Buying summer dresses was fun. Because Stacy was so slim, she didn’t need a fitting room. Anything that would fit the average Russian woman could easily fit over her bodysuit and bunny outfit combo. Admittedly because she spoke the Central Russian dialect and this was the Southern Russian dialect region, Stacy probably got worse prices. But everything was still cheap to someone who had lived in Moscow for a while.
Stacy purchased two summer dresses, then returned to find Riley in distress.
“I think Naz meant it as a joke. But our three teammates look so much like gopnitsa – and with two of them Central Asian and not known to locals, that the police took an interest in them.”
“Oh, no,” Stacy sighed. “Where are they now?”
“Taken away.”
“This is terrible… we’ll have to rescue our teammates from the local police?”
“Say, I have the money,” Riley said. “I’ve heard it is pretty cheap if there is no police alert. I should just hand over some rubles, and they’ll let our teammates go.”
“Nope,” Stacy said. “There is already enough corruption in Russia. I don’t want to encourage bad behavior whenever possible.”
“So…”
“I’ll talk to the police.” Using what she thought was her journalist’s skills at talking to people. Or put her Tranquility Aura to work. Whatever possible to get a good result.
“Here, come with me, I’ll drive,” Riley said, even though she looked a little uncomfortable at the idea of driving such a huge car.
Riley’s own car in Lithuania had been a three door hatchback Mazda 323. When Riley bought the car, it was already over ten years old. Which was about equal to the waiting time for a Soviet buyer to get a Lada. Riley had to change the clutch, there was no air conditioning, but this used car gave her far fewer problems than the average Soviet buyer would have with a new Lada.
“You have the keys?”
“Naz has a key fob, and I have the backup key fob,” Riley replied.
Then as Stacy and Riley went towards Birrak, they saw Naz coming back. Alone.
Naz said that the police had let her go.
“I think it’s because I speak unaccented Russian. And also how I look. So they decided I was a local, and let me go without asking for ID.”
Naz spoke Southern Russian dialect. The other ZIL members spoke Central Russian dialect.
“Taip, if they actually asked for ID, they wouldn’t believe your real ID.” Riley said.
Stacy agreed. If Naz had shown them an ID from Georgia, the police would would be more likely to think that Naz was really a criminal and member of some stereotypical Kavkaz syndicate, rather than a random Southern Russian with red hair and blue eyes.
“But what happened?”
“They didn’t ask for ID. After talking to all three of us, they said I could go. And they took Angel and Marilyn.”
“Did they say where?”
“No,” Naz said. “And Angel seemed to be wanting to go with them. She didn’t resist and even gave me a smile and a nod.”
“Oh… whoops…”
At that moment, a police Lada came slowly down the road.
Riley instinctively moved to the side and slid smoothly behind a tree. Stacy reflected that Riley did it so naturally and unthinkingly, that probably she had been conditioned to do this since young.
Not surprising. The Soviet population didn’t normally go out of their way to avoid the police, but neither did they readily trust or believe in the police or authority figures. Lithuanians’ view of Soviet authority was at the extreme end of that distrust.
And Naz? Naz didn’t react. Stacy reflected that both Naz and herself fell within the range of looks that were unexceptional in Russia.
“Naz?” Stacy asked. The police car was moving very slowly, maybe twenty kilometers per hour. That would give Stacy and Naz over two minutes before the police car reached them.
“I don’t hide from the police; I haven’t done anything wrong,” Naz said.
Stacy decided to ask a leading question. She was curious about how Naz thought.
“Do you think it is because you look like you belong in these parts?”
The answer to this question was always interesting to Stacy. At the end of the day, human beings did discriminate on the basis of appearances. Which meant different people had different experiences in different locations.
In the United States, Stacy had fitted in superficially as a ‘white’ person in most places. Most people took her as white at a passing glance, so the police did not bother her and authority figures generally did not discriminate.
Stacy had also experienced racial hostility a number of times in the USA, primarily from subaltern groups like black people when she wandered into ‘their’ areas.
But in Europe, where ‘white’ populations were a lot more homogenous, Stacy’s slightly Mongoloid features took on great significance. If the population was Finnish for example, they tended to fall within a limited range of Caucasoid appearances. And for historical reasons, Finns often felt that they didn’t completely fit the European family. So they were traditionally very observant about ‘Asiatic’ appearances.
Any immigrants in Finland would look very Kurdish, or Chinese, rather than having a mixed racial appearance. So someone who looked mostly Caucasoid, but had just that bit more Mongoloid features than anyone but native Sami in Finland, was easy to identify as the Finns’ biggest enemy: Russian.
