The Glasgow Gray: Spot and Smudge - Book 2 Page 2

  One of the students marked a cadence with her pointed finger and started to sing. Her classmates joined in one at a time, “Hark how the bells, sweet silver bells, all seem to say, throw cares away, Christmas is here…”

  Semion appreciated their strong, well-trained voices and the Russian origins of the carol they had selected. He wondered if Brother Sacarius had planted them, or if this was one of the dean’s famous little impromptu tests. Deciphering Semion’s nationality by quick observation would certainly be part of the curriculum at this special academy.

  He guessed the small group of singers were mid-twenties or a little older. Some sported tattoos that peeked out from the collars and wrists of their matching suits. All of them were big and tough enough looking to be forwards on a professional rugby team, even the women, although Semion still dwarfed them.

  The old priest’s hands danced in the air as the repeating ostinato of their caroling echoed around the huge lobby. It bounced back at them from the stained glass windows and carved stairs that wrapped around a large Christmas tree. Brother Sacarius beamed proudly at Semion as he spun and pressed the button to summon the lift.

  The carolers were still singing as the doors closed between them.

  The old lift chimed as each floor passed, carrying the two men down into the basement levels of the institution.

  As Brother Sacarius continued to hum Semion noticed the man was staring at his feet.

  “Bespoke Italian split wingtips,” the old priest said with a sparkle in his eye, “Fetal pony leather, gold tipped laces.” He steepled his fingers and said, “Please allow me a guess…would they be from a small seaside shop in Brancadoro?”

  Semion had known the priest for almost thirty years and he wasn’t surprised the brother could pick out the origins of his custom made footwear. He had worn them to their meeting on purpose. He nodded and said, “I go directly to their studio every spring.”

  “That is the only way,” Brother Sacarius said, nodding his approval.

  As they left the lift Semion noticed the priest’s own expensive dress shoes were actually very subtly disguised custom tactical boots.

  They moved down a long catwalk that ran high above a dozen large, well-lit rooms.

  “I’m pleased to hear your daughter is prospering,” Brother Sacarius said as he walked with his hands behind his back, “She’s a very special young woman. On a short list of our finest accomplishments, that one. When she first arrived she reminded me of a similarly ill-tempered young man from the Caucuses, but of course she was far better looking. You must be very proud.”

  “Da,” Semion said, raising his voice over the sounds of suppressed weapons gunfire from one of the rooms below them, “And you did a fine job with her as well, Brother. She sends her regards.”

  They passed above a room with a pair of very fit naked students on a raised platform. A circle of equally fit and naked young men and woman were circled around them. Each held a small digital tablet and most were taking notes. An older instructor wearing the same brown robes as Brother Sacarius was pointing out various aspects of their copulation with his tablet’s stylus.

  Brother Sacarius and Semion stopped above the next room. It was a gymnasium with floor mats and climbing ropes hanging from the ceiling. On one side of the room a group of well-dressed young men and women were standing in a line at rest attention. A serious looking older woman was placing each student in handcuffs.

  As she pulled the last pair off cuffs from her belt Semion noticed a hint of a slim, well-hidden bulletproof vest under her tailored suit. Upon closer inspection he saw all of the students were wearing them. He also saw a flash of a pistol’s hand grip in the instructor’s concealed shoulder holster.

  She made a show of tossing the handcuff keys into the opposite corner of the room before she moved behind the row of students. The instructor spoke to them as she paced back and forth. She was lecturing the class about patience and concentration but it was too soft for Semion to make out every word. In mid-sentence she drew her pistol and tossed it over their heads. The gun bounced on the mat and came to rest not far from the keys.

  The students leapt. Sounds of a significant struggle immediately rose from the room, followed quickly by several gunshots.

  In less than four seconds the room was quiet.

  Semion saw three students lying on the mat in the center of the room. They were in obvious pain and carefully probing under their vests with their cuffed hands for bruises that were certainly forming from the bullet strikes. The other students were on their knees with their hands raised.

  Except for one.

  A tall, handsome young student with thick hair and a strong jaw stood over the instructor who was on the mat below him, holding her elbow.

