Kiss Off!

By Ivaylo Gogov

The lone traveler Emil Milev again finds himself in a criminal vertigo: crimes, unspoken reproaches and revenge. Strange events and crazy new acquaintances do not allow him to leave the small town - not before leaving his mark deep in it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ivaylo Gogov
• Release date: Aug 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005655235

Ivaylo Gogov

Born: Ivaylo Gogov on March 24th 1973.Studied: High School of Mathematics in Sofia, Bulgaria.Graduated as Landscape architect at the University of Forestry in Sofia, BulgariaWriting professionally since 1990 as a writer, screenwriter, novelist and poet.11 novels published on paper, 8 poetry books and 2 collections of short stories as well.First book published: January 200021st book published: April 2020Favourite place: Rila MonasteryFavourite author: Lee ChildFavourite song: Orion, MetallicaFavourite taste: EspressoRecently: writing a new book.

Book preview

I’m forty years old and my life is already plenty screwed-up. And by screwed-up I don’t mean two days late on a mortgage payment. Ha! What I wouldn’t give to be one of those regular people with a stable nine-to-five job, a career, a family and a home… Even an overdue mortgage payment.

But that is not how my life turned out. Call it bad luck, fate, misfortune… To me, it’s been about survival. People have their strong suits and shortcomings, their valuable qualities and annoying habits—a mixture of causes to feel pride or shame. I am no different. At least in this one regard, I blend in with the crowd. I’m sure I have plenty of rough edges. But I also have a certain unique ability—to survive. No matter what happens, I always manage to survive. At least, I have so far.

But my real talent, with a capital T, is to mess things up. To spoil, ruin, destroy and botch. With enviable consistency and tenacity, no less. Each debacle is worse than the one before. And it happens so easy! Six months ago, I was on the brink of disaster. I acted like an idiot and was this close to meeting the Grim Reaper. I narrowly escaped with my life. I’m still recovering from the experience, at least physically.

I remember staring into a dull, flaking mirror, choking on the ball of self-pity stuck in my throat. I was trying to figure out what I had done wrong and the answer was hard to swallow. It was then and there that I decided I needed to change. If I wanted to remain among the living for at least a couple of years more, if I wanted to be at peace with myself, I had to change. I had to stick to a handful of basic principles: mind your own business, don’t get curious, keep your nose out of other people’s affairs, don’t go looking for trouble, don’t talk to strangers.

2.

That was exactly what I was trying to do for the past two days. I had been minding my own business and keeping my nose out of other people’s affairs, I had been careful not to get curious, look for trouble or talk to strangers.

And then I saw her. She was standing on her tiptoes and peering intently at a rusty sign showing bus times. The hood of her windbreaker was constantly slipping down over her eyes as gusts of biting wind kept making her turn her face away from the cold. The outline of her mysterious profile stood out against the light from the streetlamps, the harsh headlights of cars passing by flashed anxiously in her fearful eyes. The unfortunate pair of sneakers on her slim feet was quickly taking in water from the puddle she was standing in. Her jeans were torn in a couple of places and the tears didn’t appear to be a fashion statement. Dark slashes were visible on her bared white skin. If I had any money, I would have bet 10-to-1 odds that these were marks of freshly dried blood. The cigarette pressed between the fingers of her left hand had long burned out. Her right hand was twitching in the rhythm of the tremors wracking her fragile body.

Are you OK, miss?

Her head snapped in the direction of my voice and her pale eyes speared me in the dim light of the streetlamps. There was a world of despair and worry in her eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, but then her knees gave out and her head swayed to one side. I reached out and caught her a moment before she could crumple into a heap on the muddy road. Even lax, her body was light and nimble. I helped her sit on the bench underneath the sheet-metal bus shelter and propped her delicate back on the cold plastic back of the bench. It wasn’t my first time having to bring someone around. And yet, for some reason, I just stood there uncomfortably and couldn’t think of what to do. I just watched her helplessly and prayed that she came to on her own. I know nothing of medicine, but I had seen enough sick, wounded and dead people to recognize that this strange girl was getting worse by the second.

I shook her delicate shoulders and went to slap her cheeks but then thought better of it. She had such exquisitely beautiful features that even the raindrops on her face seemed offending.

Maybe I was supposed to take her to a hospital.

