Disclaimer: I disclaim all.
To Warm a Frozen Soul
Chapter One
Yassen Gregorovich was not a man given over to wild fancies. Nor was he easily disgusted. He was intimately acquainted with all aspects of the human condition; love, hate, anger, desperation, lust, madness… he'd used all to his advantage at one time or another. All except love, anyway. There wasn't much room for love in his world, unless you counted love of power and goods and that, in Yassen's opinion, was nothing more than avarice. Even what he himself felt as he held a perfectly-balanced weapon, the deep satisfaction in the way his body responded when he moved and fought, the fulfilment of orders given with certainty; all this didn't come close to what he imagined love to be. Neither the brief contentment to be found in women, those willing receptacles of pleasure he encountered all too seldom, none of it moved him the way he'd read men could be moved.
He was Yassen Gregorovich, and he inhabited the middle ground, where thoughts were cool and calm, and reason ruled above fleeting passion. The extremes of behaviour were observed in others, but never in himself. He didn't need them…in fact, to give in to them could be suicide. On very, very rare occasions Yassen found himself reacting in a way he knew he shouldn't. When someone saved his life. When an attachment was made. When the noble character of a man earned his respect. Those were the times he wondered about such things as love.
Now he wondered, because now was one of those also-rare times when something stirred his disgust.
Peter Klunt was a businessman in the lowest sense of the word. His business consisted of blackmailing others, trafficking people, drug smuggling, and having people silenced. There was nothing pretty about what he did, and yet the man himself lived like a king. His mountainside mansion, nestled in the Alps, was populated with servants, artworks, cars, and a whole squad of bodyguards. Klunt was a powerful man, and Yassen's bosses wanted him alive.
Even so, Yassen had been sent to do business with him. There was a certain disc in existence, contents unknown, which Yassen must procure. Klunt's price was straightforward; 5 million dollars, and a gift of goodwill.
As Yassen stood on the driveway of Klunt's mansion, hands behind his back in a posture of perfect patience, he thought on his choice of gift, and it disgusted him. Klunt was not only known throughout the criminal underworld as powerful and dangerous; he was also known for his biggest vice. He liked girls.
Not women. The thought made Yassen's lip curl. Girls.
Yassen had sent one of his men to a high class brothel to ask for a suitable female. She must be blonde, inexperienced. Young. Yassen had specified, to ease what remained of his own conscience, that she was not to be too young. Simply inexperienced would suffice. Now, a dark car pulled up to his feet, and he opened the back door. The Madame had sent her assurances all his physical requests would be fulfilled, and despite his overlying sense of revulsion at being party to the fate of the girl, he saw that her Madame had chosen well.
She was young, perhaps 16, with wide blue eyes and long blonde hair. A slender, tanned frame was revealingly covered with a light blue dress. She had curves in all the right places, he saw, and an expression of eager nervousness. She stepped delicately from the back of the car and smiled up at him.
"Mr. Klunt?" Her voice was accented German. Yassen would have placed her as being East European, perhaps even Russian. She had taken on a relaxed and slightly guileless pose; head and shoulders back, one tanned leg in front of the other showing off a sleek calf and thigh. An air of repressed anxiety pervaded her. Yassen smiled coldly, in a half-hearted effort to put her at ease. She was exactly what Peter Klunt enjoyed. He was an experienced teacher.
"No" Yassen said at length, and the girl visibly deflated. "You will follow me"
He crossed the porch and opened the large front door of the mansion, ushering the young girl through. She murmured thanks as she crossed the threshold beneath his outstretched arm. Yassen noticed her toned muscles beneath the dress, her graceful poise, and his revulsion rose again as he thought that in a mere few hours' time she would be sharing the bed of Peter Klunt.
The girl's heels rang out on the polished marble floor of the hallway. Yassen walked by her side, checking his long strides so she could keep up. They walked through a large archway flanked by men with machine-guns, whose eyes followed the girl with interest. Yassen said nothing; men were men.
