Ice Trilogy (38 page)

Gradually he calmed down.

He stood up, walked down the stairs, and went out on the street. He walked past three buildings, entered the fourth. He climbed to the second floor and rang the bell of apartment 47.

The green steel door opened almost immediately.

Kela
stood at the threshold: 28 years old, medium height, stocky, muscular, a flat face, reddish mustache, a small shaved head.

“Hey.” Kela turned on his heel and left.

Lapin entered the hallway of a two-room apartment: four tires, a box of audio equipment, a coat stand with clothing, mountain skis, and boots.

The sound of loud music came from Kela’s room. Lapin went in to Gena’s room: boxes with videotapes, a bed, a chest of drawers with a hutch, photographs.

Gena
was sitting at the computer: 21 years old, disheveled; he looked like Kela, but was heavier.

“Greetings.” Lapin stood behind him.

“Hi,” Gena said without turning around. “Where’d you disap-pear to?”

“Everywhere.”

“Mean you dissolved?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I dug up this cool site yesterday. Take a look...”

He typed in www.stalin.ru. A pale photograph with Stalin’s image appeared. Under it was the caption
COLLECT STONE BOUQUET FOR COMRADE STALIN!

Under the caption were seven stone flowers. Gena moved the cursor over one of them. Clicked. A picture came up: a cow, tattooed with Stalin’s picture, grazing in a meadow of stone flowers. A slogan floated over the cow:
FIGHT THE UNCONSCIOUS, EVERYBODY!

“Cool, huh?” Gena poked him in the thigh with his chubby elbow, directed the cursor to another of the flowers, and clicked.

A picture came up: two Stalins pointing threateningly at each other. The slogan floating over them read
GOT A MAN?GOT A PROBLEM; GET RID OF A MAN, GET RID OF A PROBLEM!

“Way to go, someone’s having a blast!” Gena grinned.

“Listen, Gen. You know anything about secret sects?”

“Which ones? Aum Shinrikyo?”

“No, well...others...like an order...”

“Like the Freemasons?”

“Sort of. Can you dig up something on the Web?”

“You can dig up anything you want. What do you need Masons for?”

“I need the ones we have here.”

“Kela’s up on that stuff. All he does is go on about Freemasons, Masonic lodges...”

“Kela...” said Lapin, touching his chest. “He’s obsessed with black asses. And Jews.”

“So? He knows about all different kinds. What do you care?”

“Some assholes attacked me. A fuckin’ brotherhood. Of ‘awakened’ people.”

“Awakened?”

“Yeah.”

“And what do they want?” Gena moved the mouse around quickly, looking at the screen.

“I don’t know.”

“Then to hell with them...Hey, look! Cool, huh? They’re really into that Stalin!”

“I need to talk to someone. Someone who knows who they are.”

“So go and ask him. He knows everything.”

Lapin went into Kela’s room: wood shelving with books, a large stereo with huge speakers, a small television, portraits of Alfred Rosenberg, Pyotr Stolypin, a Russian National Unity poster:
SUPPORT THE NEW RUSSIAN ORDER!
, three sets of nunchaku, laced boots with thick soles, sixty-kilo weights, three-kilo dumbbells, twelve-kilo dumbbells, two baseball bats, a mattress, and a brown bearskin on the floor.

Kela was sitting on the mattress drinking beer and listening to the band Halloween.

Lapin sat down next to him. He waited until the song was over.

“Kel, I have a problem.”

“What?”

“Some kind of sect...or maybe order...sort of...hassled me, got right up in my face.”

“How?”

“Well, they go on and on, and talk about, like ‘We’re — the awakened people. Brothers. Everyone else is asleep.’ They promise money. Kinda like Masons.”

Kela turned the music off. He placed the remote on the floor.

“Remember, once and for all: there’s no such thing as Masons by themselves. There’s only kike Masons. You heard about B’nai B’rith?”

“What’s that?”

“The official kike Masonic lodge in Moscow.”

“Kel, you know, these, the ones that...well, that visited me, they’re not Jews. They’re all blond, like me. Even got blue eyes. That’s right! Hey, listen,” he suddenly remembered, “I only just realized! They’ve all got blue eyes!”

“Doesn’t matter. All the Masonic lodges are controlled by the kike oligarchy.”

“They said stuff like, everybody is asleep, like hibernating, and we have to wake up, kinda like being born again, and the whole thing started outside, they came up to me near the student union and asked me for — ”

Kela interrupted. “Even three hundred years ago all the Masons were either pure kikes or mixed blood. Before that, fuck, I mean the kikes used the Masons like puppets, but now — it’s the politicians. All politicians are whores. Man, fuckin’ bastards. And our kikes” — Kela locked his sinewy fingers together and cracked his knuckles — “they’ve all got a Star of David and 666 tattooed on the end of their pricks.”