  The student was aiming a small pistol at his surrendering classmates.

  Semion saw the gun that the instructor had originally tossed into the corner had not been touched. It was still lying on the floor near the keys.

  Rather than chase after the tossed gun with the rest of his classmates the young man had spun and dropped the instructor to the mat with a seemingly effortless flip before snatching her backup gun from her ankle holster.

  Semion watched as he helped the instructor to her feet. He handed her the small pistol and then strolled past his fellow students towards the handcuff keys.

  When Semion turned to Brother Sacarius the priest smiled and said, “Yes, he’s the one we spoke of. Grew up in a proper slum in the north but somehow made it into the elite Pathfinder’s sixteenth brigade, where he sliced up one of his incompetent superiors. I found him working in India as a bagman. The lad was rough to be sure but is well on his way to being added to that short list I mentioned. His assignments have all been very successfully completed, and with top marks from my clients.”

  As the student bent to snatch the keys he noticed a smudge on his dress shoe. He removed a handkerchief from his suit jacket and knelt to carefully polish it away.

  “Of course you’ve noticed the boy has chosen the Mammut Alpine boot to have customized,” Brother Sacarius said as he shook his head, “A little blackguard for my taste but I allowed it. Sometimes a roguish spirit is a good quality to have in an asset, don’t you agree?”

  “Da,” Semion said, “Well done, brother. I would like to meet him.”

  Chapter 3

  “…three…two…one…Happy New Year!” the family shouted as the television showed the ball drop.

  Aila gave Dan a big wet kiss.

  Mimi hugged the kids, and kissed each of them on the forehead.

  They all joined the television reporter and his sidekick’s singing, “Should old acquaintance be forgot…” as Aila tooted a shiny horn and Dan pulled apart a confetti cracker. The small paper bits floated down to cover the swaying humans and wagging dogs.

  Ben gave up trying to fully heft Spot into his arms and just danced with the dog’s front paws. Kelcy was barely able to lift and cradle Smudge. She held her like a sack with her big paws sticking out.

  The family bounced around the family room, lifting their champagne glasses and getting kisses from the pups. Smudge was high fiving them as Kelcy spun the black dog around in a circle.

  Mimi put an arm around Kelcy, grabbed one of Smudge’s split paws with her other hand, and pressed her cheek to the pup’s cheek. The three of them danced around the couch like they were doing the tango.

  Ben let go of one of Spot’s paws and picked up his flute of ginger ale. He shouted, “To our pups, Air do shlainte!”

  “Do dheagh shlainte!” the family retorted, and raised their champagne glasses to the dogs for the Scottish toast.

  “Here’s to us!” Mimi shouted.

  “Who’s like us?” the family replied in unison.

  “Not too many!” Mimi shouted, and together they all yelled, “And they’re dead! More’s the pity!”

  After a long while of dancing, and more of their traditional toasting foolery, Aila said to Kelcy, “Turn that down
for a minute, love.” Kelcy muted the television.

  All was quiet, and Aila raised her glass and said, “To Papa.”

  “To Papa,” they all responded.

  Mimi clinked their glasses in turn and solemnly raised her glass. She winked at the ceiling and said, “I hope there’s a pea under your cloud, you cheeky old bastard.”

  Aila hugged her mom, and after a few more toasts and rounds of dancing together they eventually turned off the television and settled back down into their comfy spots around the family room.

  Mimi stoked the fire as the pups cuddled with the kids on the couch under blankets.

  Aila sat next to Dan on the loveseat with her legs over his, and pulled a heavy afghan over them. The sectional couch and loveseat had been pulled in close around the hearth so there was essentially one continuous pile of people and dogs under the blankets.

  “I miss him,” Ben said. He dropped his forehead against Spot’s as he reached out and gave Smudge a head rub, “I wish you guys had known him. He was the best.”

  Spot reached a front leg out from under the blanket, split open his paw, and signed, Don’t cry Ben. He’s still here, we can smell him.

