Svetlana hadn't decided yet how she was going to kill him. Dimitri had been keen to talk to Boris and Vadim - waiting outside the office - and so hadn't been specific on that point. It had to be painful and gruesome though, that was expected. His body would be left in the house, meant to be found - a warning for others. For a few moments, she reflected on her options. Hmmm. She thought that this time she might use the knife. She slowly drew it out of its scabbard on the inside of her belt. Short, lightly studded, sheer black handle, long shining blade, razor sharp. Yes. Yes. The knife would do very nicely for this one. One of the questions that always fascinated her was how many times and how deeply could you cut a man before he actually died. This assumed no vital organs or arteries were hit. That was too easy. Then of course you had to take into account the blood loss. A lot of variables. She looked down at him wickedly, thoroughly enjoying his quivering fear, his small beady eyes full of terror. She glanced at the tiny penis and testicles between his legs, desperately trying to shrink away from her, becoming even smaller and more pathetic. That she would be cutting those off him before he died was a given. She looked forward to his scream of anguish and defeat. She enjoyed inflicting pain. She enjoyed killing. And she was very good at it. The best.
Her cell phone rang. It was Dmitri Alexandrovistch. He seemed upset, which was unusual. She listened intently. He said,
"Svetlana! I need to see you right now. Where are you?"
She replied,
"I'm in Podesk. I've got Petrov."
Dmitri didn’t seem at all interested in Petrov. He continued speaking, rapidly.
"Ah, that’s about two hours from here. All right. See me at my club at five thirty. It’s an emergency. Please hurry."
He seemed distraught. Something terrible must have happened. She replied quickly,
"Yes. OK .... What about Petrov?"
Dmitri snarled.
"What? Just fucking kill him, I don’t care how."
And then he hung up.
She stared down at Serge Petrov. She slid the evil looking knife back into its scabbard. He looked confused. He had heard her side of the conversation. Did he discern in it some unexpected change of heart? Did he dare hope for a last-minute reprieve? Svetlana spoke to him harshly and mockingly.
"Well, my little chicken, looks like I don’t have so much time. What the fuck are we gonna do with you?"
Petrov instantly saw that his hopes were in vain. She was the spider, and he was the fly, and his guts were about to get ripped open and devoured.
She had a vintage revolver holstered under her jacket. She took off the jacket, draping it across one of the other chairs nearby. She drew the revolver from its holster and briefly admired it. It was a Nagant M1895. It had belonged to her great grandfather. He'd used it and fought with it in World War Two - first at the Russian Front in Stalingrad and then later in the glorious counter-invasion of Germany. She loved the weapon and kept it in perfect condition. She'd never met her great grandfather. The revolver was given to her by her grandfather who was the only human being she'd ever loved. It had immense personal significance for her.
She looked down at Petrov again, smiling wickedly. She deliberately moved in a way that briefly highlighted the shape of her breasts, as they pushed against her blouse. She saw that Petrov noticed. Fixated on them. Fucking men! Un-fucking-believable! She asked him quietly, slyly and viciously,
"Do you like my body?"
Poor Petrov could only nod. He didn’t know what else to do. He was frantic with fear. She aimed the revolver at his groin and pulled the trigger. Click! Nothing happened. Petrov gasped. She screamed out,
"Fuck! Fuck!"
The Nagant M1895 revolver was old. It occasionally misfired no matter how lovingly she preserved it. She rolled the barrel and then re-cocked the weapon. And then she pointed it and fired again. This time there was a satisfyingly loud crack as the weapon discharged. Petrov started screaming out in agony. Blood splattering from his shattered testicles. She fired again into the groin, and then two more into the guts. Petrov was howling. She listened carefully, quite pleased with the effect. Normally she would have enjoyed his suffering for at least a couple of minutes, or longer, before executing the coup de grace but she had a meeting to get to. Dmitri could not be kept waiting. She fired two into the chest and two into the head - not sure which of them was the kill shot. But it didn’t really matter. She turned, grabbed her jacket and raced off towards her car leaving the body tied to the chair. The local cops would know not to investigate too closely. Everyone would know who did it - and who ordered it.