Lapin sighed impatiently.

“Kel, but I...”

“Just fuckin’ listen...” Kela stretched out a brawny arm and took a book off the shelf. He opened it at the bookmark.

“Franz Liszt. A great composer. He writes about the kikes: ‘There will come a moment when all Christian nations in which Jews live will raise the question of whether or not to suffer them further, or to deport them. The significance of this question is as important as the question of whether we want life or death, health or sickness, social peace or continual unrest.’ Get it!”

The doorbell rang.

“Genka, open it,” Kela shouted.

“Why is it...” Gena shuffled angrily toward the door. He opened it.

A
huge guy
entered Kela’s room: 23 years old, shaved head, wide shoulders, leather jacket and pants, big hands, on the side of his palm a tattoo:
for the airborne forces
.

“Hey! Wazup, my man?” said Kela, getting up from the mattress.

“Wazup, Kel.”

They swung their arms back and slapped their right palms together hard.

“They say the iron’s rusting over here!” The guy smiled, showing strong teeth.

“Fuckin’ rusting away, man. Over there.” Kela nodded at the weights.

“Yeah.” The guy went over, took hold of them, and lifted. “Got it.”

“But only for a coupla weeks, Vitya, max.”

“No prob.” The guy took the weights in his right hand. Looked at Lapin. At the beer. “Hittin’ the foamy?”

“Nah.” Kela flopped on the mattress. “Just shootin’ the breeze with the young folks.”

“You’re a good guy, Kel.” The guy nodded and left with the weights.

“You heard about the Union of Satan and the Antichrist?” Kela asked Lapin.

“What’s that?”

“How about B’nai Moishe?”

“No.”

Kela sighed.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ. I don’t know what the fuck makes you guys tick.”

“Compooters,” said Gena, glancing into the room.

“Fuck compooters.” Kela gave a nod. “Do you know who invented the Internet and where? And what he did it for?”

“You already said a million times,” said Gena, scratching his cheek. “So what?...So the Jews and Chinese invented everything in the world.”

“You read
My Name Is Legion
?” Kela stared at Lapin.

Someone rang the doorbell.

“Open it.” Kela nodded at Gena.

The guy in leather came in again. Holding the weights.

“Kel, listen, I forgot: Vovan said to come over on Friday. To have a few. You in?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll come by.”

“Good. Hey, Vityok, these guys ain’t read
My Name Is Legion
and they don’t do any damn sports.”

“Each to his own.” The guy smiled, showing his teeth. He held the weights out to Gena. “Hold this a sec, youngster.”

“Get outta here!” said Gena, laughing. “I have kidney stones.”

“For real?”

“For real!” Kela answered for Gena. “How ya fuckin’ like that, Vitya? The kid’s only twenty — and he’s got kidney stones!”

“Wooow...” The guy leaned against the doorjamb, still holding the weights. “I ain’t heard of that. So young. Stones. We used to...uhhh. In our battalion the sergeant cured a first lieutenant. He couldn’t sleep in the cold.”

“How come?”

“Kidney stones. He got him soused, on beer. Four liters. Then he says, ‘Let’s go take a leak.’ So they get up. The first lieutenant’s pissing. And the sergeant whacks him on the side of the kidneys —
wham-bam
! He’s like — oooowwww, shit! His piss is all bloody. But all the stones came out. So there you go. Field medicine.”

The guy turned around and left.

The phone rang. Kela picked it up.

“Yeah. Hey, my man. Ah! Fucking shit man, what’s the story with you? That’s fuckin’ it! I’m going to pick it up tomorrow. Tell me about it! Today I’m walking down the street thinking — am I really gonna trade in that rotten ’04 for a normal fuckin’ set of wheels? Uh-huh! Yeah...yeah...That’s for fuckin’ sure. Uh-huh!”

“Are you buying a new car?” asked Lapin.

“Not new. A ’93 Golf.” Gena yawned.

“Got rich?”

“The folks laid a coupla thou on us.”

“Great.”

“Let’s go to a chat and bullshit. There’re lots of film buffs.”

“I wanted to talk over stuff with Kela.”

“That’s Voronin. It’s gonna be a long one. Come on, let’s go.”

“All right...”

They returned to Gena’s room. They sat down side by side at the computer. Gena quickly entered a chat room under the name
KillaBee
:/)
.