It was half past ten in the evening and I was at a bust stop in the outskirts of a strange town without baggage or money. I was beginning to feel cold. The strong wind lashed at my face, raising chills all over my body. My wool coat was too flimsy to shield or warm me. At least the rain was letting up. It wasn’t half bad for early December.

Actually, the town seemed familiar to me. Not because I had been there before. Such places rarely make you want to visit a second time. No, it seemed familiar because I had passed through towns like this one. The thought gave me courage. I knew there would be a hospital. I also knew where I would find it. By the town square, next to the police station, the fire department, the town hall, the post office, the one local hotel and the school. There might or might not be traffic lights.

I had been standing at the bus stop for about ten minutes when the girl showed up. In that time, no buses had passed in either direction. Just a couple of cars. I had no reason to expect busier traffic any time soon.

I turned up the collar of my old coat, took the girl in my arms and started walking. The pavement was slippery underneath my feet. I tried to avoid puddles. At least in the beginning.

If you have ever had to carry someone in your arms, you probably know the deal. Your load starts to feel heavy after twenty steps, then the pain sets in fifty steps into it. After a hundred steps, you are ready to get rid of your load. By my calculations, I had two kilometers to the town center. I had never been one to cower in the face of difficulties, though. What was good enough to scare me, however, were the headlights of a stopped car beaming into my eyes.

The vehicle was blocking the road. I was going to have to skirt it. Every now and then I like to use big, fancy words. For example, confrontation. It sounds more academic, more formal. But it also fails to convey important details—one’s racing pulse, tense muscles, straining tendons, clenched teeth, narrowed eyes and skin pulled tight over one’s cheekbones. Or the first verbal salvo before the inevitable happens.

Kiss off! a male voice came from the open car window.

I didn’t really bother to have a look. I just vaguely registered the silhouette of a man with a cigarette in one corner of his mouth. It was a rough voice. Heavy on irony and self-confidence. Nasty. A voice that told me you’re in trouble.

My inner voice told me run.

A third voice, that of the idiot in me, whispered relax, everything will be fine.

The car door opened and the man with the cigarette got out. He was taller than me and showed clear signs of steroid abuse. He had the look of a bad guy. Not that I could see him all that well. The headlights were still blinding me. But not enough for me to miss the gun in his hand.

Where to, Romeo?

Sometimes I wish I had made better use of my youth. By training martial arts, for example. At least, long enough to learn self-defense. But no, I was so far from martial arts, I couldn’t say their names properly!

This is why I have a tried-and-tested strategy for unexpected run-ins with large, armed men. Pretend not to notice them. Lest there be some confusion, by tried-and-tested I don’t mean successful.

The man raised his gun. His hand started to shake a little.

Get her in the car.

I supposed he meant the girl.

Honestly, I wanted to. I wanted to leave her. Let someone else take care of her. I had enough problems as it was. Unfortunately, the guy in front of me didn’t seem the caring type.

I tried to go around the car and walk down the wet road to the town center.

This time, the outstretched hand holding the gun was more assertive. In the sense that it smacked me across the face. I staggered to one side before I could regain my balance. That gave the bulky fellow an opening—one huge mitten grabbed me by the neck and stuffed me in the car. I felt the sting of sharp pain at the back of my head—the scumbag had given me a good blow. Before collapsing onto the backseat, I managed to muster enough strength for the only sensible move I had left. No, I didn’t smash the pest’s face. I laid the girl down on her back. The last thing I saw was her jumbled wet locks. A moment later, darkness and quiet engulfed me.

3.

I woke up freezing. It was still dark and quiet, but I no longer felt the soft upholstery under my cheek. I was lying on a concrete floor. A terribly cold concrete floor. My body was shaking uncontrollably, which was probably what had woken me up. I dislike trembling, even in my sleep.

There was no sign of the girl. Or the guy with the gun. Still, my intuition told me I wasn’t in the clear, not even close. If you have ever woken up on a cold concrete floor after encountering an armed beefy fellow, you know what I’m talking about. I saw nothing good in my near future.

It was time for me to split.

It wasn’t until I tried to stand up that I realized my arms and legs were tied. Pretty securely, at that. I was wrapped up in rope like an Egyptian mummy—from my feet to my knees and from my wrists to my elbows. My hands were tied at my back.

I was no saint. I had found myself in nasty situations more than once—those usually involve nasty people. This wasn’t my first time lying tied up in the dark. Being naked was a first, though. Alright then. The tiny sliver of optimism I had left started to dissipate. I was in deeper trouble than I had realized. There was one piece of good news in all of this—at least I wasn’t dead.

