Grip - 5. Chapter 5

Close to Nakhimovsky Prospekt

Max had rented rooms in a ‘guest house’ in an old Soviet-era hotel that had for decades been the den of ultra low budget travellers. It was filled with a multi-ethnic clientele, some legal tourists and others illegal immigrants and cheap workers. But it had one advantage for him, still trying to find his feet in the city, it was cheap.

Moscow was a warren of monotonous apartment blocks, differing in age, sturdiness and style depending on the neighbourhood. And unlike the soaring Stalinist-Gothic structures like the seven sisters that dominated the Moscow skyline, they were neither beautiful, nor as well maintained.

Inside the huge, ramshackle high-rise dump in the heart of suburbia, amidst the sleaze, odours and coffin like lifts, Max’s rooms lurked.

His landlord was a rotund Pakistani man with a kind smile who had taken quite a shine to Max. Looking up from his newspaper just inside the steel security door in the half-renovated hall of the building, he reached forward and unlatched the bars letting the pair of them inside.

“Morning Mister Rahel,” Max greeted.

Mr. Rahel nodded and spared a look towards Jae standing with his helmet tucked under his arm, his eyes flicking to the black and white shemagh around his neck. He gave a small nod of approval when he looked back at Max. “Have a good time.”

Jae chuckled openly as he followed Max through the converted apartment that now served as a small guest house, waiting as Max pushed the narrow door open and let them both into the tiny room that was little more than a cupboard.

“Your landlord thinks…” Jae began as he squeezed around the door to sit down on the bed, looking at how tiny the room truly was. “…and this would be why, I guess.”

“Worried?” Max inquired sitting at the far end of the narrow single bed that took up eighty percent of the room.

“Oh,” Jae smirked, “sexual tension. Should I call Mrs. Cooper and get her over here too, give your Landlord an apoplexy?”

“There isn’t room,” Max said simply. “Besides on my list for kinky three-somes, you and Mrs. Cooper wouldn’t exactly be at the top.”

“We have to find you a dacha or something, you’ve got money stop being so frugal,” Jae laughed again as he kicked off his boots, pushing back up the bed and stealing Max’s pillow, dramatically putting his hands behind his head and grinning broadly. “So you know that since you brought this game up, I get to ask the first question.”

Max remained cool, reaching into the bar fridge that had a tiny television sitting atop it. Pulling out a couple of sodas and tossing one to Jae. “Go for it Mister Jiang.”

Jae contemplated his question, tapping his foot as he listened to the rhythmic tapping of the ancient air-conditioner that was rattling to life.

“An Arden XKR AJ20 is an expensive car,” Jae said finally breaking the silence and opening his eyes to look at Max. “How come, your in a room like this if you can afford a car like that? Where’d it come from?”

Max pursed his lips, cracking open the soda and taking a swig, “you want to know where I got the XKR?”

“Good place to start,” Jae said closing his eyes again.

“Pink-slip race,” Max replied.

“Pink-slip races are rare,” Jae shifted and placed a slight smirk on his face. “you’re going to have to explain that one before I let you have your question.”

“I hustled a new guy into a race he wasn’t up for; you know the type, daddy’s trust fund… graduation gifts and that kind of shit. Watched too many movies, thought his car was the shit and got in over his head. That’s what happens to guys with too much money and no brains, and I got one hell of a car out of the deal, I love my Jag.”

“What kind of race? Where? What car were you driving?” Jae asked the rapid barrage of questions while remaining serenely composed, eyes closed.

“Objection, your honour, I ain’t on trial here,” Max smiled.

“You are,” Jae reminded, one of his eyes flicking open. “You want a job, and I want to know who you are… besides this was your game.”

“Quarter mile drag, I knew I couldn’t beat the Jag in a circuit race or a cannonball run, so I put him in a race I knew I could win. I was in a Vauxhall that I’d spent a fortune getting tricked out. Once I knew I had the race, I spent a week rebuilding it for pure drag. You know the drill, stability, power… kick-ass tranny. The guy was beaten before he pulled up to the starting line… when I see something I like, I go for it.”

“So that’s your XKR’s Achilles heel?” Jae asked, with a smile. “Mrs. Cooper is amazing on the quarter mile.”

