Adventure Across the World

Adventures on the other side of the World: Chapter 1

This is not a political opinion piece. It is just the setting to establish a mix of cultures. The following is set a year or two in the future when life is calmer and less subjective. It is time to rebuild...with the worlds help. This story is not intended to be in a hurry, I am building a deeper story and it will be a slow burn. If you are looking for quick sex, please look elsewhere. All the following, people, places, and things are a figment of my twisted mind.

"Well...this was a fucking stupid idea," Drew stated out loud, with a shake of his head. He was being flippant. He knew coming to Ukraine was a good idea, on many levels. It was just the realization that persons within his own office had 'sugar coated' the conditions he would find. His escort turned her head slightly, embarrassed, and slightly worried about this foreigner.

He kept walking as he surveyed the 'furnished' apartment assigned to him. It was trashed. Most of the furnishings stolen or broken. It had been a fight zone though, and 'one had to make allowances' he had once been told by a mentor.

'Yea, screw that!' thought the slightly overweight, 5'7", 63-year-old Drew. 'My football coach used to tell me, getting the shit kicked out of me by guys a foot taller was 'building character,' he thought quietly to himself.

'Yea, well screw that too.' Drew mentally reminded himself, 'I already have 'lots' of character.'

It was not like Drew had not roughed it before. Living and working in Central America was a learning lesson for 'making it work.' He had to admit, Costa Rica was at least within the realm of the Latin culture he had grown up with. The landscape and norms were easy to flow through.

Back in the USA and Central America, Drew had gotten a reputation for certain skill sets. The problem had always been, the skillsets were for fixing

other

people's broken, wrecked projects. Each time it took ten times the energy to slam in, figure out what was wrong, change staff and get the flow of logistics back on track.

And this was one huge screwed up, broken project.

Not that he would admit to it, but this new adventure was a bit outside his comfort zone. Moving halfway around the world into a culture he had only read about but not lived. It was time zones and culture clashes away from his comfy home in San Luis Obispo CA, USA. Being a huge history buff did not help him in this moment, but his mind settled back to the here and now.

'Why he was here?' he asked himself, 'well money of course, but a deeper feeling he recognized, 'to make it work' his go-to axiom for life.

'Was it worth the life force he would need to expend?' Drew asked himself.

'But

and it was a big 'BUT', the money was fantastic.

And...

it was a big 'AND'... he considered this his last great adventure before final retirement.

At 63, he had lived 80% of his life. This mathematical calculation was completed after much wine and maudlin feelings regarding lack of sane female companionship. So, based on too much wine, a calculator, and the average life span of a white guy in the US, 80% of his life had been spent on chasing a career, family, social standing, or simple dollars.

His friends had argued with him regarding this trip. But as he pointed out, no spouse, nor even a steady FWB held him back. His kids were grown and on their own. He only heard from them when they needed money. He could come back from this little adventure owning a house. Not something so easily said in the California real-estate market.

IF

he came back, of course.

As for the Ukrainian apartment, it was large. The term 'huge' could be used. The industrial style 'great room' was ten times the size of his little cottage that sat unoccupied back home in the US. This apartment was located near the edge of downtown Kyiv

[sp1]

, on the second floor of the condo/apartment complex. It even had a freight elevator two doors down.

Not that the freight elevator worked.

He slowly spun in place looking at what he would do with all this space in the long, and short-term. The space had high vaulted ceiling as one would expect from a factory that had been repurposed for high end apartments/condos. It was the eastern European's interpretation of a NY apartment with a lot more floor space than he had expected. It had a wall full of industrial windows. Only a few had bullet holes or cracked panes of glass. Three decently sized guest bedrooms, an oversized office, a large galley kitchen, and a living room/Great Room were on the main floor. The master bedroom was a cantilevered mezzanine, open and above the lower rooms. Multiple bathrooms were located on the first floor, as well as an ensuite for the mezzanine master bedroom.

"We will have it cleaned today, Mr. Scott," commented Yulia, his new assistant.

"Yes, WE will," he commented but paused. Drew looked at the attractive young woman and wondered how she had kept herself together after what he had learned from her dossier.

