Illya arrived with the suitcases only to be confronted by Napoleon's signal not to enter.
He dumped Angelique's bags on the floor, keeping his and Solo's with him, only due to the fact there were UNCLE gadgets and such in secreted inside them along with their clothing. There were other suitcases in the car, and those he simply left in the trunk.
"Chyort," he mumbled his favorite swear in Russian.
"Na vkus i tsvet tovarishchey net. O vkusakh ne sporyat. He muttered in Russian, no accounting for taste."
He walked down the hallway, continuing to bitch to to himself in his native language.
Here he was again taking a back seat to Angelique La Chien, even after his partner's apology. The man and his libido were simply incorrigible.
Illya simply surrendered as it was the easiest thing to do knowing Napoleon would most likely never change. He loved the man like a brother, and was more forgiving for that reason. Best of friends and siblings always did things to piss off each other, but they always forgave each other...eventually. Right now he was in no mood to forgive.
"Bar?" He spoke curtly to the desk clerk.
"Down the hall to your left Mr. McQueen," he smiled.
Illya flashed him an icy but puzzled look. "Mr. McQueen?" He shook his head, not waiting for an answer and made straight for the hotel bar.
That was always his first choice when being locked out of their hotel room, then there was the lobby and if he really had to sleep, he could retreat to the car, if there was one.
Now he wanted booze.
He looked with disdain at the flashing yellow neon sign above the entrance to 'The Shooting Star Bar.'
"Oh joy." Well as long as they had cold vodka, he didn't care what the place was called.
Illya sidled up to the dark wood bar and gingerly slipped onto on a stool, still cradling his arm in the sling; leaving his duffle and Napoleon's small valise at his feet; he signalled with a wave to the bartender.
"What's your poison bud?"
"Poison?"It took him half a second to translate that." Oh, vodka, straight up with a shot of vodka on the side. Just make sure they are cold." He didn't even care what kind at the moment.
The bartender looked at him quizzically for a second, but finally figured out meant keep the vodka flowing.
"You got it."
"Do you have any pickles?" Illya asked, thinking of zakuski; even though he'd just eaten dinner, snacks were just the thing to have with his vodka. He doubted this place had caviar or anything remotely Russian.
"Pickles? You a Russkie, Mac?"
"What of it?"
"Well the owner is Russian and he's the only one I know who likes to munch on pickles while he drinks his vodka; he has caviar and a bunch of other things; snacks he calls them, but some of them could be a meal by themselves."
"So you have pickles for me?" Illya posed his question again.
"I think the boss won't mind if I scare up some for a fellow countryman."
The bartender disappeared for a few minutes, not only returning with the pickles, but a bit of caviar, brown bread, spiced marinated mushrooms, a plate of pirozhki as well as some deviled eggs.
This was completely unexpected.
"The boss sends these with his compliments," the bartender smiled.
"And what is his name that I might thank him properly for this bounty?"
A deep resonant voice spoke from behind him, answering in Russian.
"Nu kak ya zhivu i dyshu ...as I live and breathe, if it is not Illya Nickovich Kuryakin? I see you are injured as always. You still manage to get yourself hurt do you not?"
For a second time Illya's eyes went wide with surprise.
"Vadim Sergeivich Krasnov," the UNCLE agent spoke without turning around. "You old Cossack, I thought you were dead."Vadim stepped forward, pulling Illya into a bear hug, mindful of the sling and kissing him on one cheek then the other in greeting. Still Kuryakin winced from the embrace.
"Nyet, I faked my death and made it over border to Finland, eventually coming here to land of free enterprise and home of brave. I heard you had defected tovarisch?"
"Not quite, I am still loyal to our home. I was sent as GRU representative to an independent intelligence agency responsible for maintaining political and legal order throughout the world. It is international in scope. My allegiance now is to them. "
"Oh you speak of U.N.C.L.E." Vadim laughed, sitting down on the stool beside Kuryakin.
