Assassin on Centauri B (Nick Walker, U.F. Marshal Book 7)

by John Bowers

  “Yes. Did you run my background check already?”

  “Not complete. We make final decision after. For now, we begin to train.”

  “Will I need a weapon?”

  “Not yet. When time come, if you hired, we give you one.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Nick was a bit apprehensive, not only that he was standing in a snake pit, but that Petreykin hadn’t mentioned the confrontation on the street. It had only been a few minutes ago, so maybe he hadn’t heard yet. Or…he had heard and was holding it back for later. Nick hoped it was the first possibility.

  “What will I be doing?”

  “You work with Aleksandr. He will be here soon.”

  “Okay.”

  Diana said something in Rukranian and for about two minutes she and Orel conversed in rapid-fire, leaving Nick completely in the dark. He glanced at his watch again…twenty minutes after eight. The hover traffic outside the window was now a steady stream. Nick inspected his fingernails.

  The door at the rear of the office burst open. Lebed Petreykin stormed into the room, fists clenched, his face red. Orel and Diana glanced at him in surprise. When Lebed spotted Nick he jerked to a dead stop and glared at him. When he spoke, it was to his cousins, but Nick had a pretty good idea what was eating him. In the flurry of foreign words, he picked out the names of Pavel and Bruno.

  Two or three questions were asked and answered, then Orel looked at Nick with an angry glare.

  “Is true?”

  “Is what true? I didn’t understand a word any of you said.”

  “You kill two men on street? Is true?”

  Nick feigned an innocent air, spreading his hands as if the anger was unreasonable.

  “Well…yeah, I did. They both had guns. What was I supposed to do?”

  “They were my men!” Lebed roared. “You kill MY MEN!”

  Nick looked shocked. “How the hell was I supposed to know they were your men? They came at me and Nicola and demanded money. I was afraid they might hurt the girl, so I took care of them.”

  Lebed’s face looked ready to explode. His breath came in short, outraged gasps. Nick half expected him to draw a weapon and open fire.

  But Orel held up a hand in caution.

  “We send them after you. To see how you react to danger.”

  Now it was Nick’s turn to act outraged.

  “You did what! What the fuck! Is this how you treat all your employees?”

  “You not employee!” Lebed shouted.

  “Maybe not yet,” Nick said. “But here I am, ready to start work.”

  Lebed slammed a fist on the corner of the desk.

  “Never! You kill my men! Good men!”

  “They were thugs. Punks. Assholes. The planet is better off without them.”

  Lebed’s face changed colors twice. He started forward, fists clenched. Nick faced him squarely.

  “Look, Mr. Petreykin, I respect your authority here, but I am not afraid of you. Do not try to intimidate me!”

  He turned to Orel, who still looked like a thundercloud.

  “You want me to leave? Just say the word. I’m not sure I still want to work for you anyway. Of all the stupid, bullshit stunts!”

  Diana stepped forward, placing herself between Nick and Lebed. She also looked shocked at the news that two employees were dead, but didn’t raise her voice.

  “Everyone, be calm. Let’s talk about this.”

  Lebed burst into Rukranian again, his voice shaking. Diana shook her head resolutely and waved him to silence.

  “Speak English! We have a situation here, we must solve it.”

  “I will solve it!” Lebed snapped. His right hand snaked into his suit jacket, but Diana slapped him.

  “Molčanie!”

  Lebed glared at her, still breathing hard. But his hand fell back to his side.

  “Here is the situation,” Diana said. “You send Pavel and Bruno to scare Nick Russo, to see how he will react. That is stupid. What is Nick Russo supposed to do? He does not know them.”

  “He does not have to kill them!”

  But Diana shook her head.

  “Is your fault, Lebed! Not Nick Russo, but you! Stupid thing to do. Stupid!”

  Lebed glared at her.

  “So here is situation. Nick Russo is a specialist. Pavel and Bruno are also specialist. Pavel and Bruno are dead now, so we need two new specialist. We now have opening. Nick Russo can work for us.”

  “Not yet,” Orel said, his expression a little less threatening. “Not until background check.”