  Mimi put the screen back on the hearth and nestled down into the couch between her grandchildren. She picked up both of their hands and said, “Listen my grandweans, I can tell you both for certain, my smart wee boy and my brave lass, that your Papa would be so very proud of the both of you, as am I.”

  Dan, who had a bit of a buzz on, raised his glass. “You guys, it’s been a tough year for us,” he said with just a hint of slur, “but we’re here, in the place we love, all together, with our slightly larger family.” He tipped his glass to the pups, who nodded back at him together.

  “Ben,” he said, “man, you’ve done such a great job this year, with the pups and the new school. I gotta hand it to you boy, you knocked the shi-, the snot out of anything that got in your way, literally,” Dan smiled, and clinked Ben’s glass.

  Dan turned to his daughter. He tipped his head down and looked at her over his glasses. He said, “And to my lovely daughter…you’re the coolest, toughest son of a bitch I’ve ever met.” He put a hand on Aila’s knee and said, “This is going to be a good year you guys. A great year.”

  The phone rang and Ben yelled, “Uncle Hamish!” as he dove for it. He hit the talk button and said, “Hey there Unc, wait, let me put you on speaker…can you hear us?”

  “Hallo me lovelies, happy Hogmanay. How’s all with you in the lesser Americas?” Hamish’s deep, musical voice said.

  “Hail to the first foot!” Dan called out, knowing his in-laws considered it an honor to be the first visitor of the new year.

  “Oh Danny boy,” Hamish said, “You haven’t up and left that fucking crazy bunch yet?”

  “And leave all of this lovely snow, and bitchin?” Dan said. Aila stuck her tongue out at him.

  “Thanks for the puzzles,” Kelcy piped up, “I figured out the first one already but the metal one’s impossible.”

  “Failte Kels, good to hear you, love,” Hamish said. “Sorry they were late getting to you. You remember my clever Cree welder, the one who’s half blind and full ‘deef?...well he says if you solve that one he’ll get you a fucking honorary doctorate when you come next time. Is my sis about?”

  “Hello to you laddie” Mimi sang out, “Happy New Year and watch your language. How are things? Are you at the ranch, or down in Digby?”

  “I’m at the ranch,” Hamish said, “There was a party in town at The Grub that was pure barry but we came home early to see the ball drop in our jammies. We’re slugging it out with this current lot of huddy dogs so I have to be up early. I’ll be heading down to Nova Scotia later this week.”

  “Hi Hamish,” Aila said, “Hope you’re well. The gifts are beautiful, thank you so much. Say hello to Christa for us, and Sholto of course.”

  “I’ll do that very thing my bonnie lass,” Hamish said, “Any plans for the road ahead? You poor lot have had a time of it down there this past year.”

  “Yeah, I think we’re just going to let this one sail past us quietly, if possible,” Aila said as she looked around the room.

  “Good on you,” Hamish said, “Well look, you guys enjoy your prissy version of football. Ben, I’ll be waiting for you on the ninth. Jean, did the vests for those curs arrive yet?”

  A silence fell over the room as all eyes turned to Dan.

  Mimi said, “Hamish you daft ass, we haven’t discussed it with his father yet.”

  “Right, I’m away then,” Hamish said, “You all enjoy the rest o’ your evening, love you all!” He hung up.

  Chapter 4

  The huge monitors spread about the expensively decorated ballroom showed the countdown and the ball poised to drop.

  A proportionally-blessed hostess in a gravity-defying dress was on the stage, using her whole body to help her shout out the falling numbers into a microphone. Stage lights pulsed with the count as the band’s drummer kept time. Smoke machines started up behind the hostess. Fog rolled over the front of the stage and spread out, hugging the floor and swirling among the crowd. The mass of black tie and sequined party goers chanted in time with the hostesses’ bouncing. Waitresses had circled the room with trays of champagne and glowing fluorescent necklaces and bracelets. The crowd had used them to accessorize their formalwear and were leaving trails of light as they surged up and down in the foggy dark.

  The hostess raised her glass as she called out the final seconds, and from overhead lasers began to sweep through the smoke and draw red and green lines over the chanting crowd.