Illya was not surprised he knew that, Vadim was alway one for knowing everything and had many sources when they were together in GRU. It was from him that Illya learned many things about keeping tabs on people. Vadim's motto, 'Derzhi svoikh druzey blizko , a vragov blizhe...keep your friends close but your enemies closer.'
Illya suddenly recalled Napoleon had said the same thing about Angelique.
"So old friend, what brings you to Las Vegas?" Vadim looked down at the suitcases. "No I take that back; if you tell me you might have to kill me," he snickered. "I take it since your bags are with you that you have not gotten a room yet?"
"I do have a room per se, the last one your clerk told us."
"Us?"
"Yes, a friend, but he is there involved in a pursuit of a more amorous nature, and I am locked out for now," Illya sighed.
The big Moskvich laughed as he picked up his glass of vodka silently placed in front of him by his bartender.
He finally switched to English. "Here is to women. We cannot live with them and cannot live without them."
"That Vadim is debatable. Naz dorov'ye."
"Theb."
"I left wife back in Moskva," Vadim bowed his head.
"I remember, Praskoviya was her name, da?"
"But I got rid of her and married a pretty girl named Yelena. Oh boy was that mistake! Not only did I marry her but I got her whole family as bonus. They would always visit and constantly talk down about me because I was not there all the time they said, like a good husband. Little did they know my line of work! So I left her, and Mother Russia too!" Vadim let out a belly laugh.
"Now I have a sexy Amerikanskii wife. Her name is Lola and she is dancer at Sand's Casino...she is how they say va-va-voom."
Illya wasn't quite sure how to respond to that and simply nodded. Vadim always did like the ladies.
The two Russians raised their glasses, downing the vodka after which they each grabbed a pickle and bit down on them, sitting there laughing as they crunched away. They continued drinking and eating until the bottle of vodka was nearly empty and the snacks were all eaten.
Illya checked the time on his wristwatch, realizing hours had passed and thought that was more than enough time for Napoleon and Angelique to have had themselves a grand time.
"Vadim, my friend it was good to see you but I must tell you do svidaniya. I have an early flight to catch in the morning, so I must rouse my friend and get to my cot."
"Cot? What do you mean cot?"
"There was only a single with a king sized bed left for three of us and one is a woman, so she ordered two cots...it is a long story.'
"Nyet, Illyushenka. I am owner here. We have other rooms that are reserved for my special guests. You will have your own bed to sleep in tonight."
"No Vadim, thank you but…"
"No buts, you get your own room. You do not want to insult me do you?"
"No my friend, spasibo."
"Horosho. We must say farewell then. I will see to arrangements for you and then I am off to Reno; I will not be back until weekend. If you are here, I will see you then."
"Sadly Vadim I have a flight in the morning."
"Then it is truly goodbye my friend. Your room will be comped so do not argue with me."
Vadim rose, saying goodbye the same way he'd greeted Illya with a hug and kisses on the cheeks.
Illya was shown to his room as a young bellboy brought in the bags and deposited them on the floor.
The Russian quickly jotted down a note and handed it to him Apparently this young man's sole purpose was see to Vadim's guests.
He thought that odd that there were no bellhops for the other guests, but who was he to question Vadim's business practices?
On the back of Kuryakin's personal business card he told Napoleon where he was. He could have just called Solo on the communicator, or telephoned for that matter but he thought the bellhop's visit would be a better form of coitus interruptus.
Illya offered the boy a tip, but it was refused.
"No thank you. You are Mr. Krasnov's special guest, and he said you are to spend no money while you are here. Those were his orders. Good night sir."
Illya felt quite satisfied with himself as he collapsed onto the bed in a room of his own. It was definitely an upgrade from a cot as it had a fully stocked bar and mini refrigerator, color television and the bed had something called 'magic fingers.' Some sort of massage unit built into the frame, though he decided to forego the use of it. He would sleep well tonight, but then his ribs reminded him they were there.