She had a graduate degree in architecture. She was in her first year out of university when the dust-up started. She was currently employed by the Cultural Ministry of the National government. Fluent in English, Ukrainian and Russian with a smattering of Polish and German language thrown in.

When the fighting started, her life came crashing down. He had read her file. Her parents were killed by a missile strike. Brother killed while fighting. Her fiancé lost and presumed dead.

He felt that someone would find him in a corner sucking on his thumb, babbling like an idiot, if he had suffered such losses.

"Yulia," Drew started, "lets come to an agreement." Drew paused. "You have been assigned to me for how long?"

"For as long as you are here in Ukraine, Mr. Scott," she responded from sexy, pouty lips, as he looked into her beautiful exotic eyes that only women of Ukrainian stock seemed to have.

"OK, so you are now my right-hand person and will be treated as such. The name is Drew. I wish you to always call me that. Is that understood?" He paused to see her finally shake her head in affirmation.

When Drew had been informed that she had lost her father and brother in the war, he understood the potential ramifications. She was without male relatives. While not an issue in the States, in other countries it could or would make a difference in how she would be treated. He had seen the same issue in his work in Central America.

"Good, your job during my deployment is to keep me out of trouble. You are to stop me from saying or doing something that may anger or humiliate those I am dealing with. You are to always be brutally honest with me. Be as honest as my daughter, God bless her little hard-ass soul." Drew stated as he righted a lone broken kitchen chair.

Yulia looked at this older, slightly soft bellied American and somehow knew he was being honest. She did not trust foreigners. Most were here to loot her disheveled country of what monies were left. She had been stuck working part time for three other foreigners before the switch to this one. All three had tried to get into her panties from day one.

This one was odd. She could see he found her attractive. All women learn the signs. But there seemed to be a stopping point inside him that he would not cross, at least for now.

Yulia just stared at the odd but interesting American as he wandered over to the kitchen area and opened what she assumed was the utility closet.

Drew looked inside and was happy. It seems looters did not bother to steal cleaning implements. It became apparent that the previous owners or renters were American or had access to American goods. The utility closet looked like his back home, with American made cleaners, trash bags and brooms that looked like they stepped off the shelves from his local Vons.

He hung his coat off the half-opened door and pulled out a broom. Before he could lean it against the wall he was in a tug-a-war with Yulia as she tried to pull it from his hands.

"Dear! I am perfectly capable of sweeping my own floor and gathering debris!" he stated too sharply. As she loosened her grip. He then saw a flash of fear. He smiled to let he know he was just being honest and sincere. His hands were up with open palms toward her, showing no aggressive intent.

"What I need you to do, is go out and find out what is going on with the delivery of my boxes. And Yulia, if they give you any lip..." he saw her brows scrunch up, "If they talk back to you or are rude, I want to know."

She was a bit shocked but nodded and scurried for the door and down the building stairs. 'Who is this man that would lead the rebuilding of some of the most historic buildings in Kyiv?' she wondered as she tried not to trip down the stairs. 'Cleaning his own floors! Next, he will clean his own toilets!" she thought, and then did a short giggle.

Drew walked to the window wall and cracked open one of the small top hinged windows. He looked down to try and hear the response to her directives to the delivery men. He did not have to understand Ukrainian nor Russian to understand the inflection she was receiving from the delivery driver and his assistant. He could see a blurry version of one sitting smoking on the tailgate and one leaning, leering at her in her straight knee-length skirt and her proper white pressed button-down blouse. Then Drew saw the leering, leaning man straighten up and walk towards her with a smirk.

Drew headed for the door.

Drew hit the bottom of the first-floor steps with a head of steam. The young man had her elbow in his hand. He could see that her skin was white at the juncture of the man's tight grip. He was bent whispering in her ear. She was shaking and stiff, looking straight ahead.

Drew's fist met the side of the young man's leaning face with a resounding smack. Drew followed him as he staggered and went to the ground. As Drew knelt, he retrieved the loaded Makarov 9mm from behind the fallen man's back.