  The ball dropped, and the entire ballroom floor erupted into a boiling sea of falling confetti, clinking glasses, and buzzed singing. Waves of balloons dropped from the ceiling and firework fountains showered the perimeter of the room, launching the swaying crowd into a frenzy of applause.

  Semion stood at the back of the room and touched glasses with the stunning athletic brunette on his arm. She stood on her toes, leaned over his considerable bulk, and gave him a peck on the cheek. She whispered to him in Russian, “May we take what we want this year, Batya.”

  Semion smiled, and looked across the huge ballroom to a knot of smiling penguins near the stage. Standing out against the black and white was an island of fire engine red. He nodded, and through the lingering smoke and swirling confetti the woman in the red dress almost imperceptibly nodded back.

  Two men in tuxedos appeared behind Semion. One of the men was young and handsome. The other man was older, craggy, and just plain huge. Like an ugly brick wearing an ill-fitting tuxedo. Both men were still a few inches shorter than Semion.

  “We’re ready, sir,” the handsome asset said in a polished English accent.

  Semion took his companion’s champagne flute and placed both of their glasses on a nearby table. They were immediately removed by a beautiful waitress wearing small angel wings. The oval logo etched into the champagne glasses was repeated on the cocktail napkins and plates, adorned the centerpieces, and hung from banners throughout the ballroom.

  With the huge man cutting a path through the rowdy crowd they passed the packed bar and a long buffet anchored by a ten foot oval ice sculpture. The tables overflowed with exotic appetizers that had barely been touched. They rounded a two story pyramid of champagne glasses being filled by models dressed as scantily clad angels.

  Turning down the restroom hallway they made a sharp left at the busy wait station and pushed through the kitchen doors at the end. The dark thumping of the main ballroom was replaced by the bright kitchen lights and quiet scurrying of an army of white tuxedoed wait staff. The huge man led them between walk-in coolers and through a large dry storage area with several closed garage doors. At the far end they exited through a door and stepped out onto a loading dock.

  A blast of cold snowy air hit them and Semion stopped to put his tuxedo jacket over the woman’s bare, well-defined shoulders.

  The loading dock was on
the side of the large function hall building. To the front, past a discrete row of bushes that obscured the dock from guests they could see a wide cobblestone street and walkway beautifully decorated with holiday lights. The walkway curved around the front of the ballroom, followed a stone ocean breakwater past a large empty marina and a beach, and twisted away into the distance towards the foundation’s private lighthouse.

  To the rear the loading dock led to a row of dumpsters, and an alley between the restaurant and a brick parking garage used by the valets. The fronts of the buildings in the compound were seamless expressions of the finest glass and steel and marble, but the backs were cinder block and brick. Semion pointed out to the young woman that behind the shiny veneers put on everything here in the states were the same necessary foundations, and they were ugly and utilitarian just like everywhere else on the planet.

  “This way,” the huge brick of a man said in Russian.

  They followed him off the dock and into the featureless alley that was just wide enough for a delivery truck. The alley slowly sloped down one story before curving up again at the far end of the building, and at the bottom the huge man stopped at a solid metal door.

  He pulled it open and held it as the handsome asset stepped through ahead of Semion and the young woman. The three of them walked out of the cold and into a large, dark, heated underground garage. There was a single light on at the far end.

  Semion turned back to the huge bodyguard holding the door and said, “Tuman and Graf.”

  The big man nodded and the door slowly closed behind him as he lumbered away up the cold alley.

  Inside the dark garage Semion walked with the young woman behind the asset. They advanced deeper into the garage, past rows of covered cars as her high heels clacked softly on the polished concrete floor. Semion noticed with some curiosity that his dress shoes, wet from the snow, also made noise as they squished along while the asset’s custom tactical footwear moved absolutely silently. As he watched the man’s head swiveling to scan the corners of the garage Semion remembered Brother Sacarius smiling broadly as he unabashedly quoted the small fortune it cost for this asset. “Many a mickle makes a muckle,” the old priest had said, indicating all of the small details fostered by his unique school added up.