Zkhus /:

I bought argento’s “Phantom of the Opera” yesterday, too. I was counting on Julian Sands, who’s not usually in shitty films. I think he’s the coolest actor since Mickey Rourke. Fanfuckintastic flick!!! —

De Scriptor /:

Yeah and “Darkness” is crapola.

Natasha /:

Julian Sands sucks. He was only good in “Black Book 2,” but “Phantom of the Opera” is total bullshit.

KillaBee /:

Ur all floppy-dicked cuntsuckers! And Julian Sands is Filipp Kirkorov’s nephew :)

Old As A Mammoth /:

Scuzzy! Where the DZTVZ are u coming from?

KillaBee /:

A mammoth’s cunt, Fuzzy Wuzzy. How come u r jacking off on Sands when there’s Chuuuuulpan Kamyyyytovaaaaa and Keanu Reeves!!! Guys, I’m in love with them!

De Scriptor /:

Dumbfuckism is incurable :/( . But it can be used for peaceful causes.

Mole
/:

that wet slit will piss on everything again.

KillaBee /:

Definitely, boys :/ —

Zkhus /:

Here’s a suggestion — fuck off to your own chain link.

Old As A Mammoth /:

killabeeby, can it, will ya. Check out: www.clas.ru. u can order rare films. Home delivery. I got my favorite, Cronenberg :)))

Mole /:

anyone seen Argento’s “Demons”?

Vino /:

Argento didn’t make “Demons.” It was either G. Romero or Lucio Fulci. RenTV showed “Phenomena” by your vapid Argento — what trash. With a heavy metal soundtrack.

KillaBee /:

Woooow, look who’s here! The vin-o-dictive nightingale is singing sweetly. r u still hard? I’m always ready, motherfucker!!!! :/)

Vino /:

KillaBee, if you want someone to screw you till you’re blue in the clit, then....///!

“Gen, I’m going home.” Lapin got up. Touched his chest.

“What’s wrong, Lap? Let’s write something. Come on, something cool, no kids’ stuff.”

“Yeah, well...to hell with it. I wanted to talk to Kela, but he got onto his kikes again.”

“Why’d the fuck you work him up? You shoulda talked about something else. Freemasons, Masonic lodge
s
...That’s all he’s gonna talk about now. I never bring up ethnic stuff with him anymore. He drives me fucking crazy.”

Lapin waved his hand. He stood there a minute.

“Gen.”

“What?” said Gena, typing.

“Let’s grab a beer.”

“Where?” asked Gena, turning around in surprise.

“Anywhere. I have...that is...I’ve got tons of money.”

“From where?”

“Thin air.”

Kela came in with a new bottle of beer.

“And I’ll tell you what else, Genka. I’m gonna say it for the last goddamned time: you keep on sucking that hash — I’ll send you to the progenitors. Go smoke that fucking shit there, in the can.”

“I haven’t had a toke for ages, what do you mean?”

“The day before yesterday? Huh? When I brought in the smokes. And your gang of assholes was here? Don’t tell me you weren’t.”

“What’re you talking about? Kel? We were listening to the new Air Force CD.”

“Don’t bullshit the boss. Fuckin’ idiots. You don’t understand shit.” He took a swig from the bottle. “You know what dead Chechens’ brains look like? Swiss cheese. With holes. This big. From what? From hashish. Got it?”

“You already told me.” Gena popped a piece of gum in his mouth. “Kel, you know beer makes the liver get all covered in fat.”

“Just fuckin’ think about it. I warned you. For the last time.”

Kela left.

“Jeez, shit...” Gena sighed. “I’m so sick of this. Christ, why are they so psyched about pumping iron? Vityok, Shpala, Bomber — they’re dunces, it figures — they’ve only got a few gray cells to start, why not pump? But Kela — he’s smart. He’s read more books than all of them put together. And it’s the same thing — a healthy body, shit, a healthy spirit. And every morning he sticks those lousy friggin’ dumbbells in my bed! Think about it. I’m sleeping, and he goes and sticks those fuckin’ dumbbells under my ass! What a loony bin...”

Lapin looked at the screen. Got up. “I’m off.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve still got something to do...”

“Lap, why are you so...today?”

“So what?”

“Well, kind of...beat up?”

Lapin looked at him and laughed out loud. A sudden attack of hysterical laughter forced him to bend over.

“What’s with you?” Gena said, confused.

Lapin laughed. Gena looked at him.

Lapin had a hard time calming down. He wiped away the tears that had come to his eyes. Sighed deeply.