Page 105 of Violent Possession
which one was it
What do you mean
which malakov
What do you mean which one??? The fkinhg Malakov
the name.
what was the malakov’s name.
WHAT KUND OF QUIESTION IS THAT
THE BIG MALAKOV. THE ANIMAL
IVAN I THINK
His father ran everything with his brother before he died
ivan?
u sure?
i thought it was vania
Are there women in the Malakov family?
no
he’s a man
Vania????
Vania is a man’s name?
it’s a prostitute’s name
I’m gonna have a stroke. I’m serious
MEET ME TODAY
WE NEED TO TALK
This bar is our meeting spot because no one ever remembers having been here. I hate this place, I hate the smell of cheap detergent mixed with sour beer and the resigned mold on the walls, but I keep coming back because,here, no one notices me. The red neon sign outside only flickers occasionally, part lit, part out. Seen from afar, the patrons exist only as shapeless blurs behind the fogged-up windows.
I wait for Marcus, sitting on one of the broken benches outside, my back against a post. My cigarette burns slowly. The mechanical arm—my new toy—still throbs, as uncomfortable as a newly transplanted organ. I like this feeling. The discomfort reminds me that I’m alive. That there’s something in me that belongs to no one, not even Alexei (not even whenthe organwas a gift from him).
Alexei. He left his fingerprints on everything around me. The black bracelet tightens on my wrist, and, under my coat sleeve, the weapon—the arm—is an extension of his will. Alexei improves me, reprograms me, releases me into the world so I can devour it in his name. And I accept it more than I should.
Maybe no one ever knew what to do with me before him.
I watch the street’s movement. The neighborhood has no proper name, just a set of derogatory nicknames, each worse than the last. Every corner has its story of kidnapping, execution, or overdose; even the lampposts seem stained with old blood. It’s hard to believe that, right there on the main avenue, there are mirrored buildings and cafes where normal people discuss movies and health insurance plans. Here, the only thing under discussion is who will walk away and who will leave in an ambulance. I try to imagine Alexei frequenting these dirty bars before becoming what he is, but I can’t. He was born ready to be stuffed into an expensive suit.
It’s ironic. Marcus thinks the Malakovs are the pinnacle of threat, that their violence exists at the top of the food chain. Little does he know: Alexei is just the brightest symptom of a disease that has been consuming this city since before we were conceived. He has the gift of making any tragedy mundane. He offers me a cigarette when he knows he’s offended me with someshit, kisses me as if he wants to devour me, and gives me access to the security cameras of his own home. He teaches me to play the game while he already has me in checkmate ten moves ago.
And, while one Malakov breaks a promoter’s legs, the other Malakov was going down on me. Before he touched me like that, I don’t remember ever sleeping so deeply in my entire life.
The street is empty, except for a beggar wrapped in trash bags. He looks at me with recognition. We are the same. Two remnants of something nobody wanted to recycle.
