THE RUDY INCIDENT

A short story about a Moscow thug who's dog gets stolen for ransom by a Kurdish lady

Kuka was a psychopath. In his 60 years of life he had killed, traded illegal arms, drugs, abused women and neglected his children from various wives. He lived in a run down apartment in Moscow off Kutuzov St. Which he had managed to confiscate from his “business partner” while forging counter fit watermarks to trade untaxed alcohol. He had the genius to have successfully won the rights to produce a watermark for the currency of a small country the name of which we will leave unspoken. He did however lose the privilege of getting paid for such work due to an unfortunate physical altercation with a minister of culture of the given country while in a drugged delirium. This escapade had forced him to escape the border back to Russia where he was hiding under a fictitious name and by his standards laying low. This mostly entailed selling illicit drugs and administering them through any means possible to his demonic indestructible body, which had at this point been pickled in a mixture of opiates and smut.

He had taken in a far removed relative Omar, who he called his brother. Omar, once a pleasant fellow, had lost his soul to a gambling addiction for many years. After losing his money, home, friends, relatives and everything else he ever cared or worked for, Omar was now resigned to serving Kuka in a form of a house pet, a slave, and a very ill equipped house keeper. The two got along like house on fire with the exception of occasional beatings, which Omar endured whenever he stole money and disappeared for days on end in gambling houses until he lost everything, and returned gaunt and guilty back to his master. With the exception of under paid sex workers and drug users the apartment was rarely visited by anyone, which at times made Kuka feel lonely, (If such a sentiment can be ascribed to him). Burdened by this transient loneliness, he had purchased a copper colored cocker spaniel, Rudy, whom he came to love dearly. In fact, it could be said that Kuka never loved anyone other then Rudy in his life. They slept together, ate together, talked with each other and shared deep secrets of woe and regret during sever come downs, when substances were running scarce and the terrors of day light began to crack through the curtains, penetrating brown smoke and human odor. Rudy and Kuka were inseparable accept when Rudy needed to be walked, task which was always assigned to Omar. Omar had no emotional connection to the dog; Omar in fact had no emotional connection to anyone whatsoever. He existed as a hologram of sorts. Despite his bulky appearance his general energy seemed strangely ethereal.

One ordinary morning. Well… perhaps it wasn’t an ordinary morning, since Kuka had been shorted in a recent sale and the penitent client had eventually sent him a 24 carat gold ring as a form of payment. The ring sat neglected on a coffee table amongst Rizla paper, dirty ashtrays, torn up cigarette boxes and a bent tin spoon. But the ring sparkled like an enchanted talisman; it sat there calling to Omar for hours. Until finally, he could no longer resist the calling, Omar took the ring. Inconspicuously of course. He placed it in his pocket and casually called to his housemate informing him of his intent to walk the dog and get some smokes. He received an indistinguishable grunt in response as Kuka drooled and snored in his stained bed. He had the habit of eating unimaginable quantities of cherries at night, which inevitably caused bloody carnage on his sheets. This seemingly benign habit made him intensely unlikable.

Around 3:30 pm Kuka finally awoke, stumbling out of the room in his tiny underwear, he savagely called for his slave who was nowhere to be found. He then stood in the middle of the living room looking stupefied, casually caressing his hideously scarred torso. “Where’s this m**********r?” He thought, as he looked around for a cigarette. He called Omar’s cell phone. No answer. He then made an important phone call to his deliveryman, scared the living bejesus out of him and satisfied with his work headed straight to the kitchen. It was a mess and it made him angry. He wanted to talk to Rudy, but to his annoyance, his favorite man in the house was missing too. He made himself a lovely omelet with tomatoes and cheese, using no less then five eggs and plenty of butter, devoured it with pleasure and rummaged around for a stash of coke. After a few bumps he was ready to do some housework. In a dopamine induced frenzy, like a good 50’s housewife on speed he scrubbed the dishes and cleaned the floors, breaking a glass here and there, but no big harm done. While he generally enjoyed such activities, he always did them with seeming anger and frustration, cursing Omar under his breath. There was something satisfying to him about attending to ordinary chores. He relished imagining the dialogue in which he would insult and belittle Omar’s inability to clean and take care of himself. He would go on a long rant about how disgusting his habits were and how repulsive he was to all his senses. He would assume a tone of a harsh teacher asking rhetorical questions such as “Why is it that nothing gets to you? I try so hard to bring you into the world and yet you still remain a peasant?” after this he would spit to the side indicating his general disgust. The feeling of disgust was the most familiar to him. These fantasies were interrupted by a shrill landline.

-Hello
-I’m sorry mister, but my mom has your dog
-What? Who are you? Is Omar there?

The child hung up the phone, he tried calling back but the number was blocked. For no apparent reason he rushed up to the window and looked down at the communal court yard, It was starting to get dark and the snow was falling over the abandoned merry go round, the place was deserted with the exception of muffled sounds of occasional cars driving by, it had snowed the night before and now the world was covered in dirty white. He tried Omar again.