Plus, it wasn’t completely dark. A thin strip of light filtered through what I imagined was the crack beneath the door I had been carried through. I heard voices. They were coming from a distance, muffled and distorted from bouncing off of naked walls. There were two voices—one calm and quiet, the other gruff, loud and angry.

Did you see her shoulders? That idiot!

All that matters is we found her in time. Imagine what she would look like if…

I’ll skin him alive! I’ll cut him to pieces!

Easy.

Easy?! I’ll gouge his eyes out, the fucker!

First things first. We need to question him.

Let me…

No. I’ll talk to him. Go wake him up and bring him here.

It finally dawned on me that they might be talking about me.

My personal experience had thought me that being in the presence of two angry men when your arms and legs are tied can hardly be called an advantageous position. I had no time to dwell on my situation, though. The door opened, letting in the glare of bright light. I squinted and turned away.

The burly silhouette of my kidnapper filled the doorframe. I couldn’t be completely sure, of course, because all I could see through the narrow slits between my eyelids were his shoes.

He came over, leaned down and grabbed my ropes. He proceeded to drag me to the room next door. He dumped me on a rickety wooden chair, roughly flinging my arms over its back. He went to stand two steps in front of me and fixed me with a stare.

Past episodes in my life had already made me appreciate the true meaning of the phrase bad company.

At least this room was warmer.

When my eyes finally adjusted to the light, I quickly came to the conclusion that entering this town might have been a mistake. Yes. I would have been much better off sticking to the main road once I had gotten out of that truck. By now, some other driver would have taken pity on me and driven me some hundred kilometers south. Perhaps next time I would do exactly that. And find better luck.

I didn’t really believe that, though.

It was the same man. He was holding a gun again. This guy had some psychological issue, pointing a gun at my head from the moment we had met. The other guy worried me more, though. He was sitting on a similar rickety wooden chair and wasn’t even sparing me a glance. He was looking intently at the table before him, focused on his work. He resembled a servant polishing his masters’ silverware. The trouble was… those were no forks and spoons. The set was mostly made up of scalpels, awls, pliers and syringes. A shiver ran down my spine.

What’s your name? the servant asked without looking at me. Despite his broad back, he was small and wiry. His hair was shot through with strands of silver, the skin on his neck was wrinkly. He had to be fast approaching retirement age.

I asked you a question.

Life had taught me not to be quick to answer. Not until I knew the type of people I was dealing with.

Well? His voice was truly calm and quiet. Cat got your tongue?

I remained silent, trying to figure out what I had done to draw the attention of those two. Why had the beefy fellow stopped me on the street and brought me here? I had nothing special or valuable, aside from the good genes I had gotten from my mother.

The girl.

The girl had to be valuable to them for some reason.

I scanned the room. There were two chairs, a table, two doors and two metal lampshades hanging from the ceiling on thick cables. The walls were bare, causing even the servant’s monotonous voice to ring. There were no curtains, which struck me as logical since there were no windows either. The place looked like a barn, sounded like a barn, smelled like a barn. So, I was in a barn.

The girl was nowhere to be seen.

She needs a doctor, I said at last. Take her to a hospital.

The man with the rangy set of instruments finally turned to me. His eyes betrayed no emotion—no surprise, no anger, not even curiosity. He was studying me with utter indifference. Just as a butcher would examine the corpse of a slaughtered calf before he starts dismembering it. He was an even-tempered, methodical type. A professional.

The beefy fellow was an altogether different story.

What did you do to her, you idiot?

His fist smashed into my face and my head snapped back. Blood started gushing out of my mouth. I traced my tongue over my teeth to check if they were all still there. The blood was coming from my split lower lip.

The servant stood up, came over and pushed his friend to the side. He leaned over me and stared into my eyes.

What is your problem, man? the bulky fellow spat out behind my back. You can’t get it up, is that it?

His partner’s raised hand shut him up. The ensuing silence was punctuated by the heavy breathing of the burly fellow and the creaking of the chair beneath me. Both sounded like they were about to fall apart.

The servant shook his head, then narrowed his eyes at me.

What brings you to this town?

My patience has its limits. And spilling my bleed is a surefire way to make me lose my cool. Plus, I didn’t like those guys. It was nothing personal. I rarely take a liking to people who kidnap, tie and beat me. And so, the words just burst from me:

I stopped by your mother’s place.

