Mircea was having a headache so strong not even the massive painkillers he was on could dull it. The humiliation of waking up in a hospital bed, that unctuous priest at his side! That embarrassing diagnosis – arthritis of the jawbone. He would have preferred a venereal disease. There was fun in getting an STI. Old women got arthritis. Probably that old crone back at the church had it, from kneeling in front of statues all day.
Worse was Piotr and Ivan finding out. Mircea made a point of not contacting them. He managed to get the priest to go away, after having accepted some rosary beads first. He called the bar manager to come and get him, and he sent Oleg, the waiter. Mircea could tell from the minute he saw Oleg that that idiot of a bar manager had let word slip, and everyone knew of Mircea’s affliction. Unsurprisingly, Mircea’s two bosses were waiting for him at his apartment above the bar.
“The hospital, Mircea?” Piotr asked, once the door was closed behind Oleg. “What the hell happened?”
“I have a problem with my jaw,” Mircea mumbled, cringing.
“I repeat, the hospital, Mircea? Did someone hit you?”
Mircea could see the Belarus proposition fading away rapidly. He felt faint. No, no, no! This is my chance…!
“No one in the church would hit you,” Ivan said. “What happened?”
“No one hit me,” Mircea told them wearily. “I have a problem with my jaw…”
“Do you have a note from your mummy?” Piotr taunted. Mircea’s forehead grew damp with perspiration. He didn’t know how he was going to get out of this. Ivan suddenly gasped.
“They did this,” he whispered ominously. This threw everyone off guard; even Piotr snapped his head round to look at Ivan. Before he could ask the question, Ivan was jabbing his finger into the air. “The Church…they have special powers. They did this…whatever it is …to Mircea.”
As frightened by the experience as Mircea was, he glared at Ivan. “They did not!” he hissed. He thought of Michael, standing calmly but powerfully, telling him to go. He shook his head, trying to clear the image, but it only made him see stars from the pain.
“See! They’re doing it again!” Ivan cried, and Piotr slapped the back of his head.
“Shut up, they’re not doing anything!” He turned to Mircea. “You, pull yourself together. What kind of a business is this we’re running here? Ivan believes in holy spooks and you’re having a hysterical pregnancy or something. You’re making us look bad!”
“I know!” Mircea said through the agony. He put a hand to his head, and felt how hot his skin was. He was burning up with the pain, but he fought to stay steady on his feet. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but it’s not the Church.” He shot Ivan a look. “It’s not going to slow me down. I’ll handle it.”
“You can barely stand,” Piotr pointed out. “You’re wet with fever…”
“I’ll take antibiotics!”
“You need to go back to the Church and make them stop,” Ivan whispered. He stepped away, out of Piotr’s reach. “Go to another Church. Ask them to cure you.”
Exasperated, Piotr turned and savagely punched Ivan in the throat. “Would you shut up with the superstitious nonsense?! What the hell kind of show am I running here?” Ivan clutched his neck, making gagging noises. Piotr kicked him, knowing it is best to strike while the person is weakened. Piotr turned back to Mircea, pushing Ivan down to his knees with one hand. “Look at the two of you! This is not the way to do things!” He reached into his waistband and pulled out his gun, cocking it. Ivan whimpered hoarsely, and Mircea swayed on weak legs.
“He had an idea,” Mircea said, looking at Ivan.
Piotr turned the gun on Mircea. “Don’t you start-!”
Mircea held up his hands. “I’m not turning stupid, but pitting the churches against each other is not a bad idea.” Gently, he touched his jaw, experimentally opening his mouth wide. He heard a slight click, but it did not hurt. “I’ll go to the Orthodox one…I was baptised into it. See if I can make a deal, saying the Catholics pulled some black magic voodoo on me.” He loosened his tie to unbutton his shirt. It was so hot. “If the fools in this town are anything like Ivan, they’ll believe the Catholics out a hex on me. I’ll make them turn away from the Church!”
“I’m not a fool!” Ivan protested. Piotr turned the gun in his hand and smacked him with the butt of it. Mircea winced, both at the blow and the realisation that Piotr hadn’t uncocked it. Turning back to Mircea, Piotr burst into wild cackles of laughter.
“You are one sick bastard,” he said to Mircea appreciatively. Ivan moaned, and struggled to get to his feet.
“It’s not right,” he mumbled. “I don’t care what you say!” he shouted preemptorily at Piotr. “Look at what they’ve done to you,” he pleaded with Mircea.
“It is a physical ailment,” Mircea said, having troubled with the word ailment. “The Church didn’t do this, but if those stupid girls believe they did, this is great for us.”
“How are you going to get better?” Ivan asked.
At the hospital, they mentioned wiring his jaw. The thought alone made Mircea tremble. “I’ll have this seen to in England,” he said. “I don’t trust the incompetents here. Their painkillers don’t work, for a start.”
Piotr felt in his pockets for pills. He tossed a small phial to Mircea, who stumbled to catch it. “Take some of these, and go straight to bed,” Piotr advised. “But don’t get too better. The way you look so wrecked now is really convincing.”
Mircea tried to smile, but his mouth hurt too much. “Maybe I should go down to the bar, let a few more of our employees see me,” he suggested. Piotr grinned, but behind him, Ivan started shaking his head.
“What if going to the Orthodox only makes it worse?” Ivan asked in a whining voice. “If one church can do this to you, imagine how-“
Ivan was interrupted by Piotr shooting him in the leg. Mircea forgot all about his own agony as he watched Ivan slump to the floor. He stared in dumbstruck awe as Piotr grabbed the collar of Ivan’s sweatshirt.
“If we weren’t friends, you’d be dead,” Piotr spat. “I’d be putting you out of your gullible misery! Did you not hear what we are telling you? The Church did not do this! The Church did not just shoot you…is that clear?”
“I’ll tell Vladimir you shot me,” Ivan moaned. Vladimir was their boss, in Odessa. Piotr tightened his grip on Ivan’s collar.
“I’ll tell Vladimir how you started yelping like a peasant, believing the church can perform magic!” Piotr shook Ivan. “What will Vladimir think of you then?”
“You didn’t have to shoot me,” Ivan said in a low voice, and silently, Mircea agreed with him.
“It was an accident,” Piotr said dismissively. “I had to do it. A slap didn’t shut you up.” He let go of Ivan’s collar and ripped a sleeve off his sweatshirt. Putting the gun back in his waistband, he bent down and tied the sleeve around Ivan’s leg, like a tourniquet. “We’ll have to take you to another hospital. There’s one outside of town, where the drunken head surgeon owes me some favours. He’ll get that bullet out.” Ivan whimpered at the thought. Piotr grasped Ivan by the armpits and hoisted him to his feet.
“Let’s go,” he said to Mircea, starting to drag Ivan out of the apartment. “We’ll get Ivan patched up, but won’t tell the stupid bumpkins he was shot. Let them think the Church pulled some sorcery on both of you…that will scare them away!”
None of it was going according to his plan, but Mircea didn’t protest. That could have just as easily been me getting shot, only it wouldn’t have been in the leg…