-Where the f**k are you??? Call me back.

An unpleasant sense of trouble began to rise inside him; the pupils inside his speckled irises contracted and a rush of anxious thoughts zoomed through his mind. “I have a bad feeling about this,” he thought. Few minutes later the phone rang again. This time it was an old lady with a Kurdish accent.

-I have your dog,

-Who are you? What do you mean you have my f*****g dog?

-$300 meet me at the parking lot across the junkyard by Tversky.

She hung up the phone.

“M**********r”


Kuka rushed to the bedroom putting on his sweat pants. He noticed a cigarette burn but figured it was inconspicuous enough, besides, by now very few of his articles of clothing had avoided the same fate. It’s very hard to manage the burning ash situation when you are nodding off. And nodding off was his favorite activity. That warm fuzzy feeling enveloped him often and for an hour or so bladed things lost their sharpness. He could melt into nothingness and there, even death by fire didn’t matter much. He put on a marginally clean shirt and a leather jacket, grabbed his Beretta out of the side table and firmly stuffed it in his under pocket. Grabbing the ransom money was not even considered for longer then: That b***h ain’t getting no money. He slammed the door behind him and January with its -20c hit him like a cement wall. He lit a cigarette and hurried toward the indicated parking lot for the dog/ransom exchange date. It was about 5 blocks away and he decided to walk it. He walked briskly, at times skidding on the ice. As he turned toward Poklonnaya st. he noticed a commotion. 5 teenage delinquents with a Pit Bull and a German Alsatian were brawling and exchanging kind words. A stray was being pitted against the Pit Bull, the bigger dog was bleeding and squealing helplessly, while the teenage delinquents egged the muscular Pit Bull on and shouted obscenities, their faces contorted with manic excitement. Bloody dog saliva splattered across the snowy edges of the street and Kuka heard a gut-wrenching growl mixed with pain that echoed in his belly. Something about this tortured sound was familiar; it was as if he heard a distant calling of a kindred spirit. He made eye contact with the pitiful Alsatian, drenched in bloody sweat and crazed, struggling to lift himself off the ground, Kuka rushed toward him without a thought. “Leave him the f**k alone b*****s!” he yelled as he ran across the street, an old LADA whizzed behind him splashing his gray sweats with dirty sleet and mud. One of the hooligans spotted him and bolted out of sight, yelling to his mates. The boys dispersed in different directions leaving the dog on the ground. The bark of the victorious Pit Bull reverberated in the distant courtyard. Kuka stood over the dog with a grimace on his face, his speckled green eyes contracting, “Scoundrels! Ok Charlie, you’re coming with me”. He picked up the dog and cursed under his breath. The damn thing was heavy; Charlie let out a few squeals but gave up in his savior’s arms. Kuka crossed the junkyard now walking with brisk short steps, metallic smell of his companions blood brought unsavory memories. One too many times that smell meant he needed to reassess the situation. As he entered the parking lot he immediately noticed a rusty yellow sedan idling in the far right corner under a street lamp. He settled Charlie on the ground and headed straight toward it. His face and body carrying on in a menacing manner. As he neared the car he saw an old Kurdish lady in the drivers seat, her gold teeth smiling at him with a hint of witchcraft, a traditional floral scarf tightly wound around her head, deep lined round face glowing in the golden light

-Good evening mister

Her words entrenched in trickery and self-satisfaction. It made his blood boil.

-Where’s my dog?
-Don’t worry, I got your dog, you give me my money mister, I found your dog, saved him from those street rascals, you give me my money and I’ll give you your dog.
-What do you mean you found my dog? Where did you find him?
-Right by Tversky, out in the old, poor thing.
-By the liquor store?
-Yeah, yeah, that’s right!
-You mean you stole my f*****g dog! Now get out of that car get me my dog before I finish you here!

She turned the key in the ignition and he quickly stopped her through the window.

-Where do you think you’re going???
-No money no dog mister!
-Oh yeah?
He pulled the gun from under his shirt while holding her arms hostage.
-Now kill that car and get the f**k out!

The look of terror and surprise transformed her witchy appearance into that of a poor old victim.

-Why you gotta treat an old lady this way, fine fine, easy, I got your dog, let me get out of the car.

She hustled out and shuffled toward the back mumbling dissatisfactions. In the boot lay an emaciated Rudy. The sight of him tuned Kuka wild-eyed.

-You almost killed him you b***h! Give me the f*****g keys!
-Wha… no, no, don’t take my car? How am I going to get home?
-I don’t give a s**t. He grabbed the dog and transferred him to the back seat. The Kurdish lady started to curse, but he ignored her. He drove off and parked it by bleeding Charlie.

-’Common, let’s get out of here.

He situated the rescue dog in the front seat and yelled out the window.

-Get your piece of s**t car at Gena’s place and I don’t want to see you around, or you know what’s coming!

