by John Bowers
“Nyet. I just—”
Nick shoved him hard with both hands, slamming him against the wall. Misha lost his balance and almost fell; his piggish eyes widened in surprise, and then narrowed again with anger. He bounced off the wall and lunged, but Nick felled him with a right hook to the cheekbone. He hit the floor and cracked his head against the surface, stunning him. He shook his head and tried to get to his feet.
“Stay down, you piece of shit! Don’t you ever try to interrogate my prisoners again! I don’t need them ‘warmed up’, do you understand? This is my job, not yours! I AM RUSSO! You are nothing but a piece of shit!”
Nick kicked him in the stomach as hard as he could, driving the air out of him. Misha grunted in pain, then choked for air. For several seconds he gasped and wheezed, trying to get oxygen.
Nick grabbed him by the arm and hauled him to his feet, then shoved him toward the door.
“Get out. Get the FUCK out of my interrogation room and don’t come back! Go find Kozel and tell him to fire you.”
He thrust the Ruke through the door and closed it behind him, securing the lock with a deadbolt.
He stood there nearly a minute, trembling. He rubbed a hand over his face, breathing deeply, trying to still his fury. After a moment he turned back and approached the woman, who stared at him with a mixture of fear and hope. He stared down at her.
“What is your name?”
“Požalujsta, pomogite nam! Požalujsta! Ja ne znaju ničego.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand you. Can you speak English?”
Her eyes closed in frustration and she started to sob. Nick stared at where her ear had been and winced at the sight. The missing part was lying on the floor a few feet away, a thin rivulet of blood winding its way to the center drain.
“Calm down, now. I’m not going to kill you, but you need to tell me your name.”
The woman fought against her emotions, but it took several seconds for the sobs to subside. She glanced at her boys.
“Please. Do not hurt. They are children.”
“I’m not going to hurt them, or you. But I do need answers, and you are going to tell me. You understand?”
She nodded, frantically.
“What is your name?”
“Marina Patushkin.”
“Okay, good. Marina, do you live in Periscope Harbor?”
“Da. With my husband.”
“What is your husband’s name?”
“Mikhail.”
“Where is Mikhail now?”
“I—I don’t know. I think they, maybe…kill him.”
“Who did? Who killed him?”
She looked toward the door, her eyes tortured.
“Misha?”
She shook her head.
“Not Misha. Other men. I do not know names. They bring me and boys here, take Mikhail away.”
“So you didn’t see them kill Mikhail?”
She shook her head again. Nick’s eyes narrowed as he wondered where the man had been taken. If the Petreykins expected him to interrogate people, why weren’t those people being brought here?
He would ask that question later.
“What do you know about the bombs that were set off last night?”
“Nothing. I know nothing about bombs!”
“What is your relationship to the Patushkin family? Does Mikhail work for them?”
“Nyet. No! Mikhail is construction man, what you call…carpenter. He is not related to crime family.”
“Not related?”
“No. Same name, different family.”
“There are two Patushkin families?”
“Two, three, ten…many Patushkin families. Mikhail is honest, work hard, not criminal. We have nothing to do with Patushkin you look for.”
Nick stared at her a moment, his anger mounting again. She could be lying, of course, or her husband could be involved without her knowledge, but her sincerity was compelling, more than just telling him what he wanted to hear. There was, of course, one way to be sure.
He reached under his windbreaker and pulled out the .45; Marina Patushkin gasped at sight of it, and began to sob again.
“Nyet! Požalujsta! Ja kljanus’ ja sobirajus’ skazat’ vam pravdu!”
Nick pulled the slide to cock the weapon. For several seconds they made direct eye contact, then he pointed the pistol straight at her face.
“Last chance, Marina. If you know anything about the bombs, tell me now.”
Her head wagged in jerks from side to side, tears gushing down her cheeks. After ten awful seconds, Nick turned the gun toward the older boy, who screamed in terror. The woman tried to lunge off her chair, screaming hysterically.
“I can’t understand you! English! Speak English!”
“If I know, I would tell. I do not know! We are not involved! I swear to God! Please! PLEASE!”
Nick held the gun in place for another twenty seconds, then lowered it and released the hammer. He slid it back into his shoulder holster and turned for the door. Without another word, he left the room.
He half expected Misha to be waiting for him in ambush, but the intermediate corridor was clear. He passed through the outer door just as the lift from the casino slid open and two men stepped out. One was Misha, the other was Kozel.
Kozel didn’t look happy.
“Russo! What the hell are you doing!”
Nick planted his feet and blocked the corridor. He pointed at a red-faced Misha.
“First of all, get that piece of shit out of my sight. My advice is to take him down to the beach and drown him.”
Kozel, still angry, also looked confused. He shook his head, his mouth trying to form words to express his dismay. Nick cut him off.
“He started without me. He already cut off that woman’s ear and knocked out her teeth. I don’t work like that, and he just made my job harder. Get him away from me, or I swear I’ll cut off his ugly head.”
Kozel’s expression darkened.
“Misha is a trusted employee! He has worked for the family for years!”
“I don’t care if he makes shit sandwiches and feeds them to orphan children, he’s a stinking turd and I won’t work with him.”
