Ivan cursed. The Cadillac was still there, but it was switched off, and the door was open, the driver’s seat empty. He ran over and looked in; the keys were gone too.
He couldn’t blame the driver for fleeing, but that wouldn’t stop him giving him a kick in the ass if he ever got to see him again.
“Come,” he urged Inga and began running towards the lineup of beautiful cars that Molenski had collected. Beautiful but impractical cars for a stealthy getaway. He selected the least conspicuous vehicle in the collection, a gunmetal gray Dodge Challenger Hellcat.
“Quickly! Hop in.”
It was only after he had uttered the words that he thought how dumb the term ‘hop in’ was. Thankfully Inga’s vocabulary was sophisticated enough to understand that he didn’t mean it literally.
The big V8 rumbled to life instantly when Ivan started the car. There would be no warm up, and as soon as she had closed her door, he jammed the transmission into reverse, the tires squealing on the polished concrete as the car shot backward.
They were both forced back into their seats when he put the car into drive and slammed the gas pedal to the floor. As he sped towards the way out, the daylight at the top of the ramp told him that the huge roller door was still open, but Ivan was driving so fast he nearly overshot the ramp. He managed at the last instant to make the turn, the heavy car fishtailing dangerously before the tires found traction. The low slung car bottomed out with a squeal of metal and sparks as it flew up the ramp and out onto the gravel driveway.
Ivan took a sneaky glance at his passenger. She was smiling, but her hands were gripping the dashboard.
He eased off the gas a little, but was still traveling at a dangerous speed on the granular surface, and the car slid out onto the lush turf of Molenski’s manicured lawn at the first turn. Ivan cursed and spun the wheel, bringing it back under control before he sped towards the front gate. Ivan could see no guards and assumed they had abandoned their posts to head inside when they heard the shooting.
Another turn and then ahead, the heavy wrought iron gates stood open. Ivan couldn’t believe his luck. Clearly, Molenski’s driver had been in too much of a hurry to shut the gates behind him when he fled the estate. He was on the straight and approaching the gates when they began to close.
“Fuck!”
Ivan gripped the wheel harder and pressed the accelerator.
“At this velocity, the gate will close before you reach it, Myfriend,” Inga observed.
“We’ll see,” he said, feeling strangely happy.
The speedometer ticked upward, and the engine of the muscle car roared. 50, 55, 60, 65. The car hit 70 as it reached the gate. Ivan held his breath. It would be a close thing. The heavy wrought iron gates would make a mess of the Hellcat if they didn’t make it, but it was too late to stop even if he had wanted to.
Inga sat, an impassive observer as Ivan sucked in a deep breath and drew in his shoulders as if that would help them squeeze through. There was an almighty screech of metal and breaking glass; the car shuddered but made it through, minus both side mirrors and a deep scrape of paint.
He swung right as the tires bit into the tarmac and sped off just as the first of the police cars turned onto the road from the other direction. Ivan slowed and watched his rearview mirror. The line of flashing lights pulled up sharply, some turning into the mansion’s drive and the others blocking the road in both directions.
Resisting the urge to go faster, Ivan drove at a stately pace until he turned left and joined the traffic heading into the city.
“Are you alright?” he asked, thinking his passenger would be traumatized by the hair-raising ride.
“No, Myfriend. My system is detecting errors that can only be rectified with a reboot. Shall I reboot?”
“No,” he said, quickly. “No need, I will contact someone. A technician… someone that can help us.”
“Us? Do you have system errors too, Myfriend?”
“What? No – never mind. I’ll make some calls. We’ll get you fixed.”
Ivan didn’t want to risk a reboot in case she turned back into the hard killer he had seen in operation just ten minutes before. He had no idea what had made her flip out and massacre Molenski’s people, but whatever it was, it seemed to have been nullified by the damage she had taken from the Russian’s gun. As confident as he was in his own abilities, Ivan didn’t think he would last more than a minute with Inga if she were determined to harm him.
He had other problems too, namely, Molenski. Now that he had time to think as he weaved through the heavy afternoon traffic, Ivan realized it had been a mistake to have left him alive. If the shoe had been on the other foot, the Russian would have blown his brains out in an instant.
The mob boss was notorious for his unrelenting pursuit of those who did him wrong, and Ivan had just bashed him unconscious and stolen his property. Very expensive property, and he wasn’t thinking about the car. Very likely, this whole mess would only end one of two ways, with him or Molenski dead.
Still, there would be time to worry about that later. Depending on how badly hurt Molenski was, and how much grief the cops gave him, it might be days before the hunt began.
“What about your wounds?” he asked Inga. “Do they hurt? I thought you could feel pain.”
“The sensitivity feature activated at 11:09 am and was overridden at 3:23 pm. However, the damage I sustained 7 minutes and 42 seconds later has caused my parts of my previous programming to restart. I feel some pain at this time.”
“I’m sorry your hurt, but what happened at 3:23? What made you…?”
She turned to him.
“I do not know, Myfriend.”
“Your wounds? Do we need a doctor?”
“RealFlesh is a patented nano-biological design that replicates real human flesh and is capable of regeneration if treated by a medically trained individual using sutures and antiseptic. Unlike real human skin, no scar tissue will form if wounds are treated within two hours.”
