The Carnival Master

2.

Maria sat outside the bar. She guessed that, living so near, Viktor would be a regular. She was not disappointed. She took a note of the time he left the apartment with his tarty girlfriend; it was almost exactly the same time that he had come into the bar on Sunday. Maria felt sick. The weight of the food she had eaten sat heavily in her gut. She had taken dinner in the restaurant before coming out and that, combined with the two other meals she had eaten that day, was causing her unaccustomed body to protest. But it was nerves more than anything that was making Maria nauseated. She could not believe that she was about to do what she was about to do. She had spent the entire afternoon experimenting with her new palette of cosmetics and trying on different wigs and outfits. But instinct had told her to go with her first idea in its purest form. She now looked like Anna Wolff. Anna, of course, was petite and had dark brown eyes, but Maria had successfully transformed herself into a taller version of her friend and colleague. She had applied a fake tan to her face and body and had given her newly dyed and cropped hairstyle the waxed, almost spiked look that Anna often had. She had filled out her lips with the same shade of fire-truck-red lipstick that Anna used and had emphasised her eyes with a quantity of shadow and eyeliner that she had never before in her life used. It was disconcerting to feel so much make-up on her face. Maria had even bought herself a biker-style leather jacket that hung too big over her thin frame and she had used a padded bra to boost her insubstantial curves under the black T-shirt.

This was it. This was the biggest test she could undertake. She got out of the car, locked it, and crossed the street to the bar.

Maria was shocked that the first two faces to turn to her as she walked into the bar were those of the two drunks from the last time. The one she had hit with her beer glass looked at her sullenly, a gauze pad taped to his distended and discoloured cheek. Her heart sank: this could mean that her little adventure would end before it had even begun. The two men eyed her and then turned back to their drinks. They were obviously chastened by their experience of the night before. Either that or they weren’t yet drunk enough to have the courage to molest a female. But it was clear they hadn’t recognised her and Maria felt a small thrill of satisfaction at the sight of the lingering injury she’d inflicted on Fatso. The barman was by far the greater challenge. Unlike the other two, he was sober and the same barman who had been on duty on Sunday. Instead of sitting at a table as she had before, she took a stool at the bar. She was relieved to see that the looks she received from the brassy-looking blondes in the bar were even more hostile.

‘What can I get you?’ asked the barman.

Maria smiled widely. She had good teeth and had been surprised just how much Anna’s shade of lipstick accentuated them; made her mouth look sexy.

‘A vodka and coke, please.’ Maria did her best to sound less Hanover and more Cologne. ‘I’m here to meet a friend. He said this bar but I couldn’t find it so I’m late. Did he leave a message?’

‘What’s your name?’ asked the barman.

‘Anna…’

He checked with another member of staff.

‘No. No message. Still want the vodka?’

‘Why not?’ Maria smiled again. The muscles in her face reminded her of just how unused to it she had become.

Maria sat and sipped her vodka, feeling no less conspicuous than she had the night before, but this time she felt in control. Her anxiety began to ease. There was a decent enough crowd scattered around the tables, at the bar and even standing in groups talking loudly. It was dense enough foliage for her to remain as concealed as much as a young woman on her own in a bar like this could be. Maria became aware that quite a few of the conversations were taking place in a Slavic language. Whether it was Polish, Russian or Ukrainian she didn’t know; they all sounded the same to her.

She stole a glance across at the two men who had accosted her on Sunday night. The man with the injured face still looked pretty sorry for himself and his drinking buddy looked equally as glum, but seemed to be trying to console him.

Maria casually swung round on her bar stool. It took her a while to locate Viktor. He was sitting at a table in the far corner, wreathed in blue cigarette smoke. Maria felt a thrill when she saw he was talking to another man while his girlfriend sat looking gloomily bored. There was something about Viktor’s body language that suggested Maria had hit the jackpot: Viktor’s companion was clearly someone he was more than a little afraid of. The man had his back to her but she could see enough of his profile, build and hair colour to be confident she could ID him when he left the bar. She drained her glass and got up.

‘What about your friend?’ asked the barman.

‘Sod him. His loss,’ she said with a grin and left the bar.