Stacy had gotten the same unfriendly treatment in Estonia.
In Russia, Stacy did not look exceptional and was generally able to blend in. But in Chechnya, the population was racially homogenous so there was no way for Stacy with only 1/4 Chechen blood to fit in. Chechens actually have a much broader range of appearances than their small borders would imply, but Stacy still didn’t fall within that range. So everyone identified her as a Russian or Tatar right away.
Smiling made a huge difference. Russian authority figures and anybody in Chechnya on ‘official biznis’ didn’t smile. By smiling, Stacy immediately differentiated herself from these Russians whose ‘official biznis’ was extremely unwelcome in Chechnya.
So how would Naz answer that question?
“I’m red headed,” Naz replied. “We stand out everywhere except in Scotland, Ireland and Udmurtia.”
“So no point in hiding like what Riley is now doing?” Stacy asked gently. She noted that Riley had casually disappeared into the shadows of a nearby alleyway. Riley had done this very smoothly and unobtrusively.
“But do you feel you belong here?”
“Say, are you making a pun?” Naz returned. (The Russian words for redhead were somewhat like the name of the city they had just come from – Rzhev.)
“No pun intended,” Stacy replied. “Just wondering whether you’ve ever felt singled out for race, ethnicity or nationality. I’m sure the local police took Angel and Marilyn because of their Central Asian origins.”
“That’s the funny thing about it,” Naz replied. “As a redhead I was often bullied or singled out when growing up.”
“Yes, I’ve seen that too,” Stacy commiserated. “As someone with mixed origins I was always a little careful, sympathetic towards minorities. I didn’t like that many people blame or tease or bully redheads.”
“You never said even one mean thing about a redhead?”
“Not within my conscious memory, no,” came the answer. “From a very small age, I avoided any nasty or mean language directed against people for their race, ethnicity or appearance.”
Stacy lifted her hands. “I’m actually quite fortunate. Since I’m the product of four different ethnic minorities, I wound up looking a bit like everybody in Northern Eurasia. But if anyone were to come up with a hate campaign against Chechen ancestry – that would be me. Against Turkic ethnicity – that would also be me. Against Muslim backgrounds – also me. Against Siberians or Asians – me again. And I fit superficially within the general Russian population. So if other nationalities hated on Russians or Russian-speakers, I’ll always be swept up also. So I’ve always avoided singling anybody out for mean treatment. Always tried to moderate other children’s behavior. It’s an instinctive reaction since childhood.”
“Oh.” Naz looked quite pleased. She looked down the street at the police car, which had halved its distance to them by now. The police car had not speeded up, which suggested that Naz and Stacy were not drawing any negative attention.
“Remember the commonplace Chukchi jokes in the Soviet Union?”
“Yes, I do. Always thought they were super exotic. All the way at the opposite end of the Union from me,” Naz said.
“An isolated group that is not even 0.01% of the whole population is easy to stereotype and mock, I guess,” Stacy said. “But I never liked Chukchi jokes. My parents and grandparents always told me to respect others. So I’ve never laughed at Chukchi jokes. Or repeated these jokes either. Made myself scarce when I noticed someone telling these jokes. Guess it was one of those things that set me apart from other children even when very young.”
“Well, when I was young I didn’t think it was good to be a redhead. Got too much attention,” Naz said. “But as an older person, surprisingly it has become a little bit useful. Redheads stand out, but it also means I’m automatically differentiated from anybody within a standard category.
“Quite possible,” Stacy said. “If a redheaded person robbed someone, it would be immediately reported as a crime by a red headed person. And if the police were looking for a robbery suspect who was not explicitly described as a redhead, they would definitely rule you out right away.”
“That’s right,” Naz replied. “The police really do not bother me at all. Once in a while people ask or hint at whether I am Jewish, but I’m not and I say it.”
“But what if some redheaded person committed the crime? Naz, you would be scapegoated quickly!”
“That’s the funny thing,” Naz said. “I think we redheads get scapegoated and bullied so much as kids, that we all know to keep a low profile when we mature. I think redheads have a lower crime rate or something. Or we all dye our hair before doing anything bad. I haven’t been the victim of any mistaken identity when the police want to find a particular redhead.”
“Anyway…”
“Here come the police,” Stacy said. “I wonder if they’re going to try shaking us down for a bribe.”
