“Welcome back to STUDIO 198.9 with the one and the only Brother Brutus, the man who puts the bass in your face. That was 'Have You Seen Her'
by The Chi-lites. Stay tune for more of Sol city’s best selection of funk, jazz, soul, and disco…”, the disc jockey faded out and was replaced by an overeager salesperson hocking mattress or some other accoutrement.
Sasha tuned out the onslaught of garish commercials and focused on his emery board, scratching his nails into fine points. It had certainly been an intriguing last few days to say the least as yesterday after the ill-fated jazz shindig the cops took Lupe into custody for allegedly violating his supervised release, while also picking up Khorshid for questioning over some incident involving the woman that so rudely interrupted their fun. It was quite amusing to watch a team of police officers bust up early morning tea at Lyla MacConnel’s place; that sweet old lady sure had a mouth on her and Sasha was certain that she already at the courthouse with her legal team following through on her profanity-laden threats to entangle Sol City and its police department in another frivolous yet lengthy lawsuit. Despite the protests of his chimp who screeched loudly at the cops Khorshid was escorted out in his glittering pink pajamas (due to the fact that as a holder of dual citizenship the police more than likely considered him a flight risk), while Lupe was dragged out by a plethora of officers as he blabbered something about police brutality. The police searched the premises for Bob, but having made himself scarce after Monday’s events it was no surprise that he eluded capture. Sasha merely provided the card of his lawyer to an officer.
Though his Khorshid possessed a childish ignorance and Lupe was a hothead Sasha truly believed his cohorts knew when to lawyer up considering this was not anyone’s first rodeo with the law. Sasha had really no recollection of what occurred on stage after he had that hunk of a man pinned under his body…needless to say he had other tantalizing thoughts occupying his mind at the moment. It was quite the shame that the sprinklers caused the crowd to panic interrupting their tender moment, Sasha was so looking forward to being further acquainted with the object of his desires. Staring down at his nails as he admired his handiwork, though he despised how his cuticles tended to dry in the winter months. He made a mental note to stock up on some La Mer’s hand treatment.
Sasha was truly unsure where Khorshid’s manservant was and perhaps that was for the best. Come to think of it after all these years Sasha came to realize that he did not even know Bob’s last name. Though if he had to hazard a guess if Bob was not holed up with one of the Indian’s old lady admirers he was on the lam elsewhere. Sasha was not privy to the inner workings of Khorshid and Bob’s odd relationship and was unaware if they had some kind of plan for situations like this, but regardless Bob had proved himself rather resourceful in the past and perhaps the workhorse was relaxing on some undisclosed beach sipping a Bellni glad to have Khorshid out of his hair for the time being. While, most people would be under immense stress with the law breathing down their neck like this, Sasha was nonplussed as these events certainly paled in comparison to the clusterfuck that was the group’s excursion to Cabo San Lucas last August. The fact that the trio, Bob, and ugh…his stupid ex-boyfriend managed to sweep those “shenanigans” under the rug only served to further highlight the impotence of the proverbial long arm of the law when it came to dealing with fiscally enabled people.
Sasha made a sour expression as he had not thought of his former flame in a few months, when Curtis walked out shortly after Cabo it left a gaping hole in his soul that he has yet to fill. Damn that…umm… Marcella? Marcy? Maranda? Maria? No, wait was totally Marilania Olympus, the very same woman from the Old Starboard. Well ain’t it a small world after all. Well damn that bitch for making him recall that slut Curt. He tossed his emery board aside in frustration.
“Is there a problem Mr. Kuznetsov?” slyly asked the woman driving his 2017 Lykan HyperSport. “No”
, he sternly retorted.