The room opened out into a large living area, the walls and floor of the same pink marble. Grecian columns supported the ceiling, from which a crystal chandelier hung. The floor was dotted with animal skins, art hung on the wall, every picture showing a nude or scantily-clad woman in various poses. Three large sofas stood in the centre of the room around a massive fireplace, and behind the sofas more bodyguards stood at ease. Yassen pushed the girl with his fingertips in the middle of her back, against the silk of her dress, round to the front of the sofas where they faced an audience of three men.
Peter Klunt reclined on the sofa to the left, huge body propped up by silk pillows. He was almost grossly obese, an expensive Chinese robe draping his bulky frame. Chins quivered as he raised his head and put on an expression of delighted surprised. His associate Mr. Frank sat on the middle sofa in an expensive suit. Yassen's own man, David Jones, sat next to Mr. Frank. A vintage bottle of wine stood on the coffee table, with five glasses. Yassen nodded to Klunt and pushed the girl towards him.
"Your gift of goodwill" he said, and sat down on the right-hand sofa.
The girl tottered uncertainly over to Klunt, who reached out for her, taking her by the waist and looking her up and down.
"Ahh…lovely" he exclaimed. "You have good taste Yassen"
Yassen sniffed. His taste had nothing to do with it.
"Sit, sit down my dear! What is your name?"
The girl perched on the arm of the sofa Klunt patted, next to his head. The huge man levered himself into a more upright position and draped an arm around her hips.
"Clara" the girl said. She looked nervous but eager to please, leaning into Klunt and gazing around the room in wonder.
"You like my house?" Klunt laughed, seeing her expression. "I will give you a tour tomorrow. Get the girl some wine" he said to Mr. Frank, who poured a glass and handed it to her. The girl sipped.
"Mmm" she said, voice slightly sultry, and Klunt laughed in delight.
"How old are you my pretty?" he said while the others looked on.
"16 last week" Clara said. She was smiling at Klunt, seemingly marvelling at his expensive dress and the rings on the fingers of the hand which was stroking her thigh. Yassen exchanged a look with David Jones, who shrugged almost imperceptibly. Jones was British, the man who had drawn up and facilitated this deal. He worked for the same people as Yassen, and it was not the first time the two had come across each other in the course of their work. Jones was a middle-aged, refined gentleman, the epitome of discretion. He would never comment on Klunt's extravagant and often illegal tastes.
"I like 16" Klunt said. "It is a good age" He looked to Yassen and Jones. "Now, I think we can talk business. Do you have the money?"
Whilst the men talked business, Clara sipped at her wine and looked around the massive room. This wasn't what she'd expected, although it was difficult to say what she had expected… she wondered if girls from the brothel normally got to visit such palaces.
The tall man who had met her at the door stayed mostly silent during the exchange, whilst the Englishman did most of the talking. Klunt's associate did the deal from his side, whilst Klunt bestowed adoring glances on her and passed her bits of fruit from a small bowl on a cushion next to him. He seemed to enjoy watching her eat. He really was grotesque, she thought idly as she studied him. So fat he probably had to wear robes, with broken red veins snaking his face and neck, and gold rings digging into his chubby fingers.
It was almost half an hour before the men finished their talking, money was shown, and a disc was passed across the table from Klunt's associate to Mr. Jones.
"A pleasure doing business with you" the Englishman said.
"And you" Klunt motioned to his bodyguards, two of whom stepped forwards from behind the sofas to help him to his feet. Clara had to make an effort to keep her balance as the arm on her waist pulled roughly away as the fat man struggled up. He took her hand and pulled her to her feet, drawing her close. She could smell the sweat of a fat man and plastered a silly smile on her face so she wouldn't wrinkle her nostrils in disgust.
"I am going to enjoy my present" he pinched Clara, who giggled. "Please, stay and eat, drink, make yourselves at home."
"We will be going soon" Yassen said, also standing. He gazed at Klunt across the coffee table, taller than the huge man by at least six inches. The girl pressed herself against him, and Yassen couldn't quite keep the distaste from his face.
"Suit yourself" Klunt smirked. "Mr. Frank will show you out" He waved a pudgy hand and Mr. Frank stood up, with Jones getting to his feet slowly, making the gesture look infinitely polite.
