Trouble on the Heath: A Comedy of Russian Gangsters, Town Planners and a Dog Called Nigel

Chapter Five

In his iron fortress, surrounded by slaves and minions, the Evil Emperor stared at the latest message from his servants in the West. There was trouble. His plans were being challenged by something called a ‘Residents’ Association’. What was a ‘Residents’ Association’? He had never heard of such a thing. He would have to look it up in the English–Russian Dictionary.

‘Skulking’ that was a great word! He’d found that in the English–Russian Dictionary. He wished he could ‘skulk’ more. He felt like ‘skulking’ now. He wanted to ‘skulk’ around his vast iron fortress, and see what his slaves and minions were up to, for he trusted no one.

The Evil Emperor (for that was how he liked to think of himself) lived in a world where it was unsafe to trust anybody or anything. ‘Strike first!’ was his motto. Strike before anyone realises you know that they’re plotting against you. And one thing was always certain – people were always plotting against you.

This ‘Residents’ Association’, for example, what could it be but a plot against him? It was clearly some sort of criminal gang devoted to taking over his territory. It could be that filthy creep, Ivan Morozov, his one-time partner.

Morozov was always looking for ways to do him down. He was forever scheming to take over the gambling cartels in Romania and the Ukraine.

“Pah!” The Evil Emperor spat at the imaginary Morozov. Morozov was too soft. He could never handle the rough side of the business.

Any business had its rough side, and in his particular business if that meant taking vital organs out of someone’s body and replacing them with their own credit cards, so be it.

Or the rough side of business might involve kidnapping someone’s mother and photographing her performing undignified acts with animals. That was just the way of the world. It was nothing to get upset about, like Morozov did. He was pathetic.

Or maybe this ‘Residents’ Association’ was an off-shoot of the Zolkin Operation? That would be serious.

The Evil Emperor scowled. That was another great word: ‘scowl’. He’d looked it up in the English–Russian Dictionary, and it fitted what he was doing now perfectly. Ah! The English language was a wonderful thing! You could always find just the right word. He only wished he could speak the language.

The Evil Emperor ‘scowled’ again. (You can never have too much of a good thing, he reminded himself.) If the Zolkin Operation were behind the ‘Residents’ Association’ he would have to act swiftly. Boris Zolkin was as ruthless as he was cunning. If Boris was preparing to push his way into the UK business, then a short, sharp response was vital. It would have to convince Boris Zolkin that the Evil Emperor was even more ruthless than he was. It would have to be a deadly blow to Zolkin’s ambitions in the UK. It would have to teach him never to meddle again in the Evil Emperor’s affairs.

There was no question about it.

The ‘Residents’ Association’ (whatever it was) would have to be destroyed.

Actually the Evil Emperor didn’t live in ‘an iron fortress’. That was just the way he liked to think of his house. It was, in fact, made of wood, and it was painted a cheerful bright blue. It had wooden pillars all around it and although it was large and rambling, it was actually a very pretty house. It had been constructed in the 19th century for a wealthy landowner.

Grigori Koslov, for such was the name of the Evil Emperor, had bought it some years ago as a wreck. He had restored it with taste, and yet had managed to kit it out with all the latest stuff. It had central heating, satellite dishes, and broadband. It had a sauna, an indoor swimming pool, and a gym.

In addition the windows were fitted with bullet-proof glass and the whole building had been made fire-safe and bomb-proof. Grigori had also constructed a five-metre-high electric fence around the property. In addition three American pit bull terriers ran loose in the grounds. Grigori had researched the most dangerous breeds of dog, and discovered that the pit bull has a bite that can go through both muscle and bone. He immediately had the dogs imported from the US.

As he explained to his wife, it wasn’t that he was paranoid. He just had a lot of business contacts who would like to see him impaled on an iron spike.