He heard her yelling back in the distance, but the city sounds muffled her voice.

Few minutes later he was dragging the dogs up the stairs and cursing Omar under his breath. After situating Charlie on a rag in the dim hallway, he fixed some food and drink for everyone. Sat down on the couch and lit a joint. “What a weird day” he thought. As he exhaled a string of random thoughts floated out like swirls of smoke. He remembered being 7 in the country house in the mountains. He remembered the sweet smell of rotting cherries. The Kurdish woman looked like his mother. His dad was always cheating. Omar probably had stolen some money again. A doorbell interrupted his daydreaming. In the door stood a sturdy nurse.

-Good evening citizen, do you occupy this household?
-Yes?
-We need your signature to release patient Konstantin Dudayev into your care. He just completed a dental procedure and is still dozed from the anesthetic. It is imperative that you monitor his urination. He needs to urinate every two hours.

-I’m Kuka Dudayev… (Realizing the situation he stopped himself.) Oh for God’s sake. Fine, fine.

-Could you please follow me downstairs?

They headed down silently, each lost in their own thought. Kuka was irate but he was not going to show what was brewing until the strangers were out of sight. As he approached the ambulance car he saw a slightly worried but still sedated expression of Omar in the window.

-Hey, Kuk…
-F**k you
He mumbled quietly at him.

-Citizen, if you could hold him from this side…
She struggled to get Omar out of the ambulance and they walked him to the front door.

-It is imperative that he urinates, he declined the catheter, if he doesn’t urinate his kidney might fail.
-Fine, ill make sure he takes a leak, all right?
-Good-bye. Your general will be in touch tomorrow.

Kuka stuffed some money in her scrubs. Her general annoyance turned to a faint smile as she turned to leave.

-Where’s my insurance card you m**********r!!!!! You stole my teeth! I was waiting for those for months!

-No, no, you don’t understand… I had to. There was a situation at the casino.
Omar said, smiling with his brand new set of implants!

Kuka planted a hefty kick in his behind. Omar stumbled over the couch, still drugged, he couldn’t keep steady. Collapsing on the seat he sat there stunned and slightly sad. Slowly a wet stain emerged between his legs, his arms fumbled loosely for a cigarette. Charlie and Rudy growled at each other. The room smelt of piss.

Author's Note

any feedback is welcome, please note this is my first time getting my writing out there.

Reviews

[Raymond Federle]

This is a compelling write and I always enjoy criminal stories and it interests me greatly. For your first write it is coming along nicely! My secret for great writing is, proof read, proof read, proof read, when you get time! I often go back continuously after writing a story to improve, reword and try to make the flow of conversation better. I did not have much trouble following, however some might from the lack of quotation marks to signify the narrative, in some parts. I often use italicized words to convey what some one is thinking as well. Just an opinion on my part...ultimately you are the creator and know what's best for your work! Well done.... :)

[Sophie Konstantine]

Thank you so much for taking the time to read it and review it! I will definitely look at it again. Since English is my third language I probably should do it 100x more then a native speaker, but some times I just don't catch it, so any feedback like that is a god sent!

[Raymond Federle]

My door is always open for advice and reviews. I would be interested to read more of this piece when you post it! :)

[Nusquam Esse]

Let me just start by saying that this is an EXCELLENT write. It is unique, and it carries a very creative atmosphere. It is not often that I read something which has this sort of perspective. You should definitely follow Raymond's advice (he is the one who referred me to this). The quotation marks are a good suggestion.
Now, because English is not your native language, here are some typos I noticed; native speakers would pick up on many of them after several proofreads, but it is easy to miss them otherwise.
counterfeit is a single word.
You are missing 'a' in "like a house on fire"
under-paid should be a single, hyphenated word
and severe is missing an e
day-light is also a single hyphenated word
and instead of accept you should use "except when Rudy needed to be." and you need an a in front of "task which was always assigned"
For the part where Kuka stumbles out in his underwear, I would either omit or change 'tiny' in describing underwear. tight, underwear which was two sizes too small, revealing... they would all work better.
For the part about him eating the omelet, I would rephrase it as "he devoured it with pleasure (gusto might work too) and began rummaging around for his stash of coke."
You said "An unpleasant sense of trouble" would probably be better expressed as "An unpleasant feeling of unease" You are also missing 'A' from in front of "Few Minutes later"
When you talk about him considering bringing ransom, I would rephrase the ending to "considered for longer than a "That b***h ain't gettin no money!"
When the Kurdish lady takes him to the back of the car you say "in the boot lay an" I honestly have no idea what this is saying, did you mean back? If so you are best avoiding the repetition of the word.
When he picks up Charlie, you should say "rescued dog" not "rescue dog"
"Sat down on the couch and lit a joint" you are missing a transitional word, perhaps use "Before sitting"

[Sophie Konstantine]

Thank you so much for your review, I so appreciate all of your feedback!!! Thank you, thank you, thank you!