“Okay, we’ll get you fixed, but first I need to take care of something.”
Ivan had already decided they had to get out of the country. It was the only way to escape Molenski’s reach, and even then they would have to disappear completely. For that, they would need help, and they would find it on the Westside, his old stomping ground.
He had someone there who could help them. His first boss, Mateo Babic, a man Molenski had apprenticed too, for five years before buying him out. A man who Ivan trusted implicitly.
First, though, he had to ditch his phone and the car. Ivan pulled into a McDonald’s car park.
“Do you require sustenance, Myfriend?”
“What? No. I just need to do something quick. You don’t need to get out.”
Ivan parked and got out, dropping his smartphone on the concrete before smashing it under the heel of his patent leather shoe several times.
It was only when he picked it up and headed for the nearest trash bin that he noticed an old lady staring at him through the open window of her big 1970’s Pontiac.
He smiled sheepishly and held the shattered remains of the phone out for her to see.
“Stupid technology!” he said. “I can never get used to these damn things.”
“I hear ya,” she said, then went back to eating her chicken nuggets.
Ivan dropped it in the bin and dusted off his hands before climbing back in the Hellcat. The car would have to be ditched next. He knew just the place.
17
Molenski wanted to sleep, but Tatiana wouldn’t let him. Her insistent shaking was making him angry.
“Let me sleep bitch!” he grumbled, but she wouldn’t.
The more she shook him, the angrier he got until finally, his eyes snapped open. Molenski was confused. He was on the floor with one of his house guards, Nikolai, kneeling over him.
“Mr. Molenski… Boss, can you hear me?”
His memories of the recent past came flooding back, and he tried to get up too qui
ckly. The Russian swooned and nearly fainted, his neck and the back of his head hurt like a first-time ass fuck.
“Try not to move boss…”
“Fuck that, help me up!”
Despite his swimming vision, Molenski could see that the robot and his bodyguard had gone. Then he looked across the bed and saw the naked body of his wife. Rage filled him, wiping the pain in his body away like a wave washing over a word etched in sand.
He lashed out at the bed with his foot, kicking it over and over again as Nikolai retreated a safe distance.
After his violent tantrum, Molenski leaned on the bed, his chest heaving. When he thought it was safe to talk, the guard cleared his throat.
“Boss, the police are here,” the guard said. “What should we do?”
The Russian heard the excitement in the young man’s voice. He turned and placed his hand on the guard’s shoulder.
“Help me dress.”
As quickly as he could, Molenski slipped on a pair of pants and a pullover. He then tucked his Ruger into the back of his pants before heading to the door.
“Where is the fucking cunt, Ivan?” he said, over his shoulder.
“I don’t know Boss; there are bodies downstairs, but he hasn’t been seen since you got back from the airport. Whoever hit us probably got him too.”
Molenski was too furious and in too much pain to explain that the fucking traitor was alive and well. He headed purposefully towards the staircase.
“About CPD Boss, there are lots of them. Shall we fight?” asked the inexperienced Nikolai from behind him.
“No, you fucking idiot.”
Molenski’s mind raced. Ivan and the robot bitch would have to wait for the moment. He needed to deal with the police first. Then he would find the couple and strap Ivan to a chair so he could watch him deconstruct her, first with a knife, then with a fucking baseball bat.
The Russian was nothing, if not patient.
More guards met them at the base of the staircase.
“Where are they?”
“At the front door Sir, we had a standoff, but they didn’t force the issue. They have the warrant to search the house.”
“Good, invite them into the reception room and tell them I’ll be with them in a few minutes. He turned to Nikolai and put his hand on the machine pistol, pushing it down to face the floor.
“Our fight is not with the piggies. I shall talk to them, let them look around and then after they’ve gone we will consider what has happened and make our plans. Go back upstairs and put a blanket over my Tatiana, will you.”
18
The men who had abducted Tim Redfern shouted and swore at the monitors. Since the feed had resumed, nothing had gone right for them. The robot hadn’t finished Molenski off. In fact, it hadn’t finished anyone off and on top of that, they had watched in escalating anger the robot run off with the Russian’s bodyguard.
If he wasn’t in so much danger, Redfern might have laughed at the comical situation. He wasn’t stupid though and knew with the escape of the robot, his usefulness to the two men and whoever had orchestrated the attempted hit was pretty much at an end.
His mind worked furiously through scenarios to get himself out of the awful situation he was in.
The buzzing of the big man’s mobile phone gave him the chance he was waiting for. The man snatched up the phone and put a finger in his ear, walking away from the monitors. His pistol remained on the desk. The other man was leaning over the desk, continuing to watch the feed.
A surge of adrenalin, so violent he thought he might faint, went through Redfern’s system. It was now or never. Live or die. He didn’t wait. He burst out of his chair and snatched up the gun, almost fumbling it before raising it and aiming it first at the big guy, then the short guy, then back again.
“Don’t move, either of you.”
The short man began to reach for the gun in his belt.
“Don’t!” screamed Redfern.
“Okay, okay! Chill, man!”
As