If being reminded of his former fling wasn’t bad enough due to this irritating investigation he was forced to be escorted around by his nemesis of sorts. Tanja Danka Struna was the Tallyrand to his Napoleon in the sense that she was a thorn in his side that he could not fire as she not only worked directly under his prestigious uncle, but she was held in great regard by the old fool. He was did not care what her actual title in the Vencorp International was, it probably something verbose like Senior Security Consultant when it should be ‘Buzz-killer’ or ‘Female Version of Zazu from Disney’s the Lion King’. She was nothing more than an over-glorified babysitter who was occasionally brought out by Aleksey Petrov to watch over his wayward nephew in times of trouble. It was clear that this waste of space would be staying for the foreseeable future as Sasha had never seen his favorite Uncle so angry, provided Aleksey was still unaware of the goings on in Mexico or this measure would have been implemented earlier. Perhaps his uncle was enraged about all the negative press his company received over the Jazz fiasco; there was even concerning article from The Blaze
that attempted to link Vencorp International to the legal arms trade in Africa.
Though the writer of that particular piece seemed to be remorseful about how the hunt for the truth was a double-edged sword and no matter what the outcome was in cases such as this ripple can be damaging for generations. The article goes on to say, “…unfortunately in cases such as these determining copiability in such acts can be a philosophical conundrum. If one unknowingly eats from the table of an exploiter are they inheriting the host’s immorality? Are the sins of a relative your sins? I honestly do not know, but after my confrontation with Ms. Romus perhaps I have been thinking perhaps it should not be the job of the press to determine such things…”
Tanja was there to ensure Sasha was actually showing up at his cushy job, to reign in his exuberant spending, slowly ween him off illicit substances, and steer Sasha away from the spotlight...certainly all weighty tasks. The raven-haired nag was certainly an obstacle to overcome in his pursuit to living life at the limit, but his Uncle could not keep him on probation forever and once this blows over Sasha was certain things would return to normal.
Sasha hated actually having to show up at the office and deal with the peasantry, it was utterly exhausting. Pedantic meeting after pedantic meeting. What a snore. He could not even fit in a game a Squash in as he only had a measly hour lunch. What a joke. He utterly loathed the Rat Race and the nine to five life was certainly not for him. Working in general was certainly not for him.
“For dinner I was thinking that we should stop at the Shawarma Palace….” “The Shawarma Palace!? Surely you jest. You know that my refined pallet cannot handle such slop. I thought I explicitly instructed you to make reservations at Hideaki.”
“The price for dinner there is approximately $600 per person, not including beverages and tax. That is completely out of your Uncle’s proposed daily budget.” “Per person. Ha! You honestly expected that I would further ruin my day dinning with the likes of you. Please. Since it been what…nine or ten years since you last had the pleasure of basking in my presence perhaps you’ve forgotten that the help stays in the car. You’d do well to remember that. Now take me to Hideaki you stupid cu…”
Tanja slams of the brakes of the multi-million-dollar car bringing them to an abrupt stop and causing Sasha to lurch forward. “Hell to the no. You won’t be addressing me such disrespect boy. Yes, I called you a boy because that what you are a twenty-six-year-old boy. You’d do well to remember Sir that I work for your Uncle’s company as do you. As for help, the kind of help you need is certainly outside my parameters. You know the reason I am here to bring your spoiled ass back to reality and this isn’t nine years ago. Now your Uncle approved emergency measures to combat your irresponsibility. You ever hear of failed states. Well right now in the eyes of the board of directors you are failed person. While, your Uncle is in good health the board is spooked by the whole Gaétan Cyrille situation; no one wants a power vacuum like what happened at Visionetworks. To put this simply you stand to inherit everything should your Uncle become incapacitated and the board members fear that despite the safeguards as owner and majority shareholder you’d ruin the entire enterprise into the ground like the Cyrille heirs did. This is your last chance to shape up Mr. Kuznetsov. Now let’s be adults and enjoy a nice meal at an affordable price.” “Fine…whatever. I am not in the mood to argue.”
As the car sped off towards the restaurant the wheels in his mind were already turning. The Perfect Posse might be broken today, but Lupe was already on the fast track to being released as once the charges against him were dropped by the journalist he had battered the state would most likely drop the criminal prosecution. Khorshid was probably already released as the cops could not hold him indefinitely without pressing charges, they would probably just monitor his passport and whereabouts. If Bob could stay hidden for the duration of public interest in the Swan Songs debacle he could just resurface at a later date and claim through a lawyer that the woman in question asked for the drugs. Soon they would have their revenge and Perfect Posse would be stylin’ and profilin’ once more.