LITMIR.BIZ

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know him?’

      Jones sniggered. ‘Not the giant, the barmaid.’

      ‘Here.’ Svetlana brought the beers. She no longer seemed happy and hurried back to the bar.

      Jones took a long swig and then stood. ‘I’m sorry, I need a slash. Bladder can’t keep up with me anymore.’

      Snow continued to assess the threat and the giant continued to stare, until another man appeared in the bar. He wore black jeans and a black T-shirt with ‘Café Bar Standard’ printed on it in burgundy. On seeing the giant, he paused before walking to the bar. Snow watched as the new arrival started to polish glasses as the giant spoke to him.

      ‘Hokay, Vlad!’ Jones shouted as he emerged from the bathroom a minute later.

      Vlad held up a tea towel but said nothing as the giant now glared at Jones.

      Jones sat and noticed the expression on Snow’s face. ‘What’s up?’

      ‘I think the big fella is bad news, Michael.’

      ‘What, him? He’s just a bloke having a drink. You’ve been away too long.’ Jones produced a new packet of Ukrainian cigarettes from his jacket pocket and fiddled with the polythene wrapper.

      ‘Maybe.’

      A glass smashed at the bar. The giant was pointing at Vlad with his index finger.

      ‘Shit.’ Snow sighed, getting to his feet. He’d seen enough shakedowns in his time to understand what was happening. ‘Michael, stay in your seat.’

      ‘What?’ Jones looked up from his cigarettes. ‘Oh, I see.’

      Snow placed his empty glass on the counter. Svetlana was sweeping the floor with a dustpan and brush while Vlad stood, frozen like a rabbit in headlights. Snow spoke in Russian. ‘Two more beers, please, and…’ He studied the face of the giant. ‘…Whatever you’re having.’

      The big man’s heavy forehead furrowed. ‘Vodka.’

      Vlad looked between the two men as he pulled the beer and then poured a shot of vodka.

      ‘Two vodkas.’ The giant grabbed Vlad’s wrist and scowled at Snow. ‘One for you, too, unless you do not want to drink with Victor?’

      ‘I’d be honoured, Victor,’ Snow said.

      With a shaky hand, Vlad placed the glasses on the bar before retreating. Victor took his glass and Snow copied. There was a moment’s hesitation and then both men threw the contents against the backs of their throats. Victor checked Snow’s reaction to the harsh spirit. There was none.

      ‘Who is your foreign friend?’

      Snow shrugged. ‘He’s an English-language teacher.’

      ‘I have always wanted to learn English.’ Victor’s face became whimsical. ‘So I can tell foreigners to get the fuck out of my country.’

      ‘That’s a good reason,’ Snow said.

      ‘I am sick of seeing all these Westerners around Kyiv! They swagger like they own the place, throwing their money about while, in the East, our men without the correct clothing or equipment or weapons die fighting for Ukraine. And what do the foreigners do to help Ukraine? They call the Russian President and tell him he must stop!’ Victor rubbed his face with his palms before placing them on the bar. ‘Another!’

      Snow knew Victor was right, but what could he say? He just nodded at Vlad who again quickly poured two shots.

      Victor raised his glass. ‘Ukraine.’

      ‘Ukraine,’ Snow repeated

      Victor swivelled his head. ‘I am from Kamyanka; it’s a village to the south of Donetsk. The DNR have destroyed it. And why couldn’t the Ukrainian army defend it? Because they did not have the equipment! Do you understand?’

      Snow remained silent; Victor was dealing with some powerful emotions and likely to explode at any moment.

      ‘I hate foreigners. They sit, drink, shit, and pay to screw our women. That is all.’ Victor looked now at Snow and said mockingly, ‘Thank you for the vodka.’

      ‘You’re very welcome,’ Snow replied as he collected his beers and moved back to his table.

      ‘You made friends then?’

      ‘He’s from the Donbas. He likes me, I’m a nice guy.’

      ‘That’s because your Russian is too good; ironic, eh?’

      ‘What’s ironic is that he doesn’t like foreigners, and he thinks you’re foreign.’

      ‘Well, as an ethnic minority, I am offended! Does he not know about the significant historical links between Wales and Donetsk? Donetsk was founded by a Welshman who opened Ukraine’s first mine and steel works. Ukraine’s first state school was opened in Donetsk, and the first English-language school.’

      ‘You looked it up?’

      ‘Of course. Ukrainians like it.’

      ‘Well, big Victor wants to learn English.’

      ‘That’s nice.’

      ‘He wants to learn English so he can tell all us foreigners to eff off.’

      ‘Make him the Minister for International Relations.’ Jones puffed on a new cigarette.

      Snow slurped his beer. ‘Seriously, Michael, he’s trouble, but he’s not sober so his guard’s down. I suspect he’s part of a local protection racket.’

      ‘Roof insurance.’ Jones used a well-known euphemism. ‘Aye, that’s one thing I thought Maidan got rid of – the crime and corruption. I got stopped by a militia officer the other day who wanted to see my passport. I told him I didn’t carry it around with me for security reasons. So he said I had to pay a fine of $50.’

      ‘What did you do?’ Snow was sure he’d heard the story before, but now it was updated for modern times.

      ‘I did nothing. I was walking with Ina. She told him to piss off or she’d report him.’

      Snow smiled. ‘You don’t argue with Ina.’

      ‘Too right. When we got home she did report him.’

      There was another crash at the bar and Victor wobbled. He staggered towards Snow and Jones. ‘Teach me.’ His two words of English were slow and slurred. He raised his voice. ‘Teach me!’

      Snow got to his feet and held up his palms. ‘OK… OK, have a seat and we can discuss this. We’re not the enemy.’

      ‘Enemy?’ A grin appeared on Victor’s face. ‘Tell the foreigner to give me his money, and you give me your money. You then can both fuck off.’

      ‘I’m Welsh,’ Jones said. ‘A Welshman founded Donetsk!’

      The giant frowned and, without warning, but with unexpected speed for a man of his size, dropped his shoulders several inches and shot his mammoth right fist out at Snow. Snow instinctively took a step back and, with both arms working at once, his left palm swatted Victor’s arm down while the back of his right fist slammed into the giant’s nose. It was a simple but effective move; no one throwing a punch expected to receive another back before theirs had struck. Victor blinked and retreated a half-step. Snow reversed the momentum of his right fist and struck the man in the jaw. Victor’s legs buckled and he landed on his knees. He had to go down; Snow didn’t want him to be able to fight back, given his size and inherent strength.

      ‘I am from Oleg. He says you don’t come here anymore. Oleg is in charge here!’

      ‘Oleg who?’ Victor was dazed.

      ‘Oleg.’ Snow high-kneed Victor under the chin; his head snapped back, his eyes closed, and he fell. ‘Michael, we’re leaving.’

      ‘Hokay.’

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