But as the Lada pulled closer, it became apparent who was sitting inside – Angel and Marilyn. Angel was wrestling with the steering wheel, a grouchy look on her face. Apparently this provincial Russian police car was not sufficiently well maintained that it could be driven easily. It was making more noise and belching more smoke than the standard Lada in rural Russia. Which meant it was in much worse shape than the average Lada in Kazakhstan.
Finally the Lada came to a shuddering halt ten meters away from Stacy and Naz.
Angel and Marilyn got out. Marilyn had to try a few times before she got the door open on her side, while Angel simply forced her door open by ramming her shoulder against it.
“That’s it! I’ve really had enough of this bokh car!” Angel exclaimed and slammed the door, which fell off.
The street was filled with the loud clattering sound of a car door. Stacy winced, hoping that nobody else had heard or was paying attention.
A laughing sound emerged from an alley nearby, where Riley had been watching unobtrusively from the shadows. At least, it was unobtrusive until Riley lost control and started laughing. (Nobody had noticed how Riley made it to the alley from the tree.)
Stacy was a little concerned. “The police…”
“They’re not the police,” Marilyn shrugged her shoulders. “Just local conmen posing as police, hoping to shake down Central Asian migrant workers for money and sex.”
“Looks like they didn’t get any sex.”
“They did get some stimulation in their genitals. From me,” Angel said without hesitating.
Stacy didn’t know what to say in response. She felt bad at having exposed her team to bad treatment. What could she have done differently…
Wait a moment, Angel didn’t seem unhappy or upset at having to satisfy…
“I had to get on my knees, but it was worth it,” Angel announced without a trace of embarrassment. She licked her lips like a predator having had its fill of prey.
Marilyn had the broadest smile on her face. “They really were intensely stimulated.”
“Oh?” Riley had emerged from the alley and was listening.
Marilyn continued: “plenty of fluids came out…”
Riley made a face.
What Really Happened
The two policemen led the black gopnitsa into an abandoned house.
Black was a racist term used in Russia for darker skinned ethnic groups, mostly originating from other ex-Soviet republics. Because Russia is a very high latitude country, most people are very fair skinned. By the standards of other countries, what was ‘black’ in Russia was still quite ‘white’.
Kazakhs, Tajiks, Chechens and Avars are some of the lightest skinned Muslim people anywhere. They were often lighter than Italians or Greeks. Yet in Russia, they were routinely called blacks.
The policemen often brought prostitutes or girlfriends of petty crooks here. If the prostitutes or molls gave satisfaction, they or their men would be released.
It was just all in a day’s work for a corrupt policeman. Ever since the socialist state had collapsed, the police really didn’t have anything else useful to do. As long as they followed their orders from Moscow, they got paid and life went on.
There were two gopnitsa today. One was taller, with black hair, brown eyes and clearly Central Asian features. The other was petite, with brown hair and green eyes. She looked somewhat Ossetan or Tajik.
The black haired woman actually seemed quite happy as she went on her knees and tossed her hair. She had a eager glint in her eye.
The other woman, the one with brown hair and green eyes, was smiley too. But her body language suggested discomfort. So the first woman was definitely preferred.
…
Very good, the men thought to themselves. This Central Asian bitch knew what we wanted, and she even looked ready to please.
Admittedly the woman seemed to be significantly more muscular than average. But maybe she was just a construction worker. The Soviet Union had female construction workers. Now there were many female manual workers from Central Asia working in Russia. Doubtless they had gotten used to demands from the militsya, and were fully prepared to serve up what was wanted.
Of course, if the policemen were not so complacent, they might have noticed that the eager glint was a steely one. But they were used to getting their way, so why not?
The two men stood around the Central Asian woman on her knees. She reached up towards one man’s belt. But seemingly as though she wanted to make sure the other policeman was included, she tooked back at him and at his fly especially. She seemed to be thinking.
Then it happened.
The woman was facing one policeman with her arms raised to the level of her head, which was about the same level as their two waists. Then she jerked her right arm backwards. Her elbow slammed hard into the crotch of the policeman who was standing partly behind her.
“Ooooofff!” The man was in such pain he couldn’t even scream, because he was sucking in air endlessly.
The woman’s right arm, now crooked backwards, shot forward. She landed a straight punch directly on the first policeman’s crotch.
“Aaaaarrrrrr!” The man wanted to cry out, but it was so painful that he could only make a gurgling sound.
The elbowed policeman was drooling. He also foamed at the mouth.
The punched policeman was in such terrible pain that he thought his gonads had been shoved up back into his abdomen. His lower stomach couldn’t take it anymore, so he collapsed on his knees and started vomitting. He couldn’t help it. He just puked and puked and puked…
Angel stood up and looked at her two defeated opponents. Both men were in such pain that they were barely conscious at this point.
