*
Eve, Riverside - Calcutta
She had struck the deal, Hassan Safar would set her up in an apartment, furnished to her own specification, and she would whore for him. He had one major proviso,
“If you don't earn enough I will have your face!...” he meant it literally, Eve gasped when he opened a large Rosewood cupboard door, “...See!...” Inside on glass shelves were the skins of several people's faces neatly stretched over mannequin heads, “...You will wish you were made dead!”
Eve recovered her poise,
“Boys...” she smiled as if she hadn't a care, “...always collecting things.” Inside she was seething, one part of her wondering if she should use the knife concealed in her hair to murder Hassan while he was off guard, but her sensible side won over, she had a longer-term plan, she would whore for him for as long as it was necessary. Then they would see who would lose face.
Their business was concluded for now, Hassan dismissed her with a wave,
“My men will take you back.”
“The front door this time?”
“Don't be ridiculous. How would it look if a whore like you was seen leaving my building, don't be so stupid...” he dismissed her with more vigorous waving, “...And don't ever try to contact me, I will get word to you via my men. And do not ever come to my building, understand!?”
Eve bit her tongue, she followed the guard along the secret back-door route to their car, nothing was said until they were driving, she spoke to the driver,
“Drop me off at my hotel, it's The Broadway.”
“I know.”
Eve realised she had gotten into some pretty bad shit, and decided to take the rest of the night off, “No whoring tonight.” She was buzzing inside, Hassan had started a deep longing for satisfaction within her, she had a drink at the hotel bar and then went out for a walk.
She was sated and bloody by the time she returned to her room a little before dawn.
*
Richard, the Train
Richard played dead as the rebels made their way through the carriage, one carried a sack that was already half full,
“Hand over your money, your phones, jewellery, everything!” A shot rang out, a man's brains flew out of the window, an indiscriminate killing done for effect,
“Everything! We take everything!”
The priest pointed to Coca and raised his voice,
“Murderer!...” and raised his bible, “...Go join your fellow murderers!...” He had the attention of the rebels, Coca raised his bloody knife and saluted them,
“Viva the revolution! Death to the white man!”
The rebels eyed Richard's 'corpse', Coca distracted them by waving some money and his own watch,
“I have his things, see!” he made a show of dropping them in the rebel's sack. The priest intoned a warning from God,
“Those who live by the sword-”
Coca rounded on him and pressed the knife to his throat,
“You want to die too, priest? Shall I cut you open like that stinking white guy?” The rebels were fooled, but they didn't like the idea of killing a black priest,
“Leave him!...” they motioned the priest to move away, “...Go sit over there, and keep your mouth shut!”
*
Cairo, Malta
Cairo was asleep, but she wasn't dreaming. This time she was remembering, reliving the vivid images she'd seen in the old waiter's anger.
The cafe near the square was newly painted, Cairo walked inside, invisible to the old waiter, Giovanni, now a younger man, and his wife Elena. They lived in a tiny apartment above the cafe, worked long hours together, ate and made love.
Elena died giving birth to a daughter, Kristina.
The cafe was popular, Kristina grew up going to school and helping her father, at first in the kitchen, and when she was old enough she waitressed.
Sometimes she would go out with her school friends, to the beach, or a party. That's where she met Mikele, stormy-eyed and handsome, charming and violent.
At night she would argue with her father,
“If you forbid me to see him it will only make things worse, I will see him behind your back!”
She loved Mikele, there was only Mikele.
*
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