A Time to Die

by Tom Wood

  Victor listened.

  ‘They call it the bloom of youth,’ Rados said once again. ‘And men will pay any price to devour it.’ He paused. ‘Take her, she’s yours.’

  ‘I value spirit more than youth.’

  ‘Then perhaps there is a mistake in your genome and your genes seek to balance out that imperfection of personality.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Victor agreed.

  ‘Pick another if you like. One with more spirit.’

  His gaze passed over the women and rested on the one on the far right, the one with short hair who had spat in Zoca’s face at the scrap yard.

  ‘That one might have too much spirit, even for you,’ Rados said.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because this is her second time with us.’ Rados waited until Victor turned to question him further before continuing. ‘She was here at the very beginning of the harvest season. She was trouble from the start, as some are. They do not soften to a hard hand, but strengthen. They need to be kept close by. We cannot send them away to loyal customers. This particular one stayed here in Belgrade. I liked her. Her bloom was radiant. But she left us. Now, that bloom has gone, hasn’t it?’

  ‘She escaped?’

  Rados nodded. ‘She ran far before we caught up with her. Her wiles are as strong as her will.’

  ‘Yet here she is again.’

  ‘Some people are unlucky. For some of us, the cards will never be in our favour. Now, she is back and her bloom has faded. You like her though?’

  This particular one stayed here in Belgrade.

  ‘Yes,’ Victor said, ‘I like her.’

  THIRTY-THREE

  Milan Rados watched the Hungarian leave with his choice. Zoca led them. When they were gone Rados dismissed Zoca’s boy servant and the other women. Only Dilas remained. Rados took a seat behind a desk. He then sat in silence, savouring the absence of chatter, but knowing it could not endure. That’s what made it so precious. That’s why he treasured it so much.

  It came as no surprise that it was Dilas who broke the precious silence, crushing it beneath one of his tasselled loafers.

  He said, ‘You can’t trust him. You do know that, I take it.’

  Dilas liked to make statements rather than pose questions because he thought it lent him gravitas. Rados chose not to answer.

  But he persisted: ‘Surely, you can’t.’

  Rados thought of his favourite beach and the way his feet would sink into the black sand. If he couldn’t have silence, he could at least have the sweet memory of merciful times of quiet.

  Rados said, ‘You did as I asked?’

  Dilas nodded. ‘I made enquiries.’

  ‘Speak plainly, and with an answer.’

  Dilas smirked, pleased with himself. He enjoyed what little power he had over Rados, believing in his own posturing, oblivious to the fact it was permitted only because Rados tolerated it. ‘I had him checked out. He’s no undercover cop.’

  ‘You’re sure about that?’

  ‘I wouldn’t risk your displeasure if I was not.’

  Rados said, ‘You mean you wouldn’t risk your own skin.’

  Dilas laughed. ‘Well, I have such pretty skin. But undercover cop or not, you can’t trust him. Do you?’

  He waited for an answer, and when one didn’t come he opened his mouth to say something else, but Rados was faster. He was prepared to succumb to one of Dilas’ ego games if it would put a stop to it.

  ‘Do you know who I trust, my friend? Do you know? I don’t trust any of my men. I don’t trust you. I don’t even trust my own reflection not to stab me in the back on a whim. So why would I trust him? Answer me that. No, don’t. Instead, tell me what makes you think I trust him? What makes you believe you can see into my soul with such clarity?’

  Dilas didn’t answer. He had been outplayed, and he knew it, so instead he changed tack: ‘You seem uncommonly open with him.’

  Rados scooped a shiny red apple from a fruit bowl and used his pocketknife to begin peeling. ‘You sound jealous. Do I not pat you on the head enough? Do I not rub your belly when you have been a good boy?’

  Dilas didn’t rise to the taunt. Instead, he asked, ‘Why have you hired him?’

  ‘We’ve lost men recently. We need to make up those numbers. Addition is the opposite of subtraction, is it not?’

