21st Century Bogatyr: February 2021

Friday, February 19, 2021

Like Two Drops of Rain

"Keep your bowels open, your mouth shut and never volunteer for anything."

Sage advice from an old soldier.

[This is a fictional work in progress. Links to the rest of this tale are at the bottom of the page.]

by Zvi Baranoff

I followed Zuhrah about and she gave me an overview of the security parameters. I didn't exactly meet all the troops. Actually, I am not even exactly sure of how many were in that crew. I know I never saw all of them, but I do believe that I saw most of them and most of them did get a look at me.

This was also the first time that I had any view of the No Tell Motel that wasn't in the dark with me dead tired. The place really was an out of the way dump.

As we were heading out we passed Spider on his way back to the bungalow. He was holding what looked like a hubcap piled high with the pre-packaged mystery food that he had managed to clear out of the vending machines. He seemed to have a plan.

Now, in addition to my car, we had two trucks, a van and another car. They were all parked by the bungalow. There were a couple of tall trees standing by our vehicles.

We stood under those trees and Zuhrah whistled. From each of those trees I heard a counter-sign similar to a hoot and I noted a rustling of leaves. She had a sniper placed in each of those trees that were invisible from my perspective. How they got up there, I do not know. She returned a second whistle of a different pitch and tone and gave something akin to a salute before we walked on.

The security crew was truly an international force, although mostly Sub-Sahara African. There were a couple of Vietnamese women, a few Serbs and a young fellow with a strong Southern accent who told me that he was from LA - that is, Lower Alabama. Somehow, they all managed to communicate and they seemed to work well as a team.

It all, however, seemed to me at that moment to be more extravagant than what was called for. I wondered what all of this was costing me and if I was getting my money's worth. After all, we just needed to move this load of books from the No Tell Motel to a safe house and I never before needed a fucking army. I figured, though, that more than enough was better than not enough. Still, all this manpower was going to cut into profit margins.

We approached two young men - teenagers, actually - that were busying themselves with a fire, meat grilling on a spit. One of these fellows had a large lizard sitting on his shoulder and his counterpart was feeding the lizard grapes. They spoke to each other in a language of their own full of chirping and clicking and sounds of a tropical jungle.

Zuhrah called these young men Dibble Dibble and Dop Dop. Why? She told me "Dey the same. Same-same as two drops of rain. Dibble Dibble, Dop Dop." She fluttered her fingers and moved her hands in a downward motion, pantomiming rain.

I had never seen, before or since, any two people that looked so much alike. I assumed that they must be twins and asked Zuhrah if that were the case. She told me that they were brothers and "almost twins". I thought something might have been lost in translation. I asked Zuhrah what she meant and she told me about these boys.

The boys' mothers were cousins and their father's two wives. They both became pregnant at the same time and the boys were born within a few hours of each other. The mothers cared for each of the boys, taking turns breastfeeding and perhaps the mothers themselves, after a while, couldn't tell the boys apart. They were never far apart from each other from the day of their birthing.

There was no jealousy between these two women. There was, for a while, domestic tranquility. One day however, when these women came home from working their garden, they saw through the window their husband making love to a neighbor in their matrimonial bed. That they could not tolerate. Although they did not raise a fuss at the moment, between them they hatched a plan and exerted revenge.

Days went by and the husband was unaware that the wives knew of his indiscretion. The women behaved outwardly as if nothing had changed. They cooked meals, cleaned the house and took turns bedding their husband.

When he was offered a warm herbal beverage, he suspected nothing and when he was led to bed by his beautiful wives he was a content man.

The herbs began to take effect and his body was close to immobilized. He laid in bed and one of the women brought his penis to full erection. Then, he felt the sharp knife at his neck but he was unable to react as his second wife made an incision in his throat and through the larynx. He was both paralyzed and unable to shout out for help.

The women proceeded to castrate their husband. He stared helplessly and screamed silently. They fed his member to the household dog. Then they sat quietly, breastfeeding their children, who were toddlers by then, while their husband slowly bled to death. That is how the neighbors found them the next day. The father was dead in a pool of blood and the two young boys were blissfully sleeping at their mothers' breasts.

The village was shaken by this and the villagers responded by tearing the youngsters from their mothers' arms and dragging the women to the village square. There, the women were beaten, stoned to death and then set on fire while the terrified toddlers gazed on in horror.

The children were sold to a wealthy family in a neighboring village. The purchaser hoped to train them as domestic servants but the boys showed little likelihood of being domesticated. They clung to each other and spoke a "language" that only they understood. They seemed to not understand anything spoken to them. They broke things and made messes. They peed in the corners.

