Silent Night (The Salt Mine Book 16) by Joseph Browning & Suzi Yee

Author:Joseph Browning & Suzi Yee [Browning, Joseph]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Expeditious Retreat Press
Published: 2022-02-01T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Bratsk, Russia

17th of December, 4:02 a.m. (GMT+8)

Kazimir Cheslavovich Golitsyn clutched the steering wheel and focused on the snow-covered road ahead. His meth had mostly worn off and he was starting to come down. He should have dropped off the package ages ago, but the weather had turned for the worse in the middle of the drive back. There was enough accumulation that simply staying on the road required his full attention.

He found himself talking to the white emptiness surrounding him and begging the hearse, Don’t get stuck. Don’t slide off the road and get stuck. The hearse didn’t have any basic survival equipment: no blankets, food, chemical heat packs, water—nothing fit for riding out a proper winter storm. On top of that, he had a flat. Had he known how long it was going to take before he got home, he would have pulled out his kit to get a fix, but it seemed like a waste when he thought it wouldn’t be much longer.

When he could finally make out the lights of Bratsk through the snowy haze, he pumped his fist in triumph. He’d never been so happy to see the ugly city he called home. The last eighteen hours of his life had been some of the shittiest, and that was saying something with his track record.

His phone buzzed on the seat beside him and he could guess who it was without looking at the caller ID. “I know I’m late. On top of this shitty storm, I had a blowout, okay?” he barked into the phone. “You ever had to change a tire on a loaded hearse in the middle of the night? Ever drive on one of those stupid little donut spares? In this weather?”

Frolov ignored his questions and asked, “Where are you?”

“Ten minutes away from the drop-off site,” Golitsyn estimated. There was almost no traffic between the storm and the ungodly hour.

“Good. They’re angry and called to bitch me out,” Frolov explained calmly.

“Well, call them back and tell them to get ready.” Golitsyn looked at his gaunt face in the rearview mirror. Just another hour, maybe two. You can do it.

“All right, I’ll tell them you’re on your way. Don’t forget to come to the hospital when you’re done,” he added.

“Have you looked outside? I’m not going to anywhere but home after I drop off Mr. Popsicle.” It wasn’t technically below freezing in the back of the hearse, it just felt like it. “They’ll be lucky if I drop off the hearse. It’s a bear out here.”

Frolov’s immediate instinct was to lay into him, bully him into coming despite the weather, but he stayed his tongue. If he pushed too hard, he risked his nephew walking away with all the money. “Fine,” he acquiesced. “But come tomorrow and don’t screw up the delivery. They’re not the kind of men that will let you walk away if you cross them.”

At least I can walk; you can’t even do that with two broken legs, Golitsyn shot back in his mind, but he didn’t want to pick a fight.

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