The beefy fellow roared and lunged at me with murder in his eyes. But the wiry guy stopped him. He leaned closer to me and attempted a smile. To be honest, his smiling face looked even nastier. Sinister somehow. Or maybe it was his whispering that made it seem that way.

Perhaps it’s time for you to realize just what a pretty mess you’re in.

The man went back to the table. If my personal experience was any indication, we were about to have some fun time playing with blades. I wondered how much pain I could take before passing out. I had read somewhere that men are not as tough in their forties as they are in their twenties. Would have been nice to know what those two wanted from me…

I had had a scalpel dangerously digging into my soft tissues before. A couple of the more fidgety fellows wielding those blades left scars too. I doubted these guys could surprise me.

The wiry servant proved me wrong. He returned to me emptyhanded. Not counting the color photo in his hand, that is. It was a picture of a beautiful young woman who looked familiar to me. Ah, yes. She reminded me of the girl at the bus stop.

This is Elena, the man provided, shoving the photo in my face. Elena Arnaudova.

The name was obviously supposed to ring a bell for me. But it didn’t. Her eyes captured my attention. Hers were crystal-clear blue eyes, piercing, cold and lonely. The eyes of a desperate woman who had grown up and managed to survive in an arrogant and brutal men’s world. Or maybe my imagination was running wild.

For your information, Elena is the only daughter of Mr. Kiril Arnaudov.

That name didn’t ring a bell either. Apparently, I wasn’t up to speed with the latest news. Hardly a surprise. I didn’t watch TV and the last time I bought a newspaper was back in the spring. Even then, I needed it for something other than reading the news.

The man placed the photo back on the table and gave the beefy fellow a nod. That was all the encouragement he needed. The first blow knocked the breath out of my lungs, the second felt intended to knock the kidneys out of my body. If he kept that up, I wasn’t going to make it through the night. Somehow, he managed to get a grip on his temper and step back. Blood was trickling down my chin and I could barely hold my head up. My left eye was already swelling up, my nose throbbed painfully. If nothing else, now I knew those two had no intention of killing me. Yet. Otherwise, they would have done it a long time ago.

When Mr. Arnaudov’s only daughter goes missing, I, personally, get worried. Especially if it happens to be on my watch.

Why the hell had I decided the wiry guy looked like a servant? A hawk. He resembled a hawk—a predatory, cunning and deft creature.

The longer I search for Mr. Arnaudov’s missing daughter, the edgier I grow.

If circumstances were any different, I would have advised him to have some mint, hawthorn and valerian tea. It had worked wonders for me before, calming my nerves. But this guy didn’t seem open to taking advice from a stranger.

When I finally find her and she’s half-dead, that makes me see red.

Maybe Xanax was what he needed. His pal too.

So that was the deal.

Those two big fellas were the girl’s personal security detail. She was probably kept in a gilded cage. Probably for good reason. She had somehow managed to escape and throw herself into scandalous pleasures. They had to have looked for her everywhere—to take her back home before Mr. Arnaudov found out his naughty girl was gone. They had found her, true. But if memory served, she wasn’t all that well. Add to that the things I had overheard while lying on the concrete floor and I could only imagine what awaited those two when daddy finally learned. I was beginning to understand why they were so mad. I also got that daddy’s girl had secret friends. Friends she could go to or who would help her get out of her gilded cage. Some spoiled rich brats or the scum of the local community, it didn’t really matter. What mattered was they were idiots. People who didn’t think twice about leaving Kiril Arnaudov’s daughter high and helpless in the town outskirts on a rainy night in early December.

It was increasingly looking like I was about to pay for their stupidity.

No, boys. I’m not your guy and I have to tell you this before you pummel me for no reason.

You have me confused with someone else.

As it turned out, my split lip and swollen nose had me speaking with a lisp.

Hawk looked to the ceiling as if the answers to all of his questions were written there. Or perhaps the questions to all of his answers.

"Let me tell you what happened. You met her in one of those small restaurants at the parking lot by the main road. You had a couple of drinks, flirted some. Then you thought yourself a stud, scoring a date with such a cool chick. So, you cough up a twenty for a motel room. You spike Elena’s drink and drag her to the room. You try to rape her, but she fights you so you are forced to smack her around a bit. You must’ve put something in your own drink because you obviously overdid the slapping part.