A Killing Winter

Chapter 17

It was 1 a.m. in the Kulturny. Lubashov had been replaced on the door by some identikit tattooed thug, just as ugly, just as burly and just as stupid. The only difference was that this one had a pulse and eight pints of krov in his veins. Kursan was ready to give him the Saturday-night stare, but my new reputation preceded me because the zalupa let us in without a word. Down the stairs still stinking of fear and piss, and into the half-lit bar.

The barman narrowed his eyes when he saw me, but he put an unopened bottle of Vivat on the counter. A memory like that, he should be over in the Hyatt, pouring overpriced cocktails and fiddling the change of foreign businessmen. I pointed at a bottle of mineral water, and that arrived just as promptly.

Vasily’s normal seat was empty, perhaps as a mark of mourning, so I went over and parked myself. The usual faces were still there; in fact, a couple of them probably hadn’t stirred since I was last in. No Shairkul, though; maybe she’d got lucky and was being pounded into the mattress by some drunk with little money and less hygiene. I made a mental note to go and see her in the morning, then focused on watching Kursan concentrate on draining the bottle.

I waved some som at the barman, and he shook his head. On the house, after all. I wondered if they’d run to a second bottle, in about fifteen minutes’ time, the way Kursan was upending his glass.

‘Save some for later,’ I said, as he poured his fourth or fifth in as many minutes.

He grinned and nodded sideways at the room.

‘This lot have probably been paying those two shitheads protection money for years. You want, they’ll club together and buy us champagne.’

I shuddered. Russian champagne is a taste you don’t ever want to acquire. As I finished my second glass of water, I saw out of the corner of my eye that one of the regulars was hovering nearby. Kursan half rose, fists ready, but I restrained him and swung round on my stool to face the newcomer.

He’d got his hand in his jacket pocket, and I didn’t like that. I pointed at his arm and he took his hand out. Slowly. Once I could see he’d got nothing more lethal in his hand than filthy fingernails, I nodded, giving him permission to speak.

‘We all heard about this morning, Inspector,’ he stammered, his eyes flicking between me and a very belligerent-looking Kursan. ‘They were pricks, and no one will miss them.’

‘You’re mistaking me for someone who gives a shit what you losers think.’

He nodded agreement; a man of importance had given judgement. In his tiny vodka-sodden world, I was someone of consequence, while the Chief or Tynaliev could walk in and no one would have a clue about the shit storm they could cause.

‘Of course, Inspector. But you ought to know,’ and here he leant forward and lowered his voice, ‘one person here was delighted to hear about those two.’

He paused for effect, saw I was less than impressed.

‘You know the working girl that comes in here? The beautiful one?’

Genuinely puzzled, I shook my head. He made an hourglass shape with his hands, and then, just in case I hadn’t got the picture, cupped his hands in front of his chest.

‘Shairkul. You know Shairkul?’

I wondered just how much vodka you’d need to consume over one lifetime to see Shairkul as a Kyrgyz Venus.

‘What about her?’

‘She couldn’t stop talking about how pleased she was.’

‘You’re surprised? Vasily probably kept ninety per cent of everything her pussy earned.’

‘No, she said she was going to make a lot of money off what she knew.’

Now I was interested.

‘Did she say what that was?’

The man looked abashed.

‘Well, she was going to tell me, she said you’d pay her a lot, but then the bottle ran out, and I didn’t have enough for another, so she went and sat with someone else.’

True love spurned; I was amazed we weren’t both in tears. He looked longingly at the couple of inches that still remained in our bottle, so I prised it out of Kursan’s paw, and held it out to him.

‘How long ago did she leave?’

He reached for the bottle, but I kept it just outside his grasp.

‘Maybe two hours ago?’

He looked so melancholy, I figured she must have left with company. I gave him the bottle, he smiled and scuttled away, pathetically grateful.

‘We hadn’t finished that,’ Kursan complained.

He started to gesture for another bottle, but I shook my head, grabbed his arm, and started to haul him up.

‘You want to go to another bar? What’s wrong with this one?’

‘What’s right with it?’ I wanted to ask, but just aimed him at the door.

‘Where are we going?’

I pushed him up the stairs, past the thug and into the night air.

‘We’re going to pay a call on a hooker.’

He turned to me and grinned, gold tooth glinting, for all the world like a nineteenth-century bandit.

‘Da? Now you’re talking.’

And with that, he lurched off towards the pavement, to bully a taksi into stopping for us.