The wealthy family soon regretted their purchase. After a few years, the brothers were sold to a farmer. They didn't prove themselves to be a whole lot better at farm work then they were at household tasks in spite of the regular beatings they received as encouragement. They continued to speak to each other in their private tongue.

So, the adolescents were once again on the market when Zuhrah was passing through that region and she purchased the boys at a bargain price. She informed me that she has fed them and clothed them and has been teaching them the mercenary trade. They are also beginning to communicate somewhat with others in something akin to English or at least the Pidgin that was the common language of this crew.

I asked the boys what they were cooking and in unison, with broad smiles, they answered "Meat!" and I guess that was about the answer I expected. From the size of the roast I had no way of telling if it was a goat, a deer or a dog. It was, however, beginning to smell like lunch. I left Zuhrah with her troops and went back into the bungalow.

Frank was back at looking over the crates. He was still sizing up the merchandise. He was trying to visualize the most optimal markets for this diverse load.

Spider had all that vending machine products out of the wrappers. He had a knife in hand and was busy chopping things up and mixing things together. Using a bottle of hot sauce and the No Tell Motel microwave, he was putting together something that might just resemble food. It looked like the next meal would be a choice between barbecued or microwaved mystery meat.

Frank was just beginning to pry the next crate open when Spider's knife flew across the room and plunged into the crate a few inches from Frank's outstretched hand. Frank froze in that position as Spider followed the trajectory of his knife at a somewhat slower pace, waving his arms and his cane and yelling somewhat incoherently.

When Spider reached the spot where Frank was standing, he put his hand on Frank's shoulder and somewhere between a rasp and a whisper he said "Watch out" before pulling his knife from the place where it had stuck.

Holding the knife in one hand, Spider moved his other hand slowly over the outer edge of that crate, simultaneously looking and feeling for something that no one else in the world could likely see or feel.

We all watched as Spider examined that crate. Then, he pulled back ever so slightly on the upper edge where Frank had almost used his crowbar. Spider pointed with the tip of his knife at what had somehow caught his attention from across the room. "It's a tracer," he said. "We have a problem."

I asked Spider what we were facing and this is how he broke it down. "The tracer means that likely someone knows where this load is and likely will be showing up for it soon. It could be mobsters or could be the Federales. No way of knowing."

My day was just getting better and better. We needed to do something and whatever that something was, we didn't have much time to figure it out.

So, we kicked around all the variables and the possibilities concerning what we were facing. They ran from the possibility that no one was monitoring the tracer at all to a scenario where some really horrible and heavily armed people would be on us like white on rice within minutes.

We had to assume, on the one hand, that likely someone was monitoring that thing and, on the other hand that Zuhrah and her troops would be able to repel an imminent attack. What we had to consider was a strategy that answered all the other possibilities, which covered a plethora of unknowns and unknowables.

"What if," I suggested, "we ship that tracer off somewhere? They will go follow the tracer…"

"Sure," Spider said. "But…as soon as they catch up with it, they will be back here."

Yeah. That had already crossed my mind. So, we all stared at each other for a while, but we eventually hashed out a plan, of sorts.

We would take one of the trucks back to Philly and load it up with piles of broken and nearly worthless books. We would add the crate with the tracer to that load and someone would drive it off to some out of the way place such as Georgia.

Best case? The mobsters would follow the decoy long enough for us to get ourselves and our purloined cargo safely stashed beyond their sights and out of their reach.

Of course, if they caught up with the driver before he could dump the truck...well, you know. Again, the best case would be that the driver could dump the truck and set it aflame and the mobsters would believe it to be the cargo that they were looking for and write it all off as a loss. Humm...I guess anything is possible. Realistically, this might buy us enough time to give them the slip.

Spider carefully examined the rest of the crates to see if there were any other hidden electronic devices that should concern us. Meanwhile, Frank and I went looking for Zuhrah and found her with the Boys and the lizard attending to the mystery meat on the spit. We took her aside and brought her up to date with the situation.

Without showing any emotion, Zuhrah said what the rest of us had probably been thinking but none of us had yet uttered. "Whoever drive dat truck, he gonna die."

"Most likely," Frank answered. Zuhrah nodded, solemnly. I looked away.

Frank took one of the trucks to rendezvous with Haj. Zuhrah was speaking with the "twins" in hushed tones. I lit an Ersatz Cigar, inhaled deeply and paced about, pretending to think, or trying to clear my head or something like that.

