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Nodding, I smile back. Then, we enter the house without an invitation—the front doors are open. James walks on Maksim's left while I walk on his right, both with a gun in hand. Maksim hides his away in his knee length coat. Though we're amongst friends, we're not at the same time. In this game, no one ever has a true friend.
The entrance hall boasts gleaming black and white marble floors, a huge white piano tucked away under the arch of the staircase on the right, and oak double doors on each wall.
“Maksim-Markov…” Rumo greets from the furthest doorway that leads into the snooker room. “You made it.”
Smiling like the devil himself, Maksim heads for Rumo, extending a hand. “I am much looking forward to this evening's events, my friend.”
“Ohhh, you should be. You should be.” Rumo clasps Maksim’s hand. “I bought a new poker table, as you requested. The chairs are a lot more comfortable and the table is softer.”
Maksim nods a few times, saying that he's glad. “Whenwecan afford luxury, why skimp on the finer details like a poker table?”
Entering the snooker room, they flannel on about some Albanian business.
James and I follow them in.
The brass lights hanging from the ceiling are dazzling, reflecting on the dark paneled walls in burnt orange tones. Behind the mammoth snooker table that commands the space, a poker table can seat six. They always play poker in this room. I've never seen any other part of the house.
Carl and Umberto await patiently, already sitting at the soft green table. Umberto greets Maksim from a distance with cool esteem. Carl simply nods.
Mucky cigar smoke clouds the air in streams of grays and browns, and it stinks. I hate the smell of cigars. I don't get the fascination.
James and I stay within touching distance of Maksim when he sits at the head of the poker table, draping his coat over the back of his chair.
“I hear you have Charlie on side, Maksim-Markov?” Carl says in awful English, flicking the head of his cigar in a crystal ashtray—he's Spanish.
“That's right, my friend.”
“Even after what happened?” Umberto asks.
Maksim nods, scissoring a Cuban cigar between his fingers. “Yes, even after what happened. He forgives me.”
Forgives him?For what?
James and I glance at each other.
“Just. Like. That?” Umberto pulls his thin gray eyebrows together. “You... you don't think that's... odd?”
Maksim laughs under his breath, biting the end of his cigar off. “Charlie isn't the kind of man to beat around the bush, is he, Carl?”
Carl doesn't respond to that sarcastic directed question. He doesn't even address Maksim.
“And besides,” Maksim continues, “it is always good to have such a powerful man as a friend. Wouldn't you all agree?”
They go into a full blown tête-à-tête over Charlie and what he's about—loyalty, mostly. I come to understand that nothing else really matters to him. I also come to understand that Maksim double crossed him on some job a few years back.
I gulp at this point.
Rumo leans forward, staring at Maksim. “Just don't cross him again, Maksim-Markov. You know what he is capable of—you know he gears himself up with at least twenty armed men wherever he goes—and I can't get involved. I don't want to die.”
“I know, my friend.” Maksim squeezes Rumo's shoulder. “I know. I understand.” He then grabs his crotch under the table. “Anyhow, why would I double-cross him again? I like my balls attached to my body.”
They laugh out loud—well, everyone but Carl laughs.
This is strange. I've noticed before that Carl isn't Maksim's biggest fan—as has James—but tonight, his dislike for Maksim is coming off him in waves.
A tiny blonde girl wearing a red underwear set and shiny red stockings enters the room. She fills the men's glasses on the table. Umberto says he will fuck her after the game, emphasizing what he's going to do—whip her. She flinches when he grabs her ass with an open palm and I drop my eyes to the floor, feeling a pang of pity for her. It's not my job to save girls like her, as much as I wish I could. As much as I know I could. I'd slaughter this lot in minutes with my own two hands if I was allowed.
James gently touches my hand and I straighten, coming across deadpan.
