on Narcisa's face.
"Don't be silly. I didn't give out your name or anything, said it was someone at the hospital with boyfriend trouble."
"Well, what did they say?" Despite herself, Narcisa was curious to find out now.
"Are you sure you really want to know?" asked Ewelina looking direct into Narcisa's brown eyes. Narcisa nodded. Just a slight dip of her head.
Quietly Ewelina said, "Nearly all of them said you should dump him. Get him out of your life."
More tears leaked out of Narcisa's eyes. "I don't know that I want to do that," she whispered.
"Do you love him?" asked Ewelina.
"No, no, not yet."
"Well, here's a piece of advice from your Auntie 'Lina. Don't get too involved. Keep a piece of your heart back from him. Don't let him hurt your feelings too much." She paused, thought, and then quietly carried on. "You are using protection aren't you?"
"Of course!" gasped Narcisa. But had Caramarin used a rubber when he’d comforted her the other night? She’d meant to check but forgot after he took that call on his cell.
"Good. Well, remember that you can rely on us girls. Even if it all goes wrong. Which I hope it doesn't. Me and Katja and Marta have got your back, you know that.
"We girls have to stick together. Men don't think about what they do to us. Just take what they want from us."
Narcisa nodded at that. Very true.
"Thanks for that," said Narcisa. "You and the girls are great friends to me." Narcisa leaned forward, threw her arm around Ewelina's neck, drew her friend towards her and kissed her.
Just as Artur glanced up from the mayhem on screen.
"Hey, look Nicu! Girl on girl action. Nice," the young man laughed.
"Shut up," said Ewelina. She threw a cushion at him. "And you can turn that X-Box off in a minute. Us girls want to watch 'Embarrassing Fat Bodies', okay."