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She arrived at the club just a few minutes after 5:30 PM. The Lavenskar Lounge on Okvani Boulevard, in Moscow - very exclusive. She made her way through the lobby and into the main lounge. The guards at the door glanced at her but none of them attempted to stop her. They all knew who she was and who she was with. The lounge was almost empty so early in the evening. Soft sad music was playing. Something from Brahms. Dmitri was at his usual table in the far corner. He was with someone - ah yes Pushnikov, Grigor Pushnikov, the boss of Saint Petersburg, that fucking sleaze-bag. He and Dimitri were seated together, drinking vodka. There were two girls standing nearby, young, beautiful, scantily clad. No doubt they belonged to Pushnikov, he dealt in women, buying them from the east and selling them to brothels in the West for a huge profit. They might be here for his personal use - or he could be selling them to Dmitri. Pushnikov was well known for his huge sexual appetite, his brutal cruelty and his arrogant indifference as to the gender of his victims so long as they were broken, submissive and cowling. But it looked like Pushnikov was consoling Dmitri! And Dimitri looked miserable, wretched. What the fuck had happened?
Dmitri saw her approaching. He called out to her,
"Svetlana. Come. Sit."
He motioned to a chair beside him. She sat down. He was almost weeping.
"My boy, my dear boy, Constantine, is dead. Murdered."
Svetlana knew how deeply he loved his son. She cried out,
"Dmitri, I am so sorry to hear that."
He nodded.
"Yes. Yes. Thank you."
She waited, knowing when not to speak. She'd never seen him so sad, or so angry. Finally, he started talking again.
"Some fucking piece of fucking dog shit shot him in the head, for nothing. Just four hours ago. We know who did it."
He pulled out his phone, opened an image and showed it to her.
"Brian Samuals. An Australian."
She looked at the picture. Yes, he certainly looked like an obnoxious, murdering prick. She knew Constantine had gone to Australia with Boris and Vadim. She asked, trying not to be too indelicate.
"How did you get this so quickly?"
Dmitri replied, still barely able to stop himself from weeping openly.
"One of our men down there, Jack Williams, a police Inspector. He was working late. Have you ever dealt with him?"
Svetlana grimaced. She'd never met him but she'd heard that he was a real piece of shit. She shook her head.
"No, never had the pleasure."
Dmitri shrugged, then he said,
"Doesn’t matter. He got a surveillance video of the whole thing. Sent it to me. It was in a strip club. They're eight hours ahead. Past midnight already down there. Williams identified the killer for us. Contact him when you get there. Get everything you can from him. The video. Anything he's got."
Svetlana nodded again. She spoke in a quiet, matter of fact tone.
"So you want me to go to Australia and kill Brian Samuals."
Dmitri howled. He almost screamed at her,
"I want you to fucking tear him apart, limb by limb. Rip his fucking head off and shit on it. I want his pain to be so epic they'd write legends about it. Or they would if they could find him, which they won’t, because you'll cut him up into a thousand pieces and feed him to the fucking pigs. Send me a video. I want to see it."
Svetlana repl
ied simply,
"OK. No problem."
Dmitri calmed down a bit.
"I know you like to work alone. But I'm sending thirty guys as backup. Use them however you like."
Svetlana didn’t much like that idea but she knew that now was not the time to disagree. She nodded.
"OK."
Dmitri growled.
"Now, as for those two fuckwads, Boris and Vadim. They were with him. Did nothing. Kill them too." He paused. "They might be useful though. I'll get them hunting Samuals as well. Give them some time for that. Then kill them. I don’t care how, but make it fucking hurt."
Svetlana smiled. She'd always known that sooner or later she'd be going up against those two. She replied,
"My pleasure."
Dmitri wasn’t quite finished.
"And I’ve changed my mind about Jack Williams. He’s has been stealing from us. I'm sick of him. And this all happened under his watch. When you're all done with the others, kill him too. Something really fucking nasty. Sends a message to the next guy."
Svetlana smiled. This was turning into quite the adventure. She was keen to get started.
"No problem Dmitri, you can count on me. And again, I am very sorry to hear about Constantine."
She got up, turned and walked off. Dimitri just mumbled,
"Thank you. I know I can count on you."
He was thinking to himself,
“God. What a woman!”