Why had Angel chosen to do this? Because she wanted to take out both men in one shot. She didn’t know how well her teammate Marilyn would fare, but she knew that Marilyn wasn’t much of a close combatant. Snipers were long range attackers and mostly poor in hand to hand combat.
Angel was normally a straightforward person who didn’t use strategems. The default Angel, still in operation until last week, just marched forth to brawl and grapple with enemies. But now Angel had met up with her Mentor, and he had spent two remote sessions with him already. Her Mentor was clear: Angel had to fight smart too.
What if Angel beat up the first policeman, and turned around only to find that the second policeman had overpowered Marilyn and was holding a gun to her head?
“Wrestling is a suitable tactic only at the right time,” Angel’s Mentor had warned her in their first session. “Don’t even think about wrestling unless it’s really a one on one situation. Melee fighters in a team have to draw the enemy’s attention. You have to be out there, in the frontline, engaging the enemy. And if there is more than one enemy, you need to keep them focused on you.
Because if the enemy gets past you, they might be able to take out your spellcaster, your range attackers, your leader…”
And it was with this in mind that Angel drew the two policemen’s attention to herself. That way Marilyn was protected.
“All right, time to restrain them,” Angel said to Marilyn.
The two women swiftly extracted the policemen’s guns and handcuffs. Then Angel started removing one man’s belt.
“Angel?” Marilyn sounded uncomfortable.
“It’s all right. I’ll get the other guy’s belt too. You go back to their car and grab a roll of that police tape.”
Marilyn swiftly made herself scarce as Angel started stripping the belt off the second policeman’s pants. After that, she also removed both men’s bootlaces. And commenced tying the two men to each other in an uncomfortable, contorted position. Mrilyn came back quickly with the police tape. It was meant to cordon off a crime scene, but now would be used to cordon off the criminals instead.
Conclusion
“Did the opposite of tusau kesu,” Angel said.
Naz and Riley were looking confused. Stacy thought she’d help.
“Tusau kesu is a Kazakh custom where parents cut ropes binding a child’s feet. It’s meant to symbolize a bright future.”
“And I gave them a bright future – by tying them up to prevent them from committing more crimes,” Angel smiled happily.
“I also helped out with tusau kesu,” Marilyn added. “By placing four items within reach.”
“Oh?” Naz didn’t quite understand.
“I put one piece of broken tile, one piece of broken glass, one handphone and one police bullhorn. At different cardinal directions. These men were tied together. So they had to cooperate to crawl to one item, and use it to either cut the tapes and bootlaces, or to call for help.”
“Oh, so that was what you were doing when I was trying to start the damn car!” Angel said.
“All right, Angel and Marilyn, so do you feel confident that we don’t need to rush off and avoid the police?”
“We don’t need to,” Angel said. “And I’m done with gopota.”
“Wait, no need to get rid of the clothes,” Naz spoke up. “Now that we can make ourselves look gopota, let’s keep the clothes. We can always put on an act in future if needed. I’ll just remember to get a flat hat for myself next time.”
“Next time we might as well get a music player,” Marilyn grinned.
“I know where to find the right songs too,” Naz said as she clenched her fist and tapped her chest twice with her thumb and index finger. This was a gesture often used by street gangs. “A band called TbilisiThieves. Blatnaya pesnya music is the perfect accompaniment for gopota. Every possible stereotype will be deployed.”
Angel didn’t object verbally, but she rolled her eyes. “Criminal genre music, huh?”
“Hey, most people avoid gopota,” Naz said. “Looking and sounding gopota is the best way to avoid being disturbed by locals.”
“Unless you look Central Asian,” Angel said. “Then you become a moving wallet for corrupt local cops.”
Riley plastered a big smile on her face. She hadn’t bought any Hadidas. And her body language and mannerisms would probably not fit anyway. “And Naz, where are you going to find the music? By pirating it?”
Naz gave Riley a sweet look. It didn’t work since Riley was female.
…
As the ZIL members chatted next to the (disguised) Rolls Royce, some sounds came from within. Riley had set the radio to the local police band.
“Hang on,” Riley said and waved a hand suddenly. “I think these are real police.”
“Real police? With that kind of professionalism – and that kind of garbage car?” Angel snorted.
“Even in Uzbekistan the police have better equipment – I mean cars,” Marilyn added perkily.
“It’s true. Someone put out a police alert to look for two people.”