“My question,” Max said firmly. “Mrs. Cooper, tell me the deal with her and this Coop.”

“Mrs. Cooper’s husband was a real character,” Jae stated. “The real shady type who always had some scheme or another on the go. They’re both Canadian, been in Russia almost as long as it has been the Federation. They started out as school teachers, you know those TOEFL teachers that spread out the entire globe working for private schools furthering the spread of English as the world’s principle language. I think they began teaching in Saint Pete’s, and then moved here after they built a reputation for themselves…” Jae adjusted to get more comfortable.

“So you know the nineties, money, bad taste and of course street racing…” he grinned. “Any way, Coop and Mrs. Cooper were pretty good at it, back then. Awesome husband and wife team, they mopped the floor with just about everyone, built some good money. Mrs. Cooper bought her dream car, a Lamborghini and you know ladies and Italian cars…”

“But Coop was about more than just the cars, he was always after the next big score. Started to get into grafting, and dragged Mrs. Cooper in on some of his schemes.” Jae sighed. “They’d managed to get into some big scheme, I can’t remember the details of it, but they had a big payout… I arrived in Moscow at about this time, so I know the fall out…”

“What happened?” Max asked.

“What do you think happened?” Jae shook his head, “the heat was high after the score, so Coop decided to get out of the Moscow Oblast and let things cool down. Problem was, he didn’t tell his wife. He just up and emptied their accounts… hell he even sold their apartment out from underneath Mrs. Cooper… he even took her share of the score, and then just vanished. Leaving her with no home, no money, no car… and police dragging her in for questioning.”

“He just left her…” Max shook his head. “Bastard, man.”

“Mrs. Cooper’s been working hard to regain what she lost, woman on a mission.” Jae opened his eyes. “After that Lamborghini to this day, nearly ten years later.

* * *

Near to the Arkhangelskoye Estate

At that moment the object of their discussion was having a bad day.

He couldn’t believe it, he just couldn’t believe it. Surely he’d been gone only seconds and now the Lamborghini was being hoisted up into a kind of hammock by a hydraulic lift, and the parking warden was standing there, still scribbling zealously away into his Huskie computer.

“I’m sorry, sir,” recited the Warden, “but once all four wheels are off the ground, you have lost control of the vehicle. It is now the responsibility of the traffic authority.”

Mister Cooper waved the keys. “But it is mine. Put it down.”

“All the craps are on,” said the Warden.

“The craps?”

“Yessir, these are the craps. The metal craps.”

“You mean the crabs.”

“That is right, sir, they are the craps.”

Mister Cooper gave up. “Did you say all four wheels?”

“Yes, that is correct, sir. Now that all four wheels are off the ground, it is the law that you no longer have any control over this vehicle.”

At that moment Mister Cooper had an inspiration. It was technically true that wheels were off the ground. But the from pair were only a few inches up.

“What about now?” Asked Mister Cooper as he jumped on the bonnet of the Lamborghini, and it sunk its nose until the front offside wheel brushed the ground.

“See!” shouted Mister Cooper. “Now it’s mine again!”

* * *

Westbound near the Boulevard Ring

Mrs. Cooper was driving her Pajero at that moment, weaving her way along the Garden Ring on her way to work at the ultra-new and ultra-schway Moscow International Business Centre – or Moscow-City as it was lovingly dubbed. At times she considered taking the MG to work, but the small British car wouldn’t have fared well against the slushy-snowy weather and the congestion associated with rush-hour in Moscow. At least with an SUV she had the 4WD to fall back on, and of course the advantage of being much larger than the innumerous battered Lada’s that flooded the streets around her.

She drummed perfectly manicured nails on the steering wheel in irritation, wishing for the umpteenth time that she didn’t have to make that trek every day in from her Dacha outside of the city, cursing and swearing her way through city streets just to turn up at a job she hated, working for ungrateful bitches that would only criticize and look down on what she choose to wear that day…

Her blood pressure was starting to boil again, and she tore her mind away from her impending day, trying to focus on something happier.

The radio was spitting out canned Russian-Euro-Pop, not really her scene, but the Pajero had a habit of cooking her CD’s whenever she plugged them in and she’d never quite gotten around to upgrading the stereo, there was only so far the mighty Rouble stretched, and her MG and her savings were the priority.