Klunt waddled from the room, Clara in tow, passing underneath the archway and turning right into a long corridor along which his bedroom was situated. Yassen looked from Mr. Frank to Jones, and back again.
"I'm going to go and check our goods" Jones said in cultured English.
"Yes" Yassen said. "I will stay here until you are done"
He locked eyes with Mr. Frank, who shrugged and reached for the wine. "Will you join me Mr. Gregorovich?"
Yassen sat back down. "No"
In Peter Klunt's garish bedroom stood an enormous circular bed, draped in silk sheets and cushions. Clara, entering the room first, took one look at it and froze. Klunt pushed her gently on the rear.
"Go on my sweet, do not be afraid. It is very comfortable"
Clara stepped into the room and turned to smile at Klunt. "It's so big!" she gasped. "I've never seen a bed like it before!"
Klunt smiled, jowls jiggling. "It was made especially for me. Now, why don't you come and try it out?"
He was moving towards the bed, but before he could laboriously lower himself onto it, Clara spied a door to the left and tottered over to it, her high heels sinking into the plush pink carpet.
"Is this the bathroom?" she asked.
"Oh, yes!" Klunt brightened and waddled over. "Come and see!"
The bathroom was a pale marble wetroom, with an enormous sunken tub in the middle of the floor. Twin sinks stood against one wall beneath a huge mirror, and the wall opposite the door was also completely mirrored. Clara wondered if it was a one-way mirror, but decided it wasn't. Klunt was debased, but she'd never heard that he went in for voyeurism. Not when he'd be one of the actors, anyway.
"It's wonderful" she said, and Klunt put an arm around her. "Why don't we take a bath?"
Klunt squeezed her hard. "Splendid idea my pretty! My, Yassen made a good choice with you!"
He pressed a button on the wall, and the tub began to fill up. "Watch this!" he said, and pressed another button. A large circular disc on the ceiling, which Clara had taken to be some sort of light or vent, suddenly fountained water straight down into the tub.
"A shower!" she exclaimed.
"Now…" Klunt leaned down and breathed in her ear. "Why don't you slip out of that dress and get in the tub?"
His breath smelled of wine and was sweet from the delicacies he'd been eating. Clara smiled mischievously, and a little flutter of nervousness crossed her features.
"If you do too…" she said, looking coy.
Klunt smiled indulgently and undid his robe. He let it drop to the floor, revealing wave upon wave of fat and loose skin. Clara's gorge rose, but she forced away the urge to screw her eyes shut. The enormous man slowly and carefully stepped down into the tub, displacing water which washed over the sides and wetted the floor. He said something she didn't catch over the roar of the shower, but when he turned to look at her she saw the expectation in his face. He was waiting for her to join him.
She unzipped her dress and let it fall, stepped out of her heels and padded to the edge of the tub. When she stepped in she kept one hand slightly behind her back as if for balance. Klunt reached for her immediately, eyes fixed on her body. He never saw the needle-thin stiletto in her hand, and his pained grunt as it pierced his heart was lost below the noisy cascade of the shower.
Back in the expansive living room, Yassen and Mr. Frank were enjoying a stony silence. A few bodyguards still stood around, but the rest had disappeared. When Yassen commented on Klunt's lack of fear of himself, Frank laughed.
"Mr. Gregorovich, they have not left because they do not think you a threat. They have left because there is a camera in Peter Klunt's bedroom"
Yassen raised an eyebrow and Frank laughed harder.
For the second time that night the tall Russian found himself contemplating the human condition. He would be glad when he was out of the mansion, handing the disc over to the people he worked for. The fate of the girl was not his to think about, and he decided not to dwell on it.
Shortly, Mr. Jones returned, flanked by a worried-looking bodyguard. Jones, tense and flushed, had obviously been having words with the man.
"Mr. Frank…" the guard began.
"Yassen!" Jones interrupted loudly. "This disc…" he held up the small circle in its plastic case. "It's not right"
Mr. Frank leapt to his feet, as did Yassen, the latter reaching for his sidearm. Three machine guns fixed on him with loud clicks.