  “Da, understood. But do not blame Nick Russo for your mistake. Is all I am saying.”

  From his briefing in Lucaston, Nick remembered that Diana was the youngest of the five cousins who effectively operated Bratva, but Valentin had also said she was well respected by the others. He watched in fascination as the two men backed down in the face of her logic. His heart began to beat a little slower.

  Orel sat in silence for nearly a minute, fiddling with a stylus on the surface of his desk. He still didn’t look happy, but his outrage had faded. Finally he spoke to Nick.

  “I agree with Diana. Is unfortunate what happened, but you will work today. Probation only. Understand?”

  Nick nodded. “I expected that.” He glanced at Lebed. “Just keep your cousin under control, all right? I don’t want to have to hurt him.”

  All three Petreykins looked a little startled at that statement, but none of them spoke. Orel turned to his cousin.

  “Until background check finished, Nick Russo will receive same respect as other employee. Da?”

  Lebed took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing himself to relax.

  “And if background check is bad?”

  “We discuss this again. But not today.”

  They heard a knock at the door through which Nick and Diana had entered. Orel barked something in Rukranian and another man stepped into the room. Orel nodded at him.

  “This is Aleksandr,” he told Nick. “Today, you work with him.”

  Chapter 12

  Nick was surprised to learn that Periscope Harbor had its own Asia Town. He knew that Beta Centauri had been settled by people from Eastern Europe, but had never considered there might be immigrants from other parts of Terra as well. He strode down a street in the northeast corner of the city, not far from the harbor. Virtually all the signs on the shops and restaurants were in logograms, commonly called “Chinese characters”. Here and there he saw secondary signs in both Roman and Cyrillic letters, but was unable to read any of them.

  “What the hell are we doing here?” he asked his companion.

  “Collection,” said Aleksandr.

  “What are we collecting? Flowers? Butterflies?”

  Aleksandr grimaced in annoyance.

  “Money.”

  Nick had been appalled when Orel Petreykin introduced him to Aleksandr. To his dismay, Aleksandr proved to be one of the bouncers he’d encountered the night before…not the one who called Nicola, but the big, dumb brute who slammed him against the wall.

  Nick understood what “collections” meant—he’d seen enough holo-vids and documentaries about organized crime—but couldn’t resist pulling the big oaf’s chain.

  “What’s the money for?”

  “Insurance.”

  “Oh. What kind of insurance?”

  “What you mean?”

  “Well, is it like medical insurance? Life insurance?”

  Aleksandr grunted. “Fire insurance.”

  “Ah. You have a lot of fires in this city?”

  The big man glared at him.

  “Too many question. You be quiet. Listen. Learn.”

  “I’m trying to learn. That’s why I ask questions. How can I learn anything if I don’t ask qu—”

  The monster spun and grabbed him by the collar.

  “Shut! No more question! Watch and learn.”

  He released the collar and turned back down the street. Nick brushed
himself off.

  “Okay, fine. Jeez! Excuse me for breathing.”

  What followed was more than a little depressing. For over an hour, they walked into shop after shop—clothing stores, gift shops, restaurants, laundries—and robbed the proprietors. Nick had heard of this back on Terra. Protection money, it was called. If the shop owners didn’t pay up, the mob would wreck their establishments…or worse. Nick watched each of the victims as they handed over the cash. In almost every case, the money was ready and waiting, usually in an envelope. Clearly a schedule had been established and their visit was expected. In most cases, neither he nor Aleksandr said a word; the moment they entered, the proprietor offered up the cash and they walked out again.

  Nick’s anger slowly mounted as he saw the same look in the eyes of the shopkeepers, a burning resentment mixed with abject fear. Each one regarded Aleksandr as if he were a predatory animal who had to be kept fed and satisfied; they looked at Nick the same way, with the additional apprehension of not knowing who he was or how he was capable of hurting them.

  Their accusing stares left him feeling dirty.

  “Is this it?” he asked Aleksandr at one point. “Just walk in and take their money?”

  “Da. Is easy.”

  “Yeah. Too easy.”

