Swimming Electric Blue Water. Samantha Holmes

aroma of baby lotion and bubblegum shampoo. Ingra must have given her a bath, Yuri thought, as he stroked her soft cheek.

      Once past the sleeping child, he followed the light into the bathroom. Smiling coyly from the tub, Ingra motioned him to her. Yuri knelt and lowered his head to gently kiss her lips. The hot water had made the lower half of her body pink. Dark curls clung to her shoulder except for one errant strand that ran across her neck and down her breast. She was pretty, with soft curves, and small hands and feet.

      She wrinkled her nose and whispered, “Yuri, you smell of chlorine. Come into the tub with me.”

      Yuri found a towel and dropped it in the corner of the room. He started taking off his clothes and his urgency showed. Watching him, she moved in the tub to give him room behind her. Yuri entered the water, splashing some over the sides of the tub. It took a moment to get into a comfortable position. Yuri’s legs were on both sides of her, and his hips and crotch pushed against her butt and lower back; they were like an affectionate bobsled team. He picked up the bar of rose fragrance soap and worked it into a lather between his two hands. Putting the soap down, he rubbed the lather on Ingra’s back. His thumbs pushed slightly along the sides of her spine, tracing down to her tailbone. She softly moaned when he moved his hands back up to her throat and shoulders. He concentrated his caress on the place where her jaw met her neck. His fingers were slick, moving easily on her lathered skin.

      He got more soap and let his hands slip around her body to her soft breasts. Her nipples were already hard as he gently squeezed them between two fingers of each hand. He heard her breathe deeply, almost like a purr. Left hand on her breast, his right hand slid down her belly and between her legs. He searched momentarily for the right spot. She arched her back in pleasure once he found it. Her hands covered both of his. She pressed harder against him.

      The orgasm left her whole body in tingles, followed by a satisfied peace. Yuri held her with both arms around her ribcage.

      “I love you, Ingra,” he said with soft conviction.

      She leaned back in his arms with her eyes closed, feeling warm and safe.

      “Let’s get married tomorrow,” he said as the thought struck him.

      “I have to work tomorrow.” Her eyes didn’t open as she spoke.

      “So call in sick,” he pushed.

      “They will know I wasn’t sick when they see my wedding band.”

      Yuri grew silent for a moment. The ring — he had forgotten about the ring. Trying to find extra money to buy a ring had turned out to be a Herculean task. Yuri had never been well off, a fact that never bothered him before. He always managed to pay the bills, but a gold ring was hard to squeeze out of his meager salary.

      Ingra looked at Yuri, seeming to sense his thoughts. “If I wanted a ring, I would marry a jeweler. I don’t need a ring.” She turned her neck and shoulders so she could kiss him.

      “You are too good for me.”

      “I know.”

      He hugged her tight, nuzzling his face in the moist nape of her neck. He held her close until their skin wrinkled and the water cooled.

      • • •

      The Svarog Bar was situated on the outskirts of Velsk, near a long abandoned lumberyard. It was the only indication that Velsk once had trees around it. To the people of Velsk, it was like a leper colony, a place where people went when no one else would take them. The average Velsk resident took long detours around the bar in case its unsavory contents spilled out to the surrounding streets. A safe distance was measured by how far a bullet could travel.

      Saviar arrived first, getting only a passing glance from the enormous figure behind the bar. The man recognized him as a regular, knew what happened to the last bartender, and didn’t want any trouble. If Saviar wasn’t a regular, the barkeep would have sized him up to either slip something into his drink and roll him in the parking lot or to have one of the prostitutes take him into the back room and work the money off him. But Saviar was as common on the premises as the cockroaches. All the money he had would voluntarily be spent on either the cheap liquor or a quick hand job in the back without any added effort.

      Motioning to a back table, Saviar called out his order of two five-liter bottles of vodka and ten beers. When it arrived, he went right to drinking the cheap vodka while he waited for the rest of his party to arrive.

      The group trickled in, loudly greeting each other with exaggerated camaraderie. An hour later, they had smoked a cloud over their heads and killed most of the beer and vodka. The bottles, now empty corpses, lay on the dirty linoleum floor. Biskovich, a fellow swimmer, was the last to arrive. He slid in next to Saviar and grabbed one of the already open bottles. Besides Micki and the two swimmers, the rest of the members of the unsightly group were from Downtown Moscow.

      “Sorry I’m late, fucking icy roads. I wish they would salt them. I was almost killed,” Biskovich grumbled, taking some quick gulps of vodka.

      “Wouldn’t that have been a fucking loss?” Saviar blurted out loudly. The group laughed on cue. It was an easy crowd to entertain.

      Everything about Saviar’s group was ugly and unfriendly. They were loud and unkempt with faces like old asphalt covered in scars or pockmarks. They glared at any man who made eye contact and leered at the waitress who, on a rare occasion, would come by to deposit more booze on the table. Tonight, no drunken patron felt ballsy enough to pick a fight. All eyes were turned away to give Saviar’s group a wide berth.

      Saviar had met the three Downtowners in a Moscow bar years ago. They instantly had become comrades; drank, visited strip joints, and did a little smash ’n’ grab robbery together. There was nothing like a little booze, sex, and crime to cement a friendship.

      “Saviar has already told you what we want to do,” Micki said to the group. “Biskovich, you still want a part of this?”

      Although smaller than the others, Biskovich had a sinewy strength, with arms like anchor rope. He wasn’t listening as he tried to get the attention of the woman a few tables over. After a moment, he noticed they were all looking at him.

      “What?”

      “Take the shit out of your ears! I said, do you still want in?” Micki growled.

      “I want a part of Konikov, if that’s what you mean. I wouldn’t back out now,” Biskovich quickly answered.

      He understood that to disagree now could make him trash in the bar’s alley.

      “I’m glad we are in agreement.”

      Micki rooted around in his pocket, pulled out some grimy currency, and handed out portions to the Downtowners. They counted the bills carefully and placed them into their pockets, satisfied.

      “Do we kill the child?” The man who spoke had stringy, dark hair falling halfway down his back. He leaned back in his chair with his pointed, steel-toed boots propped up on the table. Tattooed on his wrist was a childish scribbling of the word Dog, which was not just his name but also his fashion statement. He had unfortunately stocky legs and arms with a thick trunk that offered no narrowing at the waist. Tightly fastened around his neck, he wore a spiked dog collar. But his nose was the crowning achievement of his dog motif. It had been flattened either by fighting or intent then tattooed black to make him look like an extra from a cheap werewolf movie.

      “No, that would draw too much attention.” Micki said. “Yuri’s death will be a tragic loss to the sport and then quickly forgotten.”

      “Besides, when she’s thirteen, I think I’ll fuck her,” Saviar said with a smirk. “In memory of her dead brother.”

      The group laughed as if it was the funniest thing ever said. The excitement of the plan and the buzz from cheap alcohol made Saviar want to top it off with something else. He looked over at the woman Biskovich was making eyes at all night. She was dressed provocatively in a small skirt and tight t-shirt. Her blond hair was teased and wild, and it bounced back when touched. Thick