OooOooO
Two beautiful blue eyed women gazed down at Neal, speaking to him. They were both pale with long blond hair and features like those Neal had admired on ancient coins. They had the kind of strong bone structure which later in life would appear harsh, but at this stage of their lives, they were classically lovely. They held hands fiercely as if they never wanted to be parted.
They were twins. Neal was becoming so used to everyone having a match in this strange household that he wondered at times where his was. (and then again, perhaps his twin was Peter, as opposite as they were, they had the rapport that twins were vaunted to have.)
The women spoke to him, matching pairs of blue eyes intent. He recognized the language as a Russian dialect, but only knew enough to recognize that it was Russian. He could tell they were asking for help and warning him, but was helpless to decipher what specifically they wanted. He thought they might be prisoners here and needing rescue although how they came to be in his room, he did not know.
"I don't really speak Russian," Neal said.
Both women shook heads, the identical movement making Neal feel dizzy. He felt tired and fretful, half wishing that he was still in the isolation tank. How strange that he felt more freedom confined in that coffin like place than he did here in this luxurious room.
Dizzy, Neal closed his eyes. It seemed to him only for a second, but when he opened his eyes, the twin beauties were gone. Staggering up, Neal searched for a secret passage, sure that the guard, surly Dima, had not let his interesting visitors in.
No mysterious doorway appeared even when Neal prodded every protuberance and recess on the elaborately carved fireplace surround. He was examining the wall on which hung an icon of the Virgin Mary when Gregorovitch entered.
"What are you doing?"
"Looking at this icon," Neal responded.
"Come. You should eat, skinny as you are. Come on."
Neal had never been in the dining room and now he was startled to see a portrait of the two women hanging there. He went to it, astounded. It was really a good painting although he did not recognize the signature. He peered at the scrawl. It said, 'Alexei Gregorovitch'.
"This is beautiful," Neal admired. "They are lovely."
"My wife and her sister, Eleni and Isadora," Gregorvitch said. "My son painted it."
"He is a fine artist."
"Was."
"I'm sorry," Neal said.
"He was a useless creature, much as yourself. Don't be."
Despite his off hand comment, Gregorovitch's scowl indicated that Neal should drop the subject. Gregorovitch indicated the place setting next to his at the head of the table and said, "Sit."
Neal sat. The dinner ware was unconventional, full of cheerful chickens in bright colors surrounded by unlikely flowers. He picked up his cup, smiling at the design.
"None of that fine china for me," Gregorovitch remarked.
No, Gregorovitch chose to eat from a complete collection of antique Khokhloma ceramics, worth more than the finest china.
"I like it," Neal said, turning the cup to admire a fish which appeared to be swimming through a sea of flowers.
The cuisine was also Russian, the inevitable fish soup, pickled vegetables, herring, followed by lamb Shashlyk and Pelmeni. It was much too much for Neal to eat despite the scowls that Gregorovitch threw at him.
"He was like that too. Never eating a man's meal. Nothing of me in that boy, no matter what the tests said."
Feeling sorry for the boy he had never known, Neal said, "But you do find an artist useful at times."
"Yes. In your favor, you have balls. Maybe. You submitted meekly enough to the FBI agent's collar."
Neal shrugged dismissively. "Burke and I make a good team."
"You better hope that you make a good team with me or maybe if get you a better coffin than the tank."
OooOooO
Most of the household was not much into talking, but the maid, Irina, was. Her twin sister was the cook and was pregnant with Gregorovitch's child according to Irina.
Irina had finished making Neal's bed and now sat idly on a chair, watching Neal work on the newest forgery.
"I don't get what the old man wants with all that old religious stuff. Must have a guilty conscience."
Looking around, Irina tossed her glossy black curls and said, "He killed them, you know."
"Who?"
"His wife, her sister, his son."
Neal wanted to ask her more, but Lev who was on door duty poked his head inside and snarled, "Get your lazy butt going, Irina."
Sashaying her pretty bottom with deliberate spite, Irina said, "You just wish you had a chance at this, Lev."
Lev snarled. He was a spoiled copy of Dima as he had a knife scar down his left cheek. Like his brother. Lev had a broad plain face with blunt features, a bulbous nose, and grey, nearly colorless eyes. He was muscular and built for power not speed. As Irina passed by, Lev grabbed her, pushing her against the wall, hands invading everywhere.