  Aleksandr grunted. He carried the cash payments in a small leather satchel. He handed it to Nick.

  “You carry. Do not lose, or big trouble.”

  At the end of two hours, the satchel was getting heavy. Nick wondered how much more cash it could hold.

  “How come you collect cash? Why not just make them deposit directly into your account?”

  Aleksandr sniffed. “Not my account.”

  “Okay, the Bratva account. You know what I mean.”

  “Is better collect money in person. Merchants need to see our face, be reminded. Not forget who is in charge.”

  Aleksandr checked his watch. It was getting close to noon.

  “Hungry? You want eat?”

  “Yeah, I’m starving.”

  The big man grinned for the first time. “Good. Me, too.”

  Nick was hoping for Chinese food, but the monster walked him seven blocks to a little hole in the wall that proved to be a Russian restaurant. The owner greeted Aleksandr warmly, like a long-lost brother; he looked at Nick with suspicious eyes.

  “Who are you?”

  Nick tilted his head toward Aleksandr. “I’m with stupid.”

  “Hm?”

  “Nick Russo.” Nick offered his hand, but the other man only looked at it.

  “New man,” Aleksandr said. “First day.”

  The owner nodded and smiled, clapped a paw onto Nick’s shoulder, and pushed them toward the back, near the kitchen. They sat at a small, dimly-lighted table. The owner produced a bottle of vodka and two glasses, then stood waiting for Aleksandr to order.

  “Don’t we need a menu?” Nick asked.

  “Menu?” Aleksandr peered at him. “You read Russian?”

  “No…”

  “Then menu do no good. I will order.”

  He rattled off in Rukranian for several seconds. The owner nodded but didn’t write anything down; apparently he already knew what Aleksandr liked. After he walked away, Aleksandr poured vodka into the glasses, shoving one toward Nick.

  “Just one,” Nick told him. “That stuff gives me the runs.”

  “Runs?” Aleksandr frowned. “What is runs?”

  “You know…the shits.”

  “Ha! Ha! HA!” Aleksandr slapped his knee and guffawed. “You weak, Nick Russo! Vodka make you strong! Make you man!”

  “Great.”

  Nick tossed back the vodka and held his breath until his eyes stopped watering. Aleksandr poured him another. Nick took it in his hand but didn’t lift it. His stomach needed some food before he abused it too much.

  “What did you order?” he asked, hoping to deflect the monster’s attention.

  “Good food. You will like.”

  “I hope so. Did you order any turkey?”

  “Turkey?”

  “Yeah, turkey. You like turkey, don’t you?”

  “Da, I like turkey.”

  “Have you ever played turkey?”

  “Play turkey? What, is some kind of game?”

  “Yeah, it’s a game. You know how to play?”

  “No, how to play?”

  “I shit. You gobble.”

  Aleksandr frowned, confused.

  “What game is this? How is this fun?”

  “It’s a joke, asshole. Don’t you get it?”

  Aleksandr shook his head.

  “Is joke? Is bad joke. Not funny.”

  Nick stared into his eyes for a moment, then tossed down the second drink. He could already feel the alcohol in his bloodstream.

  “Did your parents have any children that lived?”

  “Hm?” The monster glowered at him. “Is this other joke? Not funny.”

  Nick sighed.

  “Too bad. I thought it was a scream.”

  When the food came, Nick was surprised—not pleasantly surprised, but overwhelmingly surprised. The food was excellent. He had to ask the proprietor what each dish was, which seemed to please the man, and got a detailed description of each course.

  Coulibiac, a fish loaf with rice, boiled eggs, and mushrooms;

  Golubtsy, cooked cabbage leaves wrapped around a savory meat filling;

  Knish, a fried potato dumpling made of flaky dough;

  Kholodets, a meat jelly;

  And for dessert, Vatrushka, a cheese pastry.

  Nick was astonished. If he had thought the Rukes had no culture, the food punched another dent into his prejudice. The meal was delicious, and he gorged himself. Afterward, he pleased Aleksandr by downing another shot of vodka, then one more; when they left the restaurant he felt fat and satisfied.