Drew pulled the weapon open to see if there was a shell in the chamber and then when confirmed, pointed it at the man's head.

"Get up," Drew demanded not caring if the asshole did not speak English. The motion of the gun barrel was an international direction and the young man slid and squirmed. He climbed back up on his own two feet. The young man was using some impressive language as he came to his feet, but quieted when he saw how Drew handled the weapon pointing at his nose.

"Translate," was the one word he spoke to Yulia, and he gave her just a half glance not wanting to take his eyes off the now cringing man.

"We have had our first cultural misunderstanding," Drew paused for Yulia to speak in Ukrainian.

"You will never speak to any woman in my presence, especially my co-worker, in that tone...ever again. Disrespect will not be tolerated. Is that understood!" Drew ended the last part of the comment by yelling, stepping forward and putting the barrel under the young man's chin. Drew also had ahold of the young man's right wrist with his left hand, just to keep him close.

"If you ever touch her or any woman like that again and I see, or find out," Drew paused and gripped the wrist harder, "I will cut off the offending hand and shove it up your ass. Do we understand each other?"

Drew stood nose to nose, well sort of, since the young man had 6 to 8 inches on him. Drew paused again waiting on the translation.

When done, Drew looked up in the young man's eyes. "Well?" It seemed the man understood the concept without a translation and nodded his head. And Drew moved the gun from the man's chin but lowered it down his body for a mid-section shot if the guy turned stupid.

"Then move your ass and relocate all of the stuff in the truck, up the stairs and into my new apartment...Now!" Again, the boys seemed to get the gist of the command without understanding English, but he heard Yulia's translation come out behind him.

Yulia's translation seemed much shorter than what he had just said, but he did a mental shrug.

Yulia and Drew followed the first load up the stairs and they used the first several boxes as chairs to sit and watch. On the third load, the young man turned and asked Yulia a question.

Drew just raised his eyebrows.

"He wishes to know if he can have his weapon back?" Yulia passed on to Drew.

"As soon as they are done, we can discuss it," After the translation was passed, the man nodded his head and continued to unload.

Drew had quietly gone to his overcoat to retrieved something. He then sat and started to make notes, all with the loaded Makarov laying in his lap.

Yulia was busy checking the security tags on the packages and checking them off the list and did not notice Drews actions. The men finally came and said they were complete.

Drew handed Yulia a note and asked for translation. It was a list of furnishings that Drew wanted and was willing to pay for.

"No stealing, but I will pay in US dollars," stated Drew with Yulia spitting out Ukrainian. Drew then laid out a US $100 bill on the adjacent crate.

The young men nodded their heads and then the one held out his hand. Drew dropped the Makarov in the guy's hand and then held out his left hand full of 9mm rounds and the empty magazine. The one he had manhandled, slid over and pocketed the Benjamin.

"Put these in your pocket, and do not bring that with you next time. It should never be around my office, my coworker, or me again." Drew stated with a translation that followed.

Drew then pulled out his own SIG automatic and held up one of his rounds. The 45 looked huge in comparison to the 9mm.

"My ammo is bigger in all the right places, my friend. Let's not have any more misunderstandings over culture or family...understood?"

There seemed to be and odd deciphering of the translation but somehow the right translation came through to the males. They started to laugh and that settled down to a chuckle. Yulia seemed completely lost. Drew just held up his hand to her in the universal symbol of 'give me a moment.'

Drew stepped forward and held out his hand to shake. Both young men did so and then almost sprinted for the door.

"I am confused, what just happened?" Yulia asked.

Drew just slumped on the boxes. He was not some macho guy to be pulling weapons from younger, taller, stronger men. He was not aggressive as he had just shown. It shook his own core to realize how violently he had just reacted.

But he knew his street cred just went up a bunch of points. He knew he would not be screwed with any time soon, at least not by the street or neighbor folk. And he knew he would have his house furnished quickly.

"Well, I gave them the opportunity to make some side monies. I made a name for myself, even though it's not based on reality...and hopefully made you safer as you come and go through this neighborhood."