"Perhaps this 'magic fingers' might help his aches and pains after all?"
.
Napoleon's head popped up from where he'd nestled it between Angelique's glorious breasts. He'd been kissing her when an unrecognized knock came at the door.
He pulled his gun from its holster, grabbing his pants and slipped into them before he answered; stepping to the side of the door and holding his Special at the ready.
Angelique pulled the bed sheets up around herself, covering her body, and holding her silver plated pistol out of sight.
"Who is it?" Solo called out.
"Hotel service Mr. Grant. I have a note from a Mr. McQueen instructing me to deliver it to you."
Napoleon gave a quick peek through the peephole, confirming the boy was alone. He tucked his gun in his trousers behind his back and opened the door.
He looked at the card once it was handed to him, recognizing it as Illya's business card and the Russian's handwriting on the back.
"Thank you," he finally said, and handed the boy a tip before closing and locking the door.
"What was that all about darling?" Angelique asked, tucking her gun under one of the pillows.
"Seems our Russian has gotten himself his own room," Napoleon smiled.
"Well wasn't that nice of him, " she laughed, "giving us our privacy for the night again."
"I don't think that was his intention, but it is rather convenient. He quickly removed his trousers. "Hmmm, looks like things are looking up," he joked, as he climbed back in the bed. "Now where were we my dear?"
Angelique threw back the covers, giving him his answer. Twenty minutes later they were relaxed in each other's arms, when Napoleon disengaged himself from her warmth and rolled to one side of the large bed. He picked up the telephone receiver, dialing Illya's room number.
The phone in Kuryakin's room rang and he picked it up. He was just about to go to sleep, having stripped off his clothes and settled into his bed; being alone he felt no need for pajamas and was more comfortable sleeping in the nude. It was a rare opportunity to shed his clothes for sleeping. He maintained a bit more modesty when on missions with his partner, especially if they had to share a bed.
"Hello?"
"And how did you manage this tovarisch?" Napoleon asked.
"Trade secret my friend. Consider yourself lucky I was able to get this accommodation as I was about to not forgive you for banning me from the room. We do need to have a talk about you and your… well a certain body part. One of these days it is either going to fall off from overuse or be cut off by a jealous lover."
That made the American snicker. "So are you still mad at me?"
"At the moment no. I should just expect you to behave as such and not be annoyed when it happens. It is apparently my lot in life to be left to my own devices when you are with a woman. Now get to sleep, we have an early flight to catch as you recall. Tell Angelique if she stays up screwing you all night then she will end up with dark circles under those lovely eyes of hers.
He didn't realize she was listening in. "My eyes are beautiful? She called out."That is the nicest thing you have ever said to me Russian."
"I am hanging up now. Good night Napoleon."
Several hours later the American's communicator woke him out of a sound sleep.
"Solo here," he said groggily, looking at his watch. "This had better be good tovarisch, it's three in the morning."
"Yes I would consider it good Mr. Solo," Waverly harrumphed.
"Give me a moment sir. He retreated to the bathroom, turning on the shower so as to prevent Angelique from listening in.
"Go ahead sir."
"Altschuler has crossed into Colorado. If in the next six or so hours he arrives in Nebraska, the case for him heading to Canada is beginning to look stronger. I will contact you should he enter Nebraska."
"Yes sir, thank you," Napoleon yawned. "Good night."
"Yes...quite, and wish Miss La Chien a good night as well. Out."
Napoleon returned to the king sized bed, snuggling up to his lover. "Mr. Waverly said to bid you a good night."
"How did he know we were together?" Angelique asked, her eyes just peeking out from under the sheet.
"Trust me, I wonder that myself."
She reached over, running her fingers across his chest.
"Oh no," he lifted her hand away."We really have to get some sleep my dear."
"Can't blame a girl for trying," she cooed.
"Good night Angelique…"