  Rados’ pocketknife was razor sharp – he honed the blade every week – and so he had to use a delicate touch to slice away the skin while keeping it as an intact spiral.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s convenient he’s come along at the precise moment we need to replace people?’

  Dilas’ eyes were full of challenge and arrogance – as much as he wanted Rados to agree with him, he also wanted to demonstrate his superior powers of deduction, to be the one who was right – the only one who was right. Rados, always ready, sidestepped Dilas’ gambit.

  Rados said, ‘You know I don’t believe in coincidences.’

  ‘Then what exactly are you doing?’

  ‘I’m being a businessman. Hector mentioned him to us before I was forced to make the cull, let’s not forget.’ Rados paused, peeling the apple. ‘Had he come to us afterwards then he would no longer find his skin attached to his flesh. So we can show a degree of faith, especially given his performance last night.’

  ‘Beating the Beast doesn’t mean he can protect our shipments.’

  ‘Because we can stand straight does not mean we can stand tall.’

  Dilas frowned. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means: kindly stop telling me things I already know.’

  Dilas unfolded his arms and held up his hands. ‘It’s none of my business what you do or don’t do. I’m offering you counsel, that’s all. Do what you like.’

  ‘Thank you for your blessing,’ Rados said with undisguised mockery. ‘Look, it’s quite simple: we need warm bodies, and I don’t yet know who he is or what he wants, but I suspect he will be very useful to us. Until that’s proved or disproved, I want to keep track of him. That’s not so hard to understand, is it?’

  Dilas scoffed. ‘Unless you’re planning on having him at your side night and day, how exactly are you going to do that? Have him watched? Great idea, Milan. Wasting more manpower watching him than you gain with his presence.’

  Rados didn’t respond. He continued to peel his apple. He tolerated Dilas’ insolence in the same way he tolerated a bad smell – it was temporary. Clean air would follow in time.

  Dilas didn’t understand he was temporary. He thought he breathed the same clean air. ‘This one is different,’ he said. ‘He’s slippery. He’s an eel. I knew that within seconds, which is why I bet on him. He could notice if you have him watched, and act accordingly.’

  Rados shook his head, gaze still on the apple. ‘I won’t use my own people. I thought that would be obvious. As you said, that would not make sense and he would certainly know if I had him watched. There is no doubt in my mind. That’s why I want him in my organisation if he shows himself loyal. I need a man who does not simply see, but looks.’

  ‘Sometimes I wonder if all those books you read are good for you,’ Dilas said, shaking his head. ‘So who is going to watch him for you if not your own men?’

  ‘Your people, of course. Who else is there?’

  ‘I don’t have people, Milan. I’m not a gangster, I’m a politician.’

  Rados released a bark of laughter. ‘Is there such a distinction? We both wield power we did not earn over those who do not deserve it. At least I do not pretend. I am honest in my criminality. You hide yours.’

  ‘Politics is, at least, legal.’

  ‘Ah, yes, legal,’ Rados said. ‘Thieves writing their own laws – the biggest irony of democracy.’

  He glanced up from the apple with something in his eyes Dilas recognised.

  ‘Oh no, no, no,’ he began. ‘You can’t mean who I think you mean. You can’t be that stupid.’

  Rados’ eyes narrowed. ‘If I am stup
id, how is it that you profit so much by your association with me?’

  Dilas was quick to backtrack. ‘Ah, that’s not what I meant. It was a turn of phrase, nothing more. You know I don’t think you are stupid, but you can’t seriously be suggesting —’

  ‘Of course. Who else would I suggest?’

  Dilas was concerned. ‘And what do I tell them?’

  ‘You are a liar by profession, yet you ask me what you should say? Tut, tut. Your lack of confidence in your own deftness of tongue is most unlike you. Where is that self-belief? Where is it hiding?’ He looked beneath his desk. ‘No, not here.’

  Dilas huffed.

  ‘Always remember that your friends speak the same language as you, so use words they understand. Here,’ Rados said as he reached into a desk drawer and produced a strap of cash, ‘have a dictionary.’