“You work for me, Russo!”
“Mr. Petreykin, your brother hired me to do a job and I’m going to do it, but I do things my way. Now, if you want to fire me, then say so. Pay me off and I’m out of here. But you might want to consult with your cousins first.”
Kozel looked even more confused. He sputtered for words, but couldn’t seem to make up his mind what he wanted to say. Nick rescued him.
“Look, I realize I’m new here, and you have your own way of doing things. But from what I’ve seen the past few days, I’m surprised you’re still in business. In my experience, when you want someone to do something, you get a lot more success with reward than with torture. People will cooperate if you make it worth their while…and if they don’t, you can always fall back on brutality. But leading off with raw terror is counterproductive.”
Kozel stared at him, his eyes betraying conflict. His tongue traced his lips as he glanced at Misha, then back to Nick. Finally, he turned to Misha and said something in Rukranian. Misha replied in anger, but Kozel insisted. Misha, furious, began to backtrack toward the elevator. He pointed a finger at Nick.
“I will get you, Russo. We are not done!”
Nick ripped the .45 out of its holster and took a step toward him, taking aim.
“If I ever see you again, you slimy motherfucker, I will kill you!”
Misha’s eyes sprang wide and he backtracked faster, reached the lift, and jammed a finger against the button. Kozel nudged Nick backward a few steps.
“Calm down, Russo! Calm the fuck down!”
Nick glared at Misha until he disappeared into the lift, then put the gun away.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I hate bullies. They get in the way and cause more trouble than they’re worth.”
“Okay, okay. He is
gone. What did you find out?”
Nick took a deep breath to calm himself.
“The woman and those kids have nothing to do with the bombings. They’re from a different Patushkin family. Her husband is a carpenter.”
“You are sure of this? How do you know she is not lying?”
“Because I put a gun to her son’s head. No mother is going to keep a secret when her kid is about to get a bullet.”
“Unless,” Kozel pointed out, “she is more afraid of the Patushkins than of you.”
“I’ve been doing this a long time. I read people pretty well, and that woman is not lying.” Nick frowned. “And where the hell is her husband? I thought I was supposed to do the interrogating.”
“He is being held elsewhere. You can talk to him later.”
“Okay. But apparently there are several Patushkin families and they aren’t all related. What did you do, haul in every Patushkin in the city directory?”
Kozel ran a hand over his mouth, a worried look on his face.
“I am not in charge of that part of the operation. You will have to ask Lebed.”
Nick grimaced in frustration.
“Do you have anyone else for me to interrogate right now?”
“Not yet. More are on the way.”
“Well…that woman needs medical attention. I understand that you may need to keep her isolated for a while, until the interrogations are done, but—”
“We will take care of her. Don’t worry about it.”
“I do worry about it. If my job is interrogation, anything that happens to her is on me, and I don’t work that way. I insist that she gets medical attention.”
“You insist?”
“Yes, I do. I can be a mean prick when I need to, but I’m not a goddamn barbarian. I don’t hurt innocent people for no reason, and I will not work for an organization that practices that kind of brutality.”
Kozel stared at him in disbelief.
“You have a big mouth for a new guy.”
“Maybe, but you need to hear me. I am damn good at what I do and you are lucky to have me. So, until you have a reason to cut me loose, you might want to pay attention.”
Kozel shook his head at Nick’s impertinence, turned away in indecision, then turned back.
“Okay, Russo, okay. I didn’t hire you and I will let my brother and cousins make that decision. Right now I need to know that no one is going to put a plasma bomb in my casino, or the Rodina. You worry about that and let someone else worry about how we run our business.”
“Fair enough, but on two conditions—keep that pasty fuck away from me, and get that woman a doctor. I want assurances that they will not be harmed any further.”
Kozel waved a hand and headed for the elevator.
“Fine. We have an infirmary here. I will call them to take care of her.”
“And nobody is going to find her body floating in the harbor next week?”
Kozel stopped, turned and stared at him.
“Russo…what kind of people do you think we are?”
Nick raised one eyebrow.
“I already know what kind of people you are. You’re just like me. That’s why I asked.”
Kozel glared at him, muscles twitching in his face. Finally he shook his head.
“No. She will not be found floating in the harbor…or anywhere else.”
He stepped into the elevator and the door closed behind him.
***
Nick waited until a couple of paramedics arrived and took custody of the Patushkin woman and her sons, then went down to the casino floor and found Nicola sitting in the bar. She was working on a Black Russian in spite of the fact that it wasn’t yet noon. Her expression brightened when she saw him.
“All done?”
“No. I think there are more prisoners coming.”
“So how long is all this going to take?”
“No idea. If you want to head back to Rodina, I can catch a taxi later.”
Nicola shook her head.
“If I do that, they’ll put me to work. If I stay here, I don’t have to do anything, and I still get paid.”
“Sounds logical to me.”
Nick settled onto a stool beside her and ordered a water bottle. He wasn’t pleased with this turn of events; the bombings demanded a solution, and to maintain his cover as a Petreykin employee, he had to play out his role, but the whole thing was a distraction from his primary mission. He was literally wasting time with all this investigatory, cloak and dagger crap.