"OH, and I somewhat insinuated that my male parts were bigger than theirs, just to make a point"

Yulia nodded and smiled a bit. She could see the bluster drain out of the older American male. So, he did understand some of the local culture. This assignment may be more enlightening than she originally supposed.

*

Drew sat at the edge of his makeshift bed. A large blow-up mattress was not perfect, but he had lived on one for months on the outskirts of Playa de Coco, Costa Rica. It would be fine for now. He sat with his tablet in his lap, a glass of wine to sip and the bottle to polish off.

He looked out over what he could see of the city. His first project, the Ivankiv Historical and Local History Museum was literally two short blocks away. He stood staring at it in the city lights, through the windows of his apartment. The view from the mezzanine could have been breathtaking if not for the apparent damage caused by random artillery and rockets.

He thought of Yulia and what she had been through at such a young age. It was funny how quickly he became protective of her. While very attractive, something had shifted inside him, and she was now something to be protected. He would find other female entertainment in this large city. It's not like this was his first rodeo and his tastes in women were varied and open to an interpretation of 'beauty'.

After she had left to confirm food deliveries, he had explored the rest of the complex. It seemed his pass card opened all the other suites. Since he was the first to re-inhabit the complex, he had full run. He was not above doing a little scavenging in the ransacked apartments, so his bedroom now had mismatched side tables to his makeshift bed. His kitchen was fully laid out in a weird mix of pots, pans, drinking/wine glasses and cutlery.

He had found shoji partitions in one closet along with folding tables and they now separated the office portion of the great room. Heavy office rolling chairs added to the office portion of his apartment. He would have the scavengers haul up his other finds to the second floor tomorrow. He had not heard from them, but he knew the look of hungry wolves when he saw it. They would be back to peddle their finds, and soon.

He would have Yulia negotiate the prices. He knew that would give her power over her one-time attackers.

He had been promised office space but knew it would be a worse struggle than getting the apartment set up. He figured that with the apartment's proximity to the museum, he would just use a portion of the great room and personal office as the formal project space.

Now he would be on the hunt for added staff. He would lean heavily on Yulia for that.

The wine, his own exertions and the long hours finally took their toll and he crawled into bed and sleep took him.

*

Drew awoke in the morning to the sound of female laughter, and not just one female inflection but multiple female voices. He rolled out of bed and dragged his light cotton shorts over the lower naked half of his body. He slid on his checkered vans and slowly walked to the stairs. He had to admit to himself that he was sore. Age and the work he accomplished last night had done him in a bit. He made it to the edge of the mezzanine, and he looked down into the four gorgeous faces of a group of young women.

"What did you do?" came the scolding voice of Yulia. As she stood back from her compatriots, hands on hips staring up at him. The other young women were shocked and started to quietly say things to her. Yulia was not having any of it and waived them off with a flourish.

"Well?" she asked again and the only thing she did not do was stamp her foot.

Drew stiffly hobbled down the circular stairway from the mezzanine. Halfway down it became too much, plus the view of cleavage made him halt. He just sat his old ass on the metal stair and collected his thoughts. He made old man noises as his cushioned ass hit steel.

"Wow, you are taking this daughter thing to heart. Except for the accent, you pretty much sound like my Mackenzie." Drew paused to rub his face and try to clear himself up as Yulia translated or commented he was not sure which and really did not care.

"I did a bit of scavenging here in the building. I moved what I could find over here or left the heavy stuff on the first floor so 'Larry, Daryl and his other brother Daryl' could hall them up the stairs." And then Drew leveraged himself up off his ass with a groan and continued down to meet the women.

Yulia was slowly, quietly translating as he spoke, so the women's eyes kept floating back and forth between the two. They giggled on several occasions, so he assumed Yulia was doing a bit of commentary at his expense. He could tell his odd reference to an ancient American sitcom did not translate at all.

As he hit the stained polished concrete floor, he waddled over to the kitchen and started hot water. All that time, the women just stared at him. With the kettle on, one of his better finds, he came around the island and pulled up one of the mismatched bar stools at the raised counter of the island. He quietly pointed at the small kitchen table and new-typical mismatched kitchen chairs.