She again had to pull herself back from thinking about debts and the cost of living in one of the most expensive cities in the world. She managed, but that was only by being frugal and limiting her personal spending on what she had to buy.

Of course that meant her clothes weren’t haute couture… which meant that the wolves at Moscow-city with their pristine offices, rich husbands and staggeringly expensive outfits always made snide comments concerning her…

She was at it again.

She checked herself out in the rear-view mirror, making sure her make-up was perfect. She’d given up on trying to impress anyone, her style was her style, and she didn’t have a boss at Moscow-city she had to administer blow-jobs to just to keep her job. They were just another client she taught English to… and in a way she felt a little sorry for them.

Of course it was a fleeting sorrow, as she was cut off by another drunk Lada driver waving a can on noxious beer out the window and screaming obscenities at her for being in his way. Considering it was her lane, and her right of way, Mrs. Cooper debated the satisfaction that ramming her Pajero’s bull-bar up the ass of that Lada would give to her. She had enough money to bribe the GIBDD Militsiya when they turned up to investigate the ‘accident’.

Of course she hadn’t always been stuck in traffic, trekking towards a job she hated… then again, if her husband hadn’t been such an asshole.

* * *

Arkhangelskoye

Who at that moment was sliding off the bonnet of the Lamborghini and onto the road, as the vehicle was jerked up into the air.

Mister Klinkov was standing by his Renault 150 authorized removal unit, twiddling the vertical line of six hydraulic knobs, and grinning. It was always fun when they went crazy.

Once a man had jumped aboard his Porsche Cayenne, manacled to the truck, and put it into reverse.

He took it up to about 7,000 revs, smoke pouring everywhere, as the Bavarian beast struggled to escape the gin. There had been a bang and a fresh convexity appeared in the gleaming black bonnet, like a rat in a rubbish sack. That had been gratifying.

Mister Cooper decided to take a different tack with the traffic warden. He made the obvious point.

“I’m a Doctor…”

The Warden looked at him.

That was just it. He had watched the vehicle like a tethered goat. He had seen Mister Cooper get out, leaving it parked in a disgracefully dangerous position.

He had seen Mister Cooper head into Delaney’s for breakfast. He didn’t believe for one minute that Mister Cooper was a Doctor on call. Mister Cooper would be the first doctor he’d seen wearing a scruffy T-shirt and Jeans whilst on a house call.

“Please, let me pay now.”

“No, you must come to the pound.”

“Why?”

“You must establish that the vehicle is yours.”

“But I have lost the papers.”

“Then you must come to the pound.”

Mister Cooper dug through his briefcase, producing a brick of cash, like the wodge the winner had at the end of a came of Monopoly, or what you got for a five USD in Zimbabwean Dollars. The Warden frowned and pretended to study his Huskie.

“Please do not force me to beg,” said Mister Cooper.

“I am not forcing you to beg, sir.”

“My wife is pregnant.”

With every second that passed, the Warden was surer that he had done the right thing. Now if Mister Cooper had said that he was escorting a Duma official on a secret assignation with a taxi-girl, that would have been one thing.

If Mister Cooper had said that he was transporting a freshly excised human liver, and that it needed to be transferred in ten minutes to a terminally alcoholic businessman, or if he had claimed to be an undercover police officer, that would have appealed to the warden’s imagination.

But to say that his wife was pregnant – that was sorry stuff. The Warden looked at Mister Cooper. Noting that the man was staring at him in a funny way, as if terrified.

Am I really so frightening? Wondered the Warden, king of the curb. He continued to tap on the Huskie.

License plate, street address, date… the details were soon pinged into space, and stored in irrefutable perpetuity in the civic database. Somewhere in cyberspace, the electronic data began to team up with other groups of electrons; in less than half a second they were having a vast symposium of sub-atomic particles, and among the preliminary conclusions would be that the vehicle actually belonged to a Mrs. Cooper…

* * *

Moscow-City

Who was, at that point, waiting in an elevator queue at one of the most prestigious office towers in the world. Of course that would have meant something if she felt like she belonged, but as the doors parted to her pre-assigned elevator and she crammed in with all the Nouveau-Riche office workers, she caught sight of herself reflected in the horrible floor-length mirrors that idiots insisted on placing in elevators under the excuse that it made them seem bigger.