He drank the water down in three gulps, then looked around the casino floor, restless. Nicola sipped at her Russian and watched him.
“I’m gonna take a walk around,” Nick told her after a moment. “If Kozel comes looking for me, I’ll be on the floor.”
“Okay. Don’t get lost.”
44 Flavors Ice Cream – Trimmer Springs, Alpha Centauri 2
Kiko Okinaba dug a spoon into her bowl of ice cream and slipped it into her mouth. She loved ice cream. It wasn’t good for her waistline or her health, but she had nothing to live for so it hardly mattered. She was seated at a window table in the only ice cream parlor in Trimmer Springs, staring across the street at the boutique called Suzanne’s. She was starting to get frustrated.
Kiko had come here to kill Nick Walker, who had killed her father-figure mentor Ken Saracen; she didn’t expect to get away with it, but she did expect to kill him. After all, if he didn’t know she existed, he couldn’t possibly know she was hunting him, so how hard could it be?
Trouble was—she couldn’t find him.
Kiko had been a Saracen girl for nearly a decade. She was one of more than three dozen young women dedicated to Saracen’s terror campaign, and was now the only one still alive and free. Walker and his minions had arrested some and murdered the others, including the half-dozen male followers…and Saracen himself. Kiko’s only motive now was revenge—after she killed Walker, she would either be killed herself or spend her life in prison. Without Ken Saracen to give her life meaning, she didn’t really care which.
Her last information about Walker placed him in Trimmer Springs, but that had been two or three years ago. The Spanic boy, Mijo, had told her Nick now worked in Lucaston. She had tried there but without success. Calls to the U.F. Marshal office in both towns—Lucaston and Trimmer Springs—had gotten her nowhere. Walker was “unavailable”, she was told. No one would tell her just what that meant, or where he might be.
Which left her with a couple of options; she had followed Victoria Cross, hoping she might lead her to Walker, but the bitch had spotted her on the River Walk. Taken by surprise, Kiko had panicked and fled, which she now regretted. Somehow, the Cross woman knew her name, which was most unsettling—following her was no longer an option.
The other possibility was in that boutique across the street. One of the owners was the daughter of Walker’s old girlfriend, Suzanne Norgaard. On Ken Saracen’s orders, Tracy Nelson had killed Suzanne two years ago on the River Walk, but Walker still had ties to the daughter, and if Kiko could capture her, it would almost certainly bring him out into the open.
Another option was the boy, Mijo—Walker had brought the kid back from Tau Ceti 4 and obviously cared for him. If Kiko could take either the boy or the daughter, it would flush Walker out, but there was a problem with that…she had no place to hold a captive. She didn’t even have her own apartment, just rented a different au’tel room each night. Working by herself, with little or nothing in the way of resources, taking a hostage wasn’t going to work.
She stirred the ice cream and licked the spoon, weighing options. Distracted, she didn’t notice the front door swing open, or the man who stepped into the parlor. Not until he approached her table did she look up—and her blood froze.
*
City Patrolman Kevin Dougherty stared down at the tiny woman at the table. He was making his daily foot patrol when he spotted her through the window; though he had never seen her before, she was the only Asian
woman in town, and had to be the Kiko Kristina had told him about. His right hand rested on the grip of his gun as he approached her.
“Is your name Kiko?” he asked in an even voice.
She stared up at him with alarm in her eyes, as if trying to decide whether to run or fight. She blinked once, then shook her head.
“You must have me confused with someone else. My name is Jane.”
“Jane, huh? Are you the notorious terrorist, Jane Smith?”
“Uh—what?”
“You were one of Ken Saracen’s girls, weren’t you?”
“I—don’t know who that is. Ken who?”
Kevin glared at her but didn’t reply. It was sometimes prudent to remain silent and let the subject’s guilty conscience say something incriminating.
“Look, officer, I’m just eating a bowl of ice cream. Is that a crime?”
“Depends. It might be.”
She tried on a smile, as if that might disarm him.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“I think you do. You’re looking for Nick Walker. You think you might find him by stalking people who know him. What are you planning to do if you find him?”
She shook her head.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Who is Mick Walker?”
“Nick Walker, not Mick. Don’t play dumb, lady. Everybody on the planet knows who Nick Walker is.”
“That may be true, but I’m not from around here.”
Kevin nodded. “Show me some ID.”
Kiko stared at him a moment, then picked up her purse and reached inside. Before she could withdraw her hand, Kevin’s service revolver was pointed at her face.
“Real slow,” he said.
She stared in shock at his weapon, then slowly handed him her ID card. Her hand was shaking.
“Now, dump the purse on the table.”
“What for?”
“Because if you don’t, I will.”
Trembling with a combination of fear and anger, Kiko did as instructed. Kevin pawed through the contents; he expected to find a gun, but did not. All she had were a few personal items—cosmetics, tissues, a starpass, a little cash. He inspected the starpass and compared it to her ID.
“Jane Tanaka,” he recited. “From Nagasaki.” He lifted his gaze to meet hers. “If you’re from Japan, what are you doing in Trimmer Springs?”