Zuhrah led Dibble Dibble and Dop Dop to a clearing amongst the trees. They laid a blanket out in the clearing and I saw the three of them sitting closely together and playing with the lizard. I continued to smoke and pace about and fret over the general state of affairs.

I wasn't paying any attention to what Zuhrah and her boys were up to. I was absorbed in my own thoughts.

When I casually looked in that direction, I saw the lizard perched on a low hanging branch, seemingly guarding its people. Those people were all naked.

I couldn't help but to notice Zuhrah's beauty and found myself gazing at her and her young lads. As I watched from afar, the brothers stood near each other and Zuhrah held one erect member in her hand and brought the other deeply into her mouth. I shook off my gazing and averted my eyes. I went back to the bungalow to eat some of Spider's mystery food and await Frank's return.

Spider had carefully inspected all of the crates and had determined that there was only one tracer. Frank made short work of that short run to Philly and had returned with the truck loaded with dreck. We added the case of books with the tracer to our decoy truck.

While we readied the truck, the brothers spoke to each other in their private language, sitting side by side. They ate barbecued meat from a single plate with their fingers and each gave an occasional bit of meat to the pet lizard.

When they had eaten their fill, one of the brothers climbed into the cab of the vehicle. Zuhrah gave him a handgun and a Napalm Pineapple which is sort of a high-tech Molotov Cocktail. She carefully explained where he was to dump the truck, how to use the incendiary device to set the vehicle aflame and how to get back to the crew if, Inshallah, he should somehow survive.

A coastal fog rolled in as we worked silently loading the purloined cargo into the second truck. The remaining brother wandered about, speaking to himself in a language that he alone understood. The lizard sat contentedly on his shoulder.

Links to the other posted parts of this story, Chapters 1 - 26.

Part 1: Grace and Mercy If Luck Holds

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/05/grace-and-mercy-if-luck-holds.html?m=1

Part 2: Everything Was Fine Until It All Went Sideways

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/07/everything-was-fine-until-it-all-went.html

Part 3: I Blink In & Out and Awakened In the Zone

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/07/i-blink-in-out-and-awakened-in-zone.html

Part 4: Out Of Time

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/07/out-of-time.html

Part 5: Even Without Clocks

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/07/even-without-clocks.html

Part 6: Cerveza & Barbecue Before I Go

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/08/cerveza-barbecue-before-i-go.html?m=1

Part 7: Heading Towards the Exit

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/08/heading-towards-exit.html?m=1

Part 8: A Sign, Divine Guidance & Moxie

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/08/a-sign-divine-guidance-moxie.html?m=1

Part 9: Somehow We Kept Breathing

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/08/somehow-we-kept-breathing.html?m=1

Part 10: I Squinted and Stared Through it All

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/08/i-squinted-and-stared-through-it-all.html?m=1

Part 11: Riding a Wave

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/08/riding-wave.html?m=1

Part 12: Some Relief Amongst the Chaos at Woodpecker Flats

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/08/some-relief-amongst-chaos-at-woodpecker.html?m=1

Part 13: A "Classy" Operation in the District of Columbia

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/09/a-classy-operation-in-district-of.html?m=1

Part 14: In the Shadow of the Dome

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/09/in-shadow-of-dome.html?m=1

Part 15: Hidden Places and Dark Corners

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/11/hidden-places-and-dark-corners.html?m=1

Part 16: On the Jersey Shore

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/12/on-jersey-shore.html?m=1

Part 17: Dreaming at the No Tell Motel

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2021/01/dreaming-at-no-tell-motel.html?m=1

Part 18: The Coffee Didn't Help

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2021/02/the-coffee-didnt-help.html?m=1

Part 19: Like Two Drops of Rain

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2021/02/like-two-drops-of-rain.html?m=1

Part 20 : Chased by the Devil

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2021/03/chased-by-devil.html?m=1

Part 21: An Arcade and a Penny for Your Thoughts

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2021/11/an-arcade-and-penny-for-your-thoughts.html?m=1

Part 22: We Have to Talk, She Said

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2021/11/we-have-to-talk-she-said.html

Part 23: She Climbed Out of the Water

http://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2021/12/she-climbed-out-of-water.html

Part 24: Passions, Fires and Unfinished Business

http://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/04/unfinished-business.html

Part 25: The Book Trade Hasn't Killed Me Yet

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/05/the-book-trade-hasnt-killed-me-yet.html?m=1

Part 26: A Detour Through the Fire

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/12/a-detour-through-fire.html?m=1

Saturday, February 13, 2021

The Coffee Didn't Help

“What on earth could be more luxurious than a sofa, a book, and a cup of coffee?” Anthony Trollope

The first cup is for the guest, the second for enjoyment, the third for the sword.” Arabic Saying

[This is a fictional work in progress. Links to the rest of this tale are at the bottom of the page.]

by Zvi Baranoff

The first thing I did was retrieve the pistol from Spider. I didn't like the way he was looking at it and handling it. Now, to be perfectly clear, I trusted Spider on every possible level explicitly and have no reservations when I say as much.

