He likes animals, but doesn’t keep pets. He likes people, but doesn’t keep many close. He has a lot of interests and hobbies.
None of which are traveling abroad or scholarly in nature.
This begs the biggest question, one I’ve not yet found an answer for: where does his broad umbrella of knowledge stem from? Why has his Russian improved from basic comprehension and broken simplicities to near fluency in less than five days? At the poker table, as well. He had an edge, but I was unable to discern what it was. With an exceptional mind, there are markers in a person’s life to reflect that. With Kit, there are none. All of his documented achievements are physical ones. He’s never sought higher education or won awards. He isn’t navigating the career path of a prodigy. While I’m not one to deal in whimsies, whenever his eyes fall upon me–
…it’s as if my picture is being taken. Kit’s attention is what it feels like to be recorded or photographed. Even before we exchanged a single word, it was impossible to miss that unsettling sensation. Through the lowlight of the ship’s steakhouse, and again between polychrome bursts at a nightclub. In searching for the source, I found the click–shutter of his gaze. It took some time and investigation to reassure myself that’s all it actually was. ‘Why’ and ‘how’ continue to elude, however.
Confirming that it was Kit, not an entrapment effort by local law, the sensation was no longer unpleasant. Now, it’s another rarity to be collected.
How exciting.
I’ve never been so greedy for the spotlight, for another person’s wholehearted focus. Simply by existing in his field of view, my presence becomes something permanent, as if Kit will have to carry it around for the remainder of his life. He’s aware of it too, keeping his eyes turned away all too often. There’s been more than a few times I’ve had to restrain myself from snatching him by the face and forcibly turning them back, seizing his attention by whatever means I need to. Look at me more, only at me.
Forcing anything is never as satisfying as winning it, and it’s that ideal to stay my hand every time. Every time, it proves worth my patience.
Kit isn’t the only one with an active line, unfortunately. After suffering an incessant buzz against my thigh for the last half hour, I withdraw the device from my pocket and answer without confirming the caller. Borislav is the only one who’d call so many times in a row. It’s not my favorite quality of his.
“Говорите.”
He’s able to squash the ire in his voice, and he doesn’t dawdle in getting to the point.
“Я понял.”
I’ll be arriving at his location in ten minutes, which would put me an hour and thirteen minutes behind our scheduled rendezvous. I’d like to say ‘these things happen’, but I’m not one for tardiness. I don’t tolerate it from others, nor myself. Borislav knows better than to mention it, but he’s displeased. He’s of the uptight sort to begin with, but currently, he’s muling an expensive and illicit substance. It was easier to make contact with a seller at one of the many ports of call versus attempting to smuggle it on during the initial boarding. Given the number of prominent passengers, security’s strict.
This close to the trip’s end without incident, it tends to slacken.
Every job requires effort, some more than others. My client requested Herr Bauer’s death be as discreet and believably natural as possible, meaning he can’t simply up and vanish. Neither can he be found with a slashed jugular or full of holes. It’s not that I prefer those messier methods, they’re just easier. Cheaper, far less time consuming. Fortunately, Emir Bauer likes to drink. He likes it so much, he’s finished out every day of this trip blind drunk and belligerent. He’s had multiple incidents with staff and other passengers, including his wife, as he drinks well past the point of conducting himself civilly.
Almost any death is believable in a drunkard’s case.
Myself and my two partners are, as far as he’s aware, in Herr Bauer’s employ as hired security. That’s proved to be the biggest headache, as it publicly attaches me to him in some capacity. Should there be an investigation, witnesses can place me in his frequent proximity. Getting hired at all was also tedious, requiring the fabrication of a company that doesn’t exist. But, if not us, he’d have hired others. A team of men who’d more than likely do the job they were contracted for, which would be an awful nuisance. No one but Herr Bauer is aware of our role, however. Not even his wife.
He’s ashamed of the need for protection, but aware enough to know it’s necessary.
That pride of his has reduced the workload in many ways. When inserting myself as a candidate for his security detail, he was the only man that needed convincing of our legitimacy. Of everything he’s been told, Herr Bauer only knows my face and that I hail from some ambiguous corner of Россия. He met me as Ivan, the ‘John’ or ‘Mohammod’ equivalent. Whether they’re a target or not, it’s the name I give to almost everyone.
It would be exactly everyone, but the idea of Kit begging for anything from ‘Ivan’ in the midst of sex put a foul taste in my mouth. With previous partners, it’s not been an issue. More than a leak, giving up my name was a gaping, spewing hole. That, too, was worth it.
“Za–khar, nngh! That’s–!”
I’m not sure I’d have remembered who ‘Ivan’ was. My given name intermixed with his jerky, fumbling Russian was too charming to pass over.
Borislav made contact with the seller at a boutique inn on the Cote d’ Azur, Chateau Eza. Old and intimate, it’s the repurposed remains of what was once a village some millennia past. A pile of ancient rocks cobbled together hundreds of meters above the sea, now an overpriced taste of feudalism. Borislav isn’t one to appreciate a view, and he’s waiting by the mouth of the car park, the property’s lowest level. I assume he’s been idling stiffly in that very spot for the last hour and a half. Unlike Kit’s delight, he almost can’t staunch his disgust at the ostentatious choice of vehicle as I bring the passenger side around. He does, barely. More out of fear than respect, which is just as acceptable.
Borrowing the Lamborghini was as last minute as a decision can get, less than thirty minutes before departing from the ship. Impulsive. Thinking back, nearly every choice I’ve made in regards to Kit has been. Even after he’d spent the entirety of the night in my bed, I wasn’t content with letting the clock run out on our time knowing there’d be no room to piss on it the next. Given Kit’s accompaniment, Borislav isn’t unaware of my reasons for…going the extra mile, so to speak. We’ve worked together on and off for years, and while I’ve often carved out slots for sexual conquest when there wasn’t much to spare in the schedule, these efforts are new. Unwelcome, if he were asked.
It’s not my inclination to ask.
He opens the door like he’s forgotten how doors operate, and his body language is full of awkwardness when squeezing into the stiff, unyielding seat. Granted, it’s a narrow fit for his husky shape.