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Chapter 6: The Truth About Julie Christie

A snowy night, a damn cold night, Russians dragging him, an entire setup that reminded Benedict of what he has read in books and watched in movies about Siberia. Benedict was so exhausted; he was beaten badly and bleeding like crazy. As he lied in the garage where he found himself after the trip in Scarface’s car he heard someone whisper in Montana’s ears, “The boss had to leave, but he left instructions with the girlfriend.”

Benedict was very happy to hear those words, the last time Gorbachov was around he had to go for multiple sessions with his dentist in order to repair the damages and it cost him a fortune. If only he could think the consequences in advance and weigh the damages of not paying every single time against the payments that would leave him peaceful he would never choose this but Benedict has always been that slow in viewing issues, that slow and that stupid. The next thing Benedict saw was the hottest woman he has seen in years walk into the garage. It didn’t need him too much of a wit to figure out the brunette Russian-Looking chick was probably the girlfriend they spoke of moments ago. His horny nature drove him to force himself to stand up straight and gaze at her as she walked towards him.

“So you are Benedict?” she asked in a sexy Russian accent.

“And you are the girlfriend.”

Benedict was still staring at her and wouldn’t say more. When it comes to Benedict’s dick; nothing else matters, nothing else in the world could ever be a priority and his brains usually would reach a halting point as long as a chick was in the room.

“Did the cat eat your tongue?”

The sexy Russian accent covering each and every word of hers was driving Benedict crazy. She reminded him of Dr. Zhivago and its likes of movies in which the lead characters or even all characters played the roles of Russian individuals, except that the chick at hand there was no Julie Christie; she was a thousand times as hot as Miss Christie was in the movie. But sadly he was not Dr. Yuri Zhivago, not a handsome actor, he was Benedict Benedict, the broke fuckup who owes a lot of money to the Russian mob, enough to let them enslave him if they were in a different day and age. In that case enslaving him for a lifetime would hardly pay his debt and maybe even not.

With his silence not ending and with no answers getting out of his pie hole the chick turned to Boris and stared at him in anger as she asked, “What did you do to him?”

“They were very gentle, just a few bone fractures and a couple of bruises, I am used to having this physical therapy session on a weekly basis,” Benedict said half smiling.

He paused for a moment when he saw the woman turn to watch him as he spoke but then decided to continue in the same monotone as he pointed at Boris, “My friend the seagull over there loves the heavy artillery pranks, he have been training on my jaw for long.”

“Son of a bitch,” yelled Boris as his fist had its usual moments of intercourse with Benedict’s jaw.

“Told ya,” cried Benedict as he fell to the ground, “Weekly Session.”

If you are a sane person you would know that this was not the right time to get the attention of some hot chick you barely know by being a wise ass, especially if getting such attention will all be at the expense of your very own jaw and your Dentist’s peace of mind who although loves the money you pay him, has run out of options as to how to keep your jaw intact.

The Russian goddess yelled something in what Benedict thought was probably Russian at Boris and the next thing Benedict saw them all walk out of the garage and into the big mansion, all except for the Russian Nightingale who pulled him onto his feet and sat him in a big leather chair that gave him the comfort he was in dear need for after he has taken Boris’s pranks all night.

“My name is Tanya, they call me the girlfriend when I'm not around.”

“Assuming you mean the Boss’s girlfriend and knowing he is supposedly happily married then I would prefer to call you the mistress.”

Benedict had this policy in dealing with women. It was more like a multiple step plan that either got him to end up with either a slap on one or both cheeks, a kick in the nuts or a date. First he insults the chick, or more like hit her where it hurts and let her know that he is fully aware of what she is and who she is in order to get her to know that she can’t start acting all royal and shit. Next, he gets the cheek slap or the nut kick or an extension of the conversation. If he gets the latter he would go for the sympathetic attitude and then start a multidimensional conversation in which he proves to be the sophisticated guy with no worries and no fears and a strong personality. And then again he gets one of the three, the slap, the kick or the date and it usually worked for him in the dating direction, for some sick demented reason women usually found Benedict attractive.

“Well I agree, I am his mistress but that makes you, let me think… umm… I think his bitch would be the appropriate description here.”

Benedict lost his first move, it seemed like Tanya was as aggressive as he was, maybe even more. The next thing he felt was Tanya’s whispers in his ears.

“Listen to me carefully. I like you, your shit non-giving personality, your unexpected reaction to be hit by seagulls all night long, I don’t know what it is exactly but I like what I see, so I will tell you this. If you stay here, you will turn into an hourly session and this time there will be no chance of finding help, the basement here will be your home until they get their money. They are gonna walk you out whenever you tell them you are gonna get them their pay and if you couldn't the torture is gonna elevate until you either pay or end up dead.


I am wondering as to how you are this calm when I just told you that they shall have no mercy upon you. Aren’t you even trying to plan your escape?

“Why should I? A two year old would easily figure out you already have one to get me out of here.”

“Well then, kidnap me.”

“Excuse me?”

She pulled a gun out of her back as she replied, “Kidnap me, put this gun to my head and kidnap me. Of course I will have to scream and ask for help, we will be right beside my car, that lovely Porsche over there. When they walk in, you will threaten to shoot me if any one comes near, push me in the driver seat, and then order them to open the garage door and order me to drive while you sit in the back seat with the gun still pointed at my head.”

“Cool and at what point exactly do I shoot you?”

“And being funny is not welcomed. Of course none of them will even think of shooting directly at us, they wouldn't want to harm the boss's girlfriend.”

“You mean the mistress.”

“Sure bitch, no one will harm the mistress. And I will have of course to obey your orders and drive you out of here ‘cause I should probably want to keep my life.”

“And they will come after us, and somewhere along the road we will lose them. That’s when I leave you and your car and run for my life.”

“I was not supposed to talk to you alone yet I am. If you tell on me, I'll find you, only I won't have a six foot Russian and a bulldog along with me. Don't even consider fucking with me.”

“Let’s cut it short, gimme the gun.”

He held the gun to her head, she screamed, Gorbachov’s men rushed in, Benedict threatened, Boris opened the garage door, Tanya turned the engine and as she pulled out Benedict asked her, “Is this gun even loaded?”


That answer was enough to make him push half his body out of the car window, aim at Boris as he yelled, “Here's today's pay check. This one is for the good old days.”

He said so and fired a shot that went through Boris’s left shoulder. Next, he pushed himself back into the Porsche as Tanya pulled out real fast. Half an hour and ten cigarettes later no one was behind them, not anymore.

They drove for a while before parking at a cheap motel and the next thing they were in a cheap motel where they decided to spend the night. As they walked into the room they rented for the night, Benedict turned to Tanya and asked, “So, could I kiss you now?”

“You don’t ask that question.”

“Well, excuse me for not knowing the protocols that follow my having an urge to kiss the girlfriend of the Russian mob boss.”

He said that and put his lips on hers, before she pulled herself backwards and said, “Nice shooting skills by the way, didn’t think you could aim that good.”

“I was aiming at his head actually.”

He said that and celebrated his escape of death, celebrated life, all night long…

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