Penguin Lost Read Free

had left her in his care.
Back when the dust settles
, he’d promised, but those bent on killing him had got to him first.
    From Metro Bridge, Viktor went by metro to Left Bank, then, on foot, to
Casino Johnny
.
    Different faces, but same hotel foyer, same heavy velvet curtain, same booth for encashing chips, and a guard to be slipped a couple. Placing his bets at the nearest table, Viktor watched three drunken youths do the same. The tiny ball danced the wheel under the indolent gaze of a young croupier. Everything about him proclaimed the night to be young! Another three hours and the real fun would start!
    Watched just as indolently by Viktor, the little ball stopped on ten, losing him his stake. Staking more chips, he lost again. The effect was sobering. The three youths fared no better, but took it calmly, as if that was what they had come for. But why was
he
here? Because last time, staring death in the face but playing to forget it, he’d discovered he couldn’t lose?
    He played a few more times but without success, as did one of the young men until ten chips were shovelled his way, while Viktor’s got shovelled off to the enrichment of others.
    Enough, he decided, dipping into his pocket for more chips, and stepping back from the table, watched the others for a while. A waitress served the palliative of complimentary champagne, and this he drank before going to cash his remaining chips.
    “You’ve had luck,” observed the cashier, as Viktor produced two handfuls of chips.
    “10%’s yours.”
    The cashier counted. “You’ve $800 worth here.”
    “$800 then,” said Viktor, knowing he was being done, but not prepared to argue.
    In fact, as he discovered, checking in the toilet, he’d been given $760, but wasn’t worried. Exchanging toy for real, he’d been bound to gain.
    The one depressing thing was that his run of luck at the table was clearly at an end. This second casino visit was to be his last.

4
    That here was a man with nearly $800 in his pocket was plain to see even in the night lighting of Kreshchatik Street by the look on his face, and the way he strode ahead, dodging no-one, making them dodge him. Twice some young girl over-scantily clad even for a mild summer night called to him as he passed. A little later, by Café Grotto, a third with a boyish haircut and massive shades parked on her forehead, challenged, “Not so fast – you could be missing something!”
    Surprised, he stopped. She was petite enough to miss.
    “Have you somewhere?” he asked.
    The sunglasses dropped into position, leaving only a smile.
    “Yep. Let’s go.”
    “How much?”
    Deftly she plucked the protruding wad of dollars from his pocket, folded it, and slipped it back. “This’ll do, but put it away. Why show off?”
    “I’m just careless. What’s your name?”
    “Svetlana.”
    “I’m Viktor.”
    “Come on.”
    Past Friendship Cinema they went, then up Lutheran Street, making as for Pechersk.
    “What do you do?” she asked, not greatly concerned.
    “Polar explorer,” he heard himself say.
    “So, labour camp?
    “No, in the Antarctic.”
    “On an ice-floe?”
    “Sort of. We had a dacha-like set up. Penguin protection was my thing.”
    She laughed.
    “Pull the other one.”
    “No,
really.”
    “Well, Mr Explorer, here we are.”
    Gates of a kindergarten – sand pits, swings, main building, shrouded in darkness, and the prospect of sex
alfresco
a bit of a turn-off.
    “Not to worry – I’ve a magic key,” she said brightly, opening a side door and motioning him into an unnerving silence.
    “It’s all right. There’s no-one here.”
    Then up to the first floor, where their soles squeaked on parquet. She opened a door, and in the dim light that penetrated from the street, he saw rows of child-sized beds made-down army fashion. The plumped-up, carefully aligned triangular pillows took him back to the Pioneer camps of his Soviet childhood.
    “Don’t just stand there,” Svetlana said, pulling