Pushnikov was staring at Svetlana's ass as she walked away. He exclaimed with some enthusiasm,
"Whoa, I'd like to tame her. Collar her and brand her and then play with her for a bit. Then sell her, just like all the rest."
Dmitri looked at him incredulously and then sneered at him.
"I'd really like to see you try. Before you could finish saying 'I'm not that kind of a girl' you'd be the one in panties with a dick up your ass."
He glared at Pushnikov, smiling cynically, challenging him.
"Maybe you like it, maybe you don’t. But when she was finished with you she'd shoot you in the back of the fucking head, just for fun."
Pushnikov knew not to be insulted. He roared with laughter - suitably muted in accordance with the recent tragedy. They drank another vodka together and then another.
Chapter 7. Domesticity.
Natasha woke up with a smile on her face. She stretched out, pushing up against Brian who was lying in the bed beside her, still asleep. They were both naked. She snuggled up against him and purred contentedly. Mmmm! For now, she was a happy girl. Finally! A man with a really big dick and a long thick tongue and who knew how to use both.
After the shoot-out, she'd gone back with him to his Suite at the Crown Metropol next to the casino. They'd walked quickly along crowded King Street, ignoring the police cars already screaming by. They'd crossed the King Street Bridge and made their way through the multi-level complex before finally attaining the relative safety of his hotel room. Nothing was said. They just undressed and got into bed together. And then ... phhhh! Brian was all over her, every inch of her, stroking, caressing, licking ... it seemed to go on for hours. Finally, he mounted her and started thrusting into her fiercely, almost savagely. She screamed out, came several times. Then he did too. Then he rolled off her, turned away onto his side and promptly fell asleep. She sighed. Oh well! No-one was perfect.
She looked down and saw that his magnificent penis was almost fully erect. Men! Do they ever think of anything else, even when they're asleep? She slid herself down lower in the bed, stretched across and started licking it gently, before putting it in her mouth and sliding it in and out, slowly at first.
------------------------------------------------
When I woke up Natasha was sucking on my cock. Oh yeah. That felt good. When she saw that I was awake she smiled at me and increased the pace. She continued until I ejaculated into her mouth and then she swallowed it. My kind of a gal. We got up, and had a shower together. She tried to get me going again, rubbing up against me, caressing my balls, but it was too soon. I got out of the shower and then got dressed. Natasha just put her panties on and left it at that. Pouting a little bit. Oh man! This was going to be so fucking great. I ordered up some breakfast. Orange juice, some coffee and toast. We ate together, not saying much.
We watched the morning news on the TV. The shooting at the Men’s Club was getting a lot of attention. Apparently, there were no suspects, and the victim had not yet been identified, but you can't always believe that. Hopefully they had no way of tying it to me. There was no mention of the two Russian hit-men - and that’s obviously what they were. They must have gotten away too. But they had already connected the shooting to the murder of Wayne Cummings in North Melbourne. They were actively searching for Natasha, Natasha Brown, as a person of interest. They showed a picture of her.
Natasha didn’t seem too upset about that - or the murder of Wayne. She told me that he was her ex, and a complete and total asshole. She said that he'd hacked into some Russian company’s computer systems, stolen some important files. I knew the rest. Russian company, probably gangsters, barely distinguishable at best, Russian hit-men. Cause and effect. She was just so unbearably cute, sitting there in just her panties. Fucking gorgeous. She didn’t say any more. We agreed that she should stay here out of sight for the time being. We didn’t immediately discuss what to do after that. She seemed just happy to be safe, keen to please, and more than a bit on the submissive side, with a simmering low-key eroticism that just never ended. I assure you, you can never do too much foreplay. I know it gets a bit dull and boring after a while and you're aching, practically exploding, to get to the main goal. But it’s worth it in the long run. You just have to keep the female happy too, and then she'll hang around, eager and solicitous, and keep coming back for more, again and again.
