Consequences Unforeseen

Moscow 12th June 1991 - Reflections - Playing tourist

His mind was fixed on the absolute need to protect this man Gorbachev from whatever mischief lay ahead. Otherwise the wretches he walked amongst would be dead before the end of the year. The knock on effect on the world was too abhorrent to contemplate; but he did anyway.

Bill thought to himself, “Listen to them laugh and tell their jokes, as if they had not a care in the world.” He recalled Gorbachev’s self effacing tale on the plane concerning the universal death wish these people probably had on him. “There’s no wonder,” he considered.

At that very instant he was jolted back to the moment, by the excruciating loud blast of a car horn as it shot past him as the driver ran the red light with total abandon. “Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed and made ready to sprint for it. It reminded him of Dublin where the drivers seemed to stop on green lights and go through on red. His Uncle John began to laugh in his head once more and Bill wanted to join in.

An altogether louder laugh and instantaneous slap on his back interrupted his reverie and an apparently drunk and disheveled whore threw her arms round his neck and planted a kiss on the side of his face.

If it had not been for the breasts so blatantly displayed beneath the open coat, he would have slapped her and pushed her away. These breasts were unmistakable though and he went with flow. It was Aleksandra in all her glory.

She whispered in his ear, but it was not the whisper of seduction. The voice was quiet, but the anger undisguised as only pure street Russian can be. “You are a fucking asshole and retard,” was her opening gambit. “You’re walking around like a fucking tourist; sunburned and fragrant like a poof on the prowl, and attracting attention from everything you walk past. Where the fuck are your field craft and awareness? Jesus you take the fucking biscuit!”

All of this said with her body hard against him and her hands pushing down into his pants. So good was she at this, that all who had been taking in the ‘foreigner’ and looking for a way to either dupe him or rob him gave up and went back about their business.

“The car’s parked just up the alley on the right,” she concluded and manhandled him across the road and up into the darkness the overhang provided. The last few pickpockets who witnessed this movement were already laughing and joking that “this Турист (tourist) would have a sore dick and green pee by morning.”

He smiled at her anger and blew her a kiss as she opened the driver’s door and got inside. He followed her immediately and decided silence was the better option. His mind wanted to tell her how fucking confused he was and that he too was human, but his Uncle John kept him in check with the muttering, “Bill, she thinks you walk on water, my boy. Let her anger run its course. She’s embarrassed because she knows she should have picked you up at the Kremlin in spite of the high alert. Let it go.” So he did just that.

Once they were on the move, she visibly relaxed and rapidly chilled out completely with the adrenaline beginning to leach from her blood into her bladder. She glanced over at him and said gently, “I know Bill, I know. It has been hard on us all, this bastard Joe Minor and his posturing. Fraser is waiting back at the house to vent and scream at us, but like me back there with you, it is of no use. I hate to speak of him like this but he’s like the first timer in a Russian prison – totally fucked up, abused and helpless. I have orders to say nothing of this, but I know you can guess the outcomes that await us all.

Douglas did not respond, just looked back at her and nodded in acknowledgement. She continued, “I need a drink, and looking at you, I see you could use one too. The ‘Shamrock’ pub in Arbatskaya square is screaming my name and I want to down a beer with you and change out of this shit at the same time. Any objections?” she concluded rhetorically.