  He tossed the money. Dilas was too slow to catch it before it struck him in the chest, but he managed to fumble for the strap before it fell to the floor. He wedged it into an inner pocket of his suit jacket in a well-practised move.

  ‘Okay,’ Dilas conceded. ‘You win. I think I know the right person to handle this. I will ask him to make a call and —’

  ‘But do make sure he knows the right persons,’ Rados interrupted with quiet insistence.

  ‘Right. Sure. I’ll be clear that this needs more than one.’

  ‘The more the merrier.’

  ‘Quite,’ Dilas said. ‘They’ll keep tabs on your boy and see what they can unearth. I hope you are happy to have your way once again.’

  ‘I am a child on Christmas morning,’ Rados answered with a measured smile.

  Dilas sneered at the sarcasm. ‘Whether they find anything out about this Hungarian or not, whether he proves uniquely useful or not, you are acting most out of character to bring someone so new, and an outsider at that, into your carefully managed world.’

  ‘Perhaps it is in fact the opposite. Perhaps I’m acting in character after all.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean by that.’

  ‘You didn’t fight in the war, did you?’

  Dilas’ voice quietened. ‘You know I didn’t. I was too young.’

  ‘If you are old enough to throw a rock, then you can fight.’

  Dilas didn’t respond.

  Rados said, ‘My point is that you have never been in combat. You have never been in a battle. It is a unique experience. After you have taken a life – lives – the normal world is never the same. It is no longer normal.’

  ‘You don’t need another former soldier when you already have a platoon of them.’

  ‘Yes, we all fought in the same war on the same side. Yet I could not be more different from them. None of them is like me. None of them think as I do.’

  ‘I see,’ Dilas said. ‘So you’ve found yourself a kindred spirit. How very touching.’

  ‘He interests me, yes. We are similar, yes. I want to know more about him, yes.’

  ‘That’s not enough of a motive to be taking such an unnecessary risk with this one.’

  ‘Calculated,’ Rados corrected. ‘I never take unnecessary risks.’

  Dilas said, ‘That still doesn’t explain it. I’d like to know the real reason why you’re doing this.’

  Rados exhaled and leaned back in his chair. ‘So would I.’

  When the apple was peeled he set it down on the desk before him, turning it around on the spot until it sat as he wanted it to. He placed the peel next to it and wiped his pocketknife clean. He was not hungry. He had no desire to eat the apple. Rados wanted to watch it oxidise and grow brown now it was without its skin – its protection.

  He wanted to watch it die.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  The room Zoca led them to was small and cold. It had a bed, a wardrobe and a dressing table, and nothing else except curtains and stains. A low-wattage bulb hanging shadeless from the ceiling buzzed alight when Zoca thumbed the switch. He pushed the woman through the doorway and towards the bed, and when she resisted he raised a hand to strike that Victor caught before it reached its mark.

  Zoca glared at him, enraged and humiliated, and eager to react with violence, but he also felt the incredible strength of Victor’s grip compressing his wrist and knew to back down.

  ‘Careful, Hungarian,’ Zoca hissed instead of fighting.

  Victor released him when he saw that passivity and Zoca left them, rubbing at his inner wrist and the vivid marks left by Victor’s fingertips.

  When he could no longer hear the man’s footsteps, Victor closed the door. He reached to engage the lock, but saw there was none. Only a mark in the wood remained where once a brass catch had been. He examined the room’s simple furniture – bed, wardrobe, dressing table – and fixtures and fittings. There were no signs of any recording devices.

  The woman’s gaze followed his every move.

  He kept each of his movements slow and obvious. She was scared and trying to keep control of that fear. He could hear her breathing from three metres away.

  He faced her with arms down by his sides and hands open. He didn’t step any closer. He wanted to be near to the door and she wanted him as far away as possible.

