Red Square Assassins by Eric Meyer

Author:Eric Meyer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Swordworks Books

* * *

He knocked on the door, and heard voices inside. The door opened a few inches.

"Da?"

He was working it out on the spur of the moment, and had expected the girl to answer the door. Not the brute who’d driven her from the dispatcher's office. He had the cop’s gun held at his side, shouldered the door open, and thrust the gun forward, pushing it into the man's face. At least, that was his intention, but the guy opened his mouth in surprise, and the barrel went inside. Perfect, and as Cris pushed him back, he didn't try to wriggle free.

Didn’t even try, because the man who'd rammed the gun in his mouth need only pull the trigger, and splash his brains all over the sumptuous imitation leather couches and reproduction antique coffee tables. Elegant artworks lined the walls, all of them prints. A few modern looking religious icons were displayed at intervals. The place was more like a high-class brothel than an apartment. The girl was staring at him, and another man who had to be the john was sitting on the bed, with his pants around his ankles. Cris was still holding the thug with his gun inside his mouth, and it wasn’t enough to control the one man. He needed to get command of all three. He kicked the minder in the groin, and he doubled over. Put a fist in his face, and pushed him to the floor. The gun barrel was free, and he waved it around.

"Nobody move. You," he spat at the john, "Find some rope, something to tie this guy's hands." He gestured at the man on the floor, who was struggling to get up.

"I… Don't have any rope."

"Use stockings, whatever. Do it now, or I'll ram the gun up your ass."

The girl stared back at him, cold and hostile. She bent over and pulled down her hose. Gave the two stockings to the john, and he fastened the minder’s wrists.

Cris checked the knots, and then ordered the john to lie on the floor. "Hands outstretched, and stay down until I tell you different."

He obeyed, and now he faced the girl. "The purse, where did you get it?"

"Purse?"

"Yeah, you had it earlier, the Gucci. Where did you get it?"

Her stare was defiant. "I bought it in Moscow. The Gucci shop, what's it to you?"

She was lying. It was just possible she’d bought it, but the purse was rare and expensive. She’d be loath to spend that kind of money.

"I gave that purse to Maria Tereshkova the day before she flew to Moscow. Tell me where you got it, or I'll make sure you never work again as a prostitute."

"I am no prostitute," she spat, "I work as an escort."

"Not with a broken nose, a broken jaw, and split lips. By the time I’m finished, it would take an army of cosmetic surgeons to fix you up. Is that what you want?"

"You wouldn't dare."

She was right. He wouldn't do it, but he needed the threat to be so enormous, she couldn't ignore it.

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