Tomorrow would be Friday. On Friday morning, I would go see Uncle Charlie and get my weapons. In the afternoon, if I could, I would kill Barry Robertson with a rocket launcher. I needed to do some planning, obviously. Find out where he would be - hopefully somewhere public - work out where to place myself. Easy access. Close but not too close. Good view. Easy escape. Multiple routes. There were a lot of variables. I had a busy day ahead of me. First off, I needed a laptop. The hotel wi-fi would be OK for now as far as internet access went. I wouldn’t be doing anything that would give me away. The TV had a built-in internet option but this didn’t occur to me. I got up and put my coat on. Natasha didn’t want me to go. She hugged me tightly at the doorway, pressing herself into me. This time I responded in the natural way. She felt it pushing up against her and seemed pleased. But I pushed her gently away. My little nympho would have to wait. I had important business to attend to.
I got in the elevator and got out at the ground level. There were people everywhere. I walked across the Plaza, down one more flight of stairs and outside onto the street - the Yarra Promenade running along the south side of the river. Then, suddenly, out of the blue, there they were, walking straight towards me, less than fifty meters away - the two Russian hit men, stilling wearing the same thick grey suits. How the fuck could that happen? Fortunately, I saw them first, turned and ran the other way. But then they saw me and started running after me. I wasn’t sure whether they would start shooting. I glanced behind me once or twice but couldn’t afford to slow down for a good look. I was running as fast as I could, occasionally pushing myself through the crowd. They were slowly gaining on me. Still not shooting though. I turned left into Spencer street and then immediately into one of the other hotel entrances. I was sure I could lose them. I ran up a flight of stairs, turned left, ran along the lower Plaza level, down another flight of stairs and then right back out onto the Yarra Promenade. I couldn’t see them behind me. I’d probably managed to lose them. Just to be safe I continued running down the Promenade until I got to the Queen Street Bridge. I ran across it to Flinders Street and then ran north a couple of blocks to Bourke Street. What the fuck! How could they have found me so qui
ckly?
It took me a while to catch my breath. I sat down on a side-walk bench for a few minutes and then walked around slowly. I wasn’t scared of them. That wasn’t it at all. That I was going to get killed eventually was a certainty. But not by those assholes. And it was too soon anyway, I had a lot of people to kill first. Otherwise what was the fucking point of any of it. I walked along Bourke Street until I found an electronics store where I purchased a cheap laptop. Then I very cautiously made my way back to the hotel. When I got back to the Crown Complex I was especially careful. I made my way back through the Plaza to the hotel lifts and then back up into my suite.
Natasha was waiting for me - spread out on the bed, in the bedroom, completely naked again. She'd heard me come in and got ready. She smiled sweetly and called out,
"Hi Brian."
I looked at her in the bedroom, staring at her for a few moments. I called back,
"Hi Natasha". I paused. Then I grunted, with considerable enthusiasm "Yeah, OK."
I undressed and climbed up onto the bed. We kissed briefly and then I climbed onto her and we started fucking. You don’t always have to do the foreplay and this time I just wasn’t in the mood. I took my time though - half an hour or so, I've always had reasonably good staying power. She orgasmed a few times. Me just once. Yeah, women got the better deal on that one, I think. But look at what they have to put up with. Greedy demanding assholes like us slobbering all over them. I can totally understand how many of them prefer to be lesbians. We lay there for a while afterwards, not saying anything.
I got up an hour later, set up my laptop and internet connection and did my research on Barry Robertson. He'd done well for himself, for a cocksucker. Two years more in the Parole Office and then a move into Protective Services, a promotion or two, a meritorious service award. Now he protected visiting dignitaries. As luck would have it he was on duty Friday afternoon. Tomorrow! He would be one of several body guards for a couple of toffs at Federation Square. They would be making a presentation. The duty roster I was hacking didn’t have much detail on who or why. It just laid out which of the personnel was on duty, where and when. Still, it’s amazing what you can find out on the internet if you really know where to look. I could easily have found more detail on what the awards were for. Who would be giving the presentations. But I didn't. I didn't care. I focused on what I needed to know. Federation Square was a good location for an attack of this type. It didn’t take me long to decide on the Collins building for a vantage point. It was only a hundred meters away, just across the other side of Flinders Street, with a good view of the whole area from its rooftop. There was public access to most of the building, though I'd have to break into one of the upper floors to get to the roof. And I could make a rapid egress in any one of a hundred directions. All right then. Now all I needed was to see Uncle Charlie and pick up the rocket launcher.
101 People to Kill Before I Die Page 5