  *

  When they hit the street after lunch, the wind had died and the narrow canyons were heating up. Nick removed his woolen cap and stuffed it into a pocket—he was starting to sweat.

  “How often do you make collections?”

  “Every week. Different part of city each time.”

  “So the merchants have to pay on a monthly basis?”

  “Da.”

  “How do you determine how much they owe?”

  Aleksandr glowered at him.

  “Why so many question? You not do this on Terra?”

  “No. I’m a specialist. I never worked the street like this.”

  “Um.”

  Aleksandr never answered the question, and Nick let it go. They worked another two hours, shaking down shop and store owners, then began the long walk back to Rodina. Nick wondered why they didn’t take a hovercar or some form of public transportation—it seemed dangerous to walk the streets with so much cash. Apparently, Bratva was so confident of their power that they weren’t concerned with the possibility of robbery.

  “What about the shops below the street? Do we collect from them, too?”

  Aleksandr shook his head.

  “Must have Bratva permission for underground stores. Bratva owns underground, take cut direct from profit.”

  When they reached Rodina, Nick was ready for a cold drink. Aleksandr took the satchel from him.

  “Wait here.”

  He headed up the anti-grav lift, leaving Nick alone in the bar. The nightclub didn’t open for a couple of hours yet, but the bartender was already on duty.

  “Just ice water,” Nick said, and drank two bottles in five minutes. His feet were sore, but he felt refreshed. He wondered what was next.

  *

  Upstairs, Aleksandr turned the satchel over to a white-collar crew in Accounting, signed a receipt, and proceeded directly to Orel Petreykin’s office. Lebed and Diana were also there. Orel spoke to him in Rukranian.

  “How did he do?”

  Aleksandr shrugged. “Not bad. He talks too much, asks questions.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “
Everything. Wants to know about the business.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” Diana said. “If he wants to work for us, he needs to know these things.”

  Orel cast her a narrow glance.

  “Spies also want to know these things.” He turned back to Aleksandr. “Anything else?”

  “Da. He has no sense of humor.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He tells stupid jokes. Not funny.”

  “Cultural difference,” Diana said.

  Orel ignored her. “Do you think he is going to work out?” he asked Aleksandr.

  The big man shrugged.

  “Too soon to tell. Need two more days.”

  Petreykin nodded. He picked up a sheet of paper from his desk and glanced at it, then nodded to Aleksandr.

  “Bring him up here. Then get ready for the evening shift.”

  Aleksandr grunted and left without another word.

  *

  Nick Walker stood in front of Orel Petreykin, aware of Lebed’s hostile glare from his chair at one side of the desk. Diana’s expression seemed neutral.

  “How do you like work with Aleksandr?” Petreykin asked him.

  “He’s all right. He’s a big, dumb ox, but we get along.”

  “Any problem?”

  “No, none. He seems very efficient.”

  Petreykin stared at him for a moment, then tapped the sheet of paper on his desk.

  “Boris brought me your background check.”

  Nick felt his pulse jump just a fraction.

  “Good. So you can hire me now.”

  Petreykins’ cheek twitched. He maintained direct eye contact, his expression unreadable.

  “My father and uncle want to meet you. Ready for car trip?’

  Nick nodded. “Absolutely.”

  Orel rose from his chair, the first time Nick had seen him on his feet. He was a head shorter than Nick expected. As he rounded the desk, Lebed also rose.

  “Not you, Lebed,” Orel told him in Rukranian. “You stay here.”

  “Why? He killed two of my men! Our fathers need to know that!”

  “I will tell them. You stay.” He nodded at Diana. “You come.”

  Nick raised his eyebrows at the exchange, but could only guess at what was said. His guess was fairly accurate.

  Diana led the way to the anti-grav lift, followed by Nick and then Orel. Orel spoke into his wristwatch and by the time they reached the parking garage on the twentieth floor, a hovercar was waiting. The pilot wore a dark uniform and chauffeur’s hat. Nick sat in the back with Diana while Orel took the front passenger seat and spoke to the pilot in Rukranian.