She secretly suspected that it was so that office workers could preen themselves like strutting peacocks on the way up to seduce their bosses and get that all important raise…

She was respectable, a tweed jacket over a smart blouse, boots and a comfortable skirt. All bought with her hard earned money. But looked cheap next to Armani, Dolche, and of course Chanel.

Wrestling with her books and her ID tag she stumbled out of the elevator at the right floor, knocking frustratedly on the glass door while the two receptionists of the company she was contracted to continued to gab on, as if oblivious to the fact she was there.

They weren’t, they merely enjoyed the power trip that sitting there with the security access button gave them. There had been promises that she would get her own door-pass, but it had been nearly three-years on that contract and all she ever got were promises.

Allowed to pass, she was summarily instructed to wait in huge art-deco chairs perched next to a great window that showed the hulking sprawl of Moscow beneath the denizens of Moscow-City. As she waited, a lovely old lady that worked in cleaning brought her a cup of coffee and a small ginger biscuit, smiling so broadly that her weathered face crinkled.

It was like two normal people connecting in a sea of artificial boobs, Botox, peroxide and faux-tan. Real.

She went back to staring at the receptionists, who were tittering over a dashing British architect who was fumbling with a case of plans for the Federation tower that was still under construction on a near-by lot.

Under her breath, she silently willed that the unsuspecting traveller would escape the two sirens that were sizing him up for a wedding tuxedo and two children. Smiling in satisfaction when his head was turned by a young office clerk, much to the dismay of the sirens. Saved by the gay… Mrs. Cooper could appreciate that.

He flashed her a nervous grin, as he realized she’d busted him staring at the male clerk, and hurried away to his meeting. Leaving her again at the mercy of utter boredom.

Hurry up and wait was the mantra of corporate English teachers. Winging through the city from one end to the other in mad dashes to make appointments to teach painfully slow grammar lessons from useless books, usually only getting home ridiculously late to drop from exhaustion.

That was why she raced when ever she could, it broke up the monotony of life, gave her a thrill that she just couldn’t seem to find anywhere else. And soon, she vowed to herself, she’d be back behind the wheel of a Lamborghini, and the sirens and Botoxed bimbos could kiss her rosy red behind as she left that city as fast as she could heading for greener… (she missed the colour green) pastures.

“We’re sorry Mrs. Cooper, your students are in meetings today… they apologize that you made the trip for nothing…” One of the Receptionists was looking smugly down at her.

Mrs. Cooper shrugged, checking her watch, just enough time for her to do a little Retail Therapy at a mall before she had to do the commute-wait thing all over again. At least she’d have the satisfaction of having something pretty to treat herself with in the meantime.

* * *

Max’s Room

Their eyes met, and something unspoken flashed between them. It was partly instinctual, and yet somehow more than that, a connection that made Max rub his arm against Jae’s, very lightly, feeling the hairs stroking his smooth skin. Tentatively Max reached out a hand and rubbed it lightly up and down Jae’s chest. He felt Jae shift, his breathing catching lightly as Max’s hand drifted lower, moving down until his hand rested on Jae’s hips. He began to breath more heavily, as Jae obediently rolled up onto his side, allowing Max to cup his backside.

Jae started to undo the buttons of his shirt, but paused at Max’s clicked tongue.

“What?” he asked, suddenly worried.

Max shook his head, “this is my game, remember?”

“Oh, this is American rules Quid-pro-quo,” Jae observed. “I don’t remember this being in the Korean version.”

“Shut up and let me do it my style,” Max grinned as he bent down and sniffed at Jae’s socks, enjoying the clean manly smell of the socks. Taking them into his hands, he began to work the soles of Jae’s feet with his palms, enjoying the sensations of socks on his bare skin. And Jae did his best not to chuckle at the massage.

Max nodded as he pulled Jae upwards, manipulating him around so that his back was to Max. Hands running down the shirt, while Max rested his chin on Jae’s shoulder breathing in his scent. He enjoyed the fantastic sight of the well proportioned shoulders, a broad tapering back down into a slender waist. There was a longing intensity beginning in him.