  The woman was small and slim, but he saw the latter was through rapid weight loss. She had sturdy shoulders and hips. There was no malnourishment evident in her skin or nails. Now close, he saw she was no older than twenty-five. She was maybe fifty or fifty-one kilos and five foot three inches. He estimated she’d been about five kilos heavier when this nightmare began – at least this time around. He pictured her as well-fed and well-raised, not some impoverished peasant from a backwater village desperate for a new life. She was from a comparatively well-off background, maybe from a city, probably educated to university level. Probably she had sought to travel, perhaps to study abroad, and her quest for adventure and new experiences had been exploited. He didn’t see her as naive. She wouldn’t have been easy to kidnap.

  He said, ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’

  She said, ‘If you get your dick out, I’ll bite it off.’

  He couldn’t help but adjust his footing, even if the words were delivered with more desperation than ferocity.

  ‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ he said again.

  She didn’t react. The words meant nothing to her. She must have heard them before and learnt how hollow they could be, no matter how presentable the speaker appeared nor how softly spoken he sounded.

  ‘I’m not,’ Victor insisted.

  He resisted approaching her. He knew how to be unthreatening because he spent most of his time pretending to be no threat to anyone.

  He said, ‘I only want to talk. Is that okay?’

  She was hesitant. She didn’t believe him. ‘You want to talk?’

  ‘That’s all. I’ll keep standing here. You can sit down if you want to.’

  She glanced at the only place to sit down – the bed – and shook her head. ‘No, I don’t want to sit down.’

  ‘It’s your choice,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.’

  He spoke with his hands as well as his voice, because standing statue-still was unnatural and would only unnerve her, but he made slow gestures and kept his hands no higher than his waist.

  Her expression hardened and he saw that he had tried too hard.

  ‘Don’t try and make out you’re one of the nice ones. None of you are. Just because you don’t hit me it doesn’t mean you’re a good guy. You’re here, so you’re responsible for what is happening to me.’

  In being passive he’d made himself appear weak and had drawn her aggression as a result. He changed tack:

  ‘And what is happening to you?’ Victor asked.

  ‘What kind of a question is that? I’m in hell. Except worse than hell, because this is real.’

  ‘How did you get here?’

  ‘What do you care? What do you want with me?’

  ‘I’m going to ask you one question at a time. That’s all. I’m no
t trying to trick you. I only want to talk to you. And so long as we’re talking, we’re not doing anything else.’

  She stared, then looked away, but only for a moment. ‘How I got here? I met a man. I trusted him. He was an asshole. Satisfied?’

  ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘But you can tell me as much or as little as you like. Where are you from?’

  ‘Armenia.’

  Her hair was dark brown, cut short and choppy in a way that didn’t suit her. He imagined she had cut it herself. An attempt at disguise, or maybe to make herself less attractive. She wore too much make-up, which wouldn’t have been her choice. Her fingernails were cracked and broken beneath fresh polish from chewing or maybe clawing at her captors and confines.

  Despite the make-up there were bags and dark circles beneath her eyes, which were green. Her lips were thin and chapped. She smelled of perfume and fear.

  He said, ‘Do you speak English?’

  She didn’t answer but he saw a flicker in her eyes.

  ‘If we speak like this,’ he said in English, ‘they won’t be able to overhear us.’

  She understood and the hint at deception was compelling enough for her to say, ‘Okay, but why don’t you want them to listen?’

  ‘You sound vaguely American.’

  ‘I went to high school over there. A kind of scholarship. Why are you asking me all these questions?’

  ‘Because I’m interested in who you are.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked, confused, but then a thought occurred to her and she looked at him with disgust. ‘Yeah, I bet you are interested, aren’t you? This is all some kind of sick fantasy for you, isn’t it? You want me to like you. I bet you can’t even get it up otherwise. Pervert.’

  ‘I can help you,’ Victor said.

  She looked away. ‘Even if you could help me, I don’t believe you would.’

  ‘I’ll make a deal with you,’ he began. ‘If you help me, I’ll help you. That’s how simple it can be if you’ll let it.’

  She looked back, suspicious but with a glimmer of hope in her eyes. She couldn’t believe he would help her selflessly, but she could dare to believe he might if he could get something out of it too.