"What do you mean, not right?" Yassen said coldly.
"It's full of empty directories...there's nothing on it, just blank data"
"How do you know it's not what you're looking for?" Mr. Frank said, smirking. "You wanted that disc and we arranged a price. It is not our fault it is not useful to you"
Mr. Jones' glare darkened. "Sir, I know exactly what was meant to be on this disc, and I can tell you this is not what I asked for. Get me Klunt, now"
"And what will you do if I just ask you to leave?" Frank raised an eyebrow.
"You do not wish to ask us to leave" Yassen said quietly. It was perhaps a testament to his reputation that, even covered by three guards and no obvious way to turn the situation to his advantage should it come to a fire-fight, Mr. Frank paled.
"Klunt will be busy now…" he stammered.
"I do not care" Yassen snapped. "You said there was a camera in his room. See if he is busy. Interrupt him anyway"
Mr. Frank hurried from the room and Yassen and the Englishman followed, flanked by the guards. They entered a nearby anteroom in which several more guards were clustered around a monitor looking bored.
"Mr. Klunt" Franks started. "Is he…?"
The nearest guard sighed. "Went into the bathroom twenty minutes ago. Hasn't come out yet"
"Oh" Franks looked at Yassen and Jones. Yassen went to the monitor and pushed a few guards out of the way. In grainy black and white Klunt's room could be seen, the camera looking down from ceiling-level. The door to the bathroom was just visible at the edge of the image. There was no activity; the place looked deserted. An odd rushing noise could be heard, and Yassen looked at Franks.
"What is that noise?"
"The shower" A guard informed him. "Must be taking a bath"
A few laughs greeted this, and some lewd comments. Yassen scowled. "This is not right" he said.
Pushing past the guards once again, he stalked from the room towards Klunt's bedroom. Mr. Franks rushed to keep up, as did Jones. The single guard who had accompanied Jones back into the mansion followed them, with the rest looking on curiously. Without any orders to follow, however, they remained where they were.
Yassen pounded on the heavy wooden door. There was no reply, so he forced it open.
"Now wait a minute…" Franks said, but was pushed into the room by Yassen before he could protest further. Yassen followed him and glanced round, then strode over to the bathroom. The sound of the shower was loud inside the room, and with growing anger and a feeling of unease, the Russian pushed open the bathroom door and peered in.
The room was full of steam, but through it all Yassen could see a large shape walling in the tub.
"Mr. Klunt!" he snapped, angry at the thought that he might have to see the fat man naked, or even worse, copulating with the girl. The shape, however, just wallowed.
Mr. Jones was by his side. "I think he's dead old chap" he said.
The steam was clearing slightly as Franks had started the air conditioning, and Yassen could now see that the bathwater was red. Peter Klunt rested face up, too heavy to float but with the side of the pool supporting his body.
Yassen looked around for the girl. A pair of blue heels stood forlornly by the side of the pool. A dark gap high up in the wall yawned, below it on the floor the metal grill which had once covered it.
"Where does that go!" Yassen shouted, anger boiling to the surface. He pointed at the vent and grabbed a terrified Mr. Franks, who just shook his head and mumbled,
"The disc…"
"Oh my…" Mr. Jones breathed from by the tub. He was holding up Klunt's left arm distastefully, revealing a long gash in the flap of skin below it. "I wonder, did he keep the real disc here?"
Yassen glared at Mr. Franks, who was stammering…
"I didn't know… really…"
"Where…does…that…vent….go?" Yassen enunciated, his voice a hiss.
"All over the house…" Franks managed.
Yassen let go of the smaller man, took a step back, pulled his gun and fired. Mr. Franks fell to the floor, and he turned to the guard who had stopped in the doorway.
"I want this place searched" he commanded. "You know what the girl looks like. Find her"
He turned to Mr. Jones, who was still looking at Klunt's body curiously.
"Well old man" Jones said, "It's all rather gone to shit, hasn't it?"
A/N: Please review!