He leaned around, slowly unbuttoning the shirt, easing it over Jae’s shoulders and pulling it clear of the waist-band of the trousers. He tossed it aside and onto the floor, leaning in to take in Jae’s body scent, looking up and catching Jae’s bemused grin above him. That spurred Max on, easing open the belt holding up his slacks; Jae obligingly wriggling as Max’s hand pressed over his fly, feeling the hard cylinder beneath, which he squeezed a few times before easing the zipper down past the full-blown erection in his underwear. Max’s hand disappeared inside the fly where it encountered the silky material of his boxers and Max could feel the hot, damp, sweatiness of Jae’s crotch. Tugging down his trousers, Max revealed a pert little butt covered in a sexy pair of very thin boxers, red coloured naturally.

Jae rolled down to the bed, looking upwards at Max as Max admired his trim body, flat stomach and beautiful upper thighs sticking out of the tops of his trousers. Max bent down, brushing his lips across Jae’s, startled when Jae turned his head away at the last moment. He tried again, and Jae reluctantly turned into the kiss, his hands balling in the folds of Max’s sweatshirts as they kissed, reluctance turning to passion as the Korean relaxed.

Max pulled back, straddling a very sexy, highly aroused Korean man whose boxers were only just managing to contain his excited erection.

He gave up on his own reason, leaning down to lick the flat of Jae’s stomach, slowly working his face lower to the elastic waistband of the boxers, and across the cotton front avoiding touching Jae’s manhood. Pulling back up again as he rolled to Jae’s side, repeating the gesture using his hands, this time sliding them under the band of the boxers to make contact with Jae’s bone-hard and twitching penis. Jae was highly aroused, and he wriggled again at the touch. His hand locking up and around the back of Max’s head guiding him downwards.

Max accepted the pressure drinking in the sight of the hardness before him, pale and white, standing upright proudly not-too-big and not-too-small covered by just-right amount of foreskin that make it tantalizing.

Max caught the prod in his mouth and exulted in the taste of it, it was warm, sweet and indefinably masculine, it had an intoxicatingly delightful flavour and he sucked Jae off with a will, Jae groaning beneath him as he curled into a fetal position around Max, his cock pulsing and thrusting as his groans got longer and louder.

Jae would have been content to be sucked to a climax, but Max seemed to have other ideas, reaching down to try to pull of his trousers, feeling them catch and fumbling, Jae quickly shucked them off, as if eager to get back to it, despite his initial reservedness. He looked up in surprise as Max took off his own trousers and shed his underwear, standing over Jae lying on the bed.

He watched Max fumble in a bag, pulling something out as he straddled Jae again, his eyes widening as he watched Max’s thighs parting, looking down the length of his own, now naked body, towards the cleft between Max’s buttocks, knowing what lay between them. He felt his cock lightly coated by something slick and then guided up and into that cleft by Max’s hand, feeling the nexus point, and then it was a hot ring that slid upon him, causing him to flinch against the heat and surprise of its tightness.

“No, no,” he gasped, his hands catching on Max’s shirt as he writhed, “I’ve never… no…”

Max pressed down, watching Jae mouth words that could have been Korean, or could have been just sounds, there wasn’t enough volume to them to let him tell which was which. But there was no doubt, for all his protests, Jae was thrusting his dick upwards and into Max, fucking him of his own accord as he flopped back onto the bed, his face contorted into a combination of pleasure and pain and ecstasy.

Max held him in the depths of his bowels, bobbing up and down as he stared with fixed fascination at Jae’s contorted face, panting as he bounced up and down on that ramrod hard pole. Starting only as Jae erupted up from the bed, burying his face in Max’s shirt.

“Oh God, oh god, oh god,” Jae murmured as he thrashed his head from side to side, his hands tightening into fists as they clawed at Max’s shirt. He fell back a moment later his eyes widely staring up into Max’s as Max continued to ride him.

It was like Jae was happy to be used in this way, to be ridden and enjoyed.

He must have felt the second orgasm building as he clutched at Max again, “Oh, oh, I’m…” he gasped out as Max began to speed up even more. Jae writhed and jerked, thrashed and he gasped out in his second climax, he ejaculated heavily upwards, thrusting his pelvis forward, feeling Max’s bowels clutching him tightly.