The thing is, that as much as I trusted him, I also knew his nature. When he has time on his hands, his inclination is to dismantle and re-engineer stuff.

For now, there was nothing for him particularly to do but hang about. I really didn't want him taking my gun apart when I might need it fully assembled and in ready operational condition without much of a warning. If he was going to fiddle with shit he could dismantle the No Tell Motel air conditioner or the plumbing or go mess with the vending machines or something…

Meanwhile, Frank was scurrying about, calculating and plotting, taking notes and measuring things. He was prying crates open with a small crow bar and sizing up the merchandise. He was muttering to himself, mostly in Italian, with an occasional expletive in some half-dozen other tongues. I was very glad that I had called him in on this job and I was very pleased to see him already at work.

I rubbed my eyes some more and I conjured up some coffee. The aroma of the coffee woke Bob. Frank gave the merchandise a rest and took a coffee break as well.

I was nearing the end of that stash that I had gotten from Maria so I wasn't really excited about sharing it, knowing that shortly I would be drinking that same shit as most everyone else once again. I attempted to suppress any outward signs of resentment I had over the dwindling supply. Spider had wandered off to find something to dismantle or re-engineer and he sure as hell didn't need any coffee.

As we sat there drinking Java, Frank gave me his analysis of the situation.

"We will need to move this load to a safer location and then break it up. It is way too much for your Alter Kockers to handle and even with Haj's help it is more than Philly can absorb."

I smiled at Frank's use of Yiddish and nodded in agreement.

"We can turn some of this in New York and maybe up in the Boston area but...maybe San Francisco would be more profitable. I think I have a stash place nearby that we can use," he continued. "I will know soon. We should wait till dark to make our move."

As we were finishing our coffee, the cottage door opened and in walked the evident head of Frank's security crew. There was no uniform or obvious sign of rank but there was the assertiveness in the walk, the absolute certainty of purpose and the directness in presence.

The boots were black and shiny, tightly laced. Camouflage pants were tucked into the boots. A colorful cotton shirt of a traditional African pattern was neatly tucked into the pants, mostly covered by a flak jacket.

"All tight, Boss. All secure." she said, speaking to Frank.

My initial guess, which turned out to be accurate, was an accent from somewhere in Central Africa. The way her hair was braided and the patterns of tattoos and intentional decorative scars also spoke of Central Africa. On her left cheek, in a pattern of scarring and the placements of small precious stones and perhaps diamonds within the scars, there was a clear image of a rifle, very similar to the Kalashnikova rifle that was casually slung over her right shoulder.

Frank nodded. He then turned to me and said "This is Zuhrah, head of security."

Zuhrah spoke with the same directness and sense of power and purpose as the way she walked. There was a bit of a lilt and a touch of a French influence to the almost staccato African Pidgin that she predominantly spoke.

Our Security Commander referred to Frank as "Boss" or "Captain" and occasionally as "My Captaine," with the accent on the second syllable. Once she recognized my role in the scheme of things, she called me "Big Boss'' and "Comandante," interchangeably.

She was all business. At that moment, her only intention was to report in and to find out what other responsibilities might be handed to her so she was pivoting to leave when her eye caught sight of my essentially empty coffee cup.

She stopped and picked it up. She moved it first clockwise and then counterclockwise before looking intensely at the grounds at the bottom. Her demeanor changed. She squinted and then shook her head.

She looked me in the eye and said, "Comandante, you got big trouble. Much vex. Dings very bad. No worry. I dere for you. My crew, dey kill or die for you. We do what we can and maybe no so bad. Maybe. I no no." She shook her head again.

Frank exhaled audibly, inhaled deeply and exhaled again. At last he said, "Maybe you should go meet the troops. In case the shit hits the fan, it might be good for them to know who the Boss is. They will certainly be less likely to shoot you by mistake that way."

That was all far from reassuring but it certainly rang true. Zuhrah nodded in affirmation. I nodded as well, and then shook my head at the world as I stood up there in that shithole No Tell Motel bungalow.