It was nonsensical to think he could take Lev, but Neal tried anyway. At least, he distracted Lev into letting Irina go. She went screaming down the corridor while Lev turned his attentions to punishing Neal for his impudence. Neal screamed as Lev crushed his hand in a brutal grip. He heard at least one finger snap. He fainted.
Waking, Neal felt the numb feeling of a local anesthetic. His right hand had two fingers in a splint. Gregorovitch sat in the massive brocade chair in Neal's room. Lev, looking pale, stood next to his brother.
"You are awake, Neal?"
"Yes."
"Good, Irina told me what happened. Lev's attempt to lie about an escape attempt compounded his crimes."
Turning his attention to Dima, Gregorovitch snapped, "Do it."
It didn't take much deduction to go from Lev's hand bound on a carving board and the knife in his brother's hand.
Nor did it take brilliance to see the unmitigated hate in both twin's eyes.
Neal said, "Wait."
"What?" Gregorovitch said.
"He broke my fingers so that should be his punishment."
"He also touched what was mine, you and Irina."
"It's more artistic just to break his fingers."
Gregorovitch's mouth twitched and he said, "All right, Dima, use that mallet."
The solid thud was followed by Lev's screams. Dima didn't change expression as he waited to be told what to do next.
"Have the doctor put the hand in a cast," Gregorovitch instructed. "Tell your brother when he awakes that only your usefulness saved him."
After Dima dragged off Lev, Gregorovitch eyed his remaining set of twin body guards. He said, "Leo and Pavel, keep an eye on those two."
The younger guards looked pleased. They were barely out of their teens, but were eager to earn to blaze a trail of blood. Dima was such as favorite that they had less chance to serve. This pair had long, lean faces and were shorter than the brutes who had just left. Leo and Pavel appeared to have some Mongol ancestry. They were somewhat attractive with those high cheeks and the intense black of their eyes. Neal might have liked paint them except the cold dead look in those eyes offended him.
In light of what happened to Lev, Leo and Pavel were politely distant to Neal.
OooOooO
Gregorovitch's doctor was good. Neal could not complain about the pain medication or the skill the man had in setting his hands. The man chose to remain nameless. He was tall, about Peter's age, but had taken care of his skin. He had beautifully manicured nails and his suit was something Neal would wear gladly. Being a concierge doctor to a mobster was not a fashion choice Neal would ever have made however.
When Neal asked the good doctor about his situation, the man laughed and said, "I have light duties. I can travel freely and I still make more in a year than my tax attorneys can keep the government from raiding. I support free clinics here and one in Africa. My hands are clean. I don't torture or kill for him."
"No, you patch up those he injures."
"We all live with who we are."
That was all the doctor had to say. He was so self-involved that Neal doubted he could penetrate all the levels of emotional protection he layered over his conscience.
Irina came into the room to clean up after the doctor. Neal asked, "Are you all right?"
The question gained him an armful of voluptuous fantasy...if you liked Victorian porn with a beauty in a classic maid's uniform, lace apron and all.
Neal disengaged, dabbed at her eyes with his handkerchief and said, "Hey, did he punish you?"
"No, although he hasn't wanted me in his bed since Lev touched me. All right with me."
Irina arched her back, emphasizing her already pushed up and inflated breasts. "Since you can't paint, perhaps there is something else you want to do?"
Smiling, Neal shook his head. He wiggled the fingers in his left hand and replied, "I still have one good hand and I want to keep it that way."
Disappointed, Irina fluttered thick eyelashes and pouted her lips. She had a very pretty mouth with full lips, heart shaped. All of her was lush. Neal might have painted her as a Ruben's beauty. She was not as well padded, but she was full figured. It reminded Neal of home, of El.
Giving Irina his best smile, Neal said, "You could help me. Get a note to my friend."
Irina shook her head and said, "He would know. Thank you for helping me, but better to have Lev's hands all over me then to make Gregorovitch angry. He is not kind to women, Neal."
"Sorry I asked."
Irina left and Neal pulled the heavy chair to the window, opened the book he was reading, a biography of Michelangelo.
Neal was seriously considering some act of defiance to be thrown back in the isolation tank. He wanted to see Peter very much.
OooOooO