The sensitivity must have been too great as he pushed Max off of him, shivering and shaking, blinking in surprise as Max dived down again, blowing his cock, wrapping it again in his mouth and expert tongue that worked him over.

“P-please,” Jae begged, his hand curving under Max to cup his erection for the first time. It throbbed in Jae’s fingers as he worked it while Max worked on him again. Jae was desperate, he couldn’t bare the unending delight and the agonized ecstasy, as excitement raced up and down him for the third time, seizing up his brain. Max released, tensing on his own and going rigid as he shuddered, his baseball cap sliding off of his head, as he coaxed Jae to his final orgasm. He drank it down as they both collapsed down, panting in exhaustion.

Jae curled himself up in the blanket as he pulled his legs up against him, looking at Max’s ultimately relaxed features.

“Smug?” Jae asked, he picked up Max’s red pizza cap and popped it on his head so that the brim shielded his eyes.

Max beamed as he rolled up on an elbow, “you could say that. Did you enjoy it?”

Jae held up three tired fingers, “three times, brah, three times. Not bad I must like you.”

“That means I get the job, right?” Max inquired reaching out to play with Jae’s manhood again.

Jae groaned, “you broke it…” he swallowed. “You’re hired, that’s for sure.”

“And benefits?” Max asked his thumb working Jae’s tenderness as it began to get hard again.

“Yes,” Jae conceded. “Just… don’t expect too much.”

“So does this mean I have to call you Mister Jiang in public?” Max inquired idly.

“Can we just settle on you as little brother, and I’ll be big brother?” Jae requested.

“Then this is going to continue?” Max asked.

* * *

Arkhangelskoye

Mister Cooper was angry now, he looked at his watch and decided that it was long past time for him to bring this matter to a close.

“Please be so kind as to put my car down now, and stop this damnfoolery.”

The Warden sighed to himself as his Huskie began chirruping back to him.

He knew it, the Lamborghini had been reported stolen several years ago, domestic dispute so the computer read.

“Did you hear what I said?” Mister Cooper’s voice had an evil snit to it.

“I’m sorry,” The wardens said, thinking fast. “but you must come with me to the pound.”

“I’m going to ask you one last time: give me back my car.”

“You have broken the law.”

“No,” Mister Cooper sneered. “You have broken the law. You lifted the thing off the ground while we were here.”

“I am sorry, but that is wrong.”

“You IDIOT!” Mister Cooper snapped. “Tell him,” he pointed to Mister Klinkov, “to put the car down. Tell him to do it now.”

The Warden had put up with some of the worst abuse known to this coarsened, selfish and irresponsible age. He knew what to do in abusive situations, he decided that he would call the police.

Mister Cooper’s hand eased into his briefcase and closed on the dead FSB officer’s pistol he kept in there. The memory card was secreted inside the front seat, he couldn’t just let them take the car… not with that sitting there.

The Warden glanced over Mister Cooper, bill-hook nose, grubby neck, short grey-flecked hair and peculiar eyes. Mister Cooper swore one final time and stalked away, trying to figure out how on earth he was going to get his car back from the pound.

Mister Klinkov watched him go, sighing as he admitted that it just wasn’t worth it as he set about to finish loading the Lamborghini from the two-truck.

The telescoping arm of the crane jerked into life, and the Lamborghini was thrust out into the street.

The arm was powered by three separate hydraulic lifts, the first capable of carrying 2,500 kilos, the second 1,700 kilos and the third 1,300 kilo; and in theory they were all capable of lifting a Lamborghini.

But Mister Klinkov was in a hurry and neglected to remember the basic laws of physics.

He stared in panic as the expensive exotic car swung out over the street, like some mad mediaeval siege engine.

The Warden gave a curse – something nasty about a dog.

Mister Klinkov flipped the next toggle, so that the Lamborghini crashed into the bed of the tow-truck.

He struggled, like a mad child in a play house arcade trying to win a stuffed toy in the grabby machine. Easing the last extender arm and, in hydraulic pants, the car was lowered into place.

With the speed of a Formula One pitstopman, Mister Klinkov secured the metal crabs and Hessian straps, bunged everything on the back of the tow-truck, and quickly dived into the drivers seat, leaving the Warden behind to carry on his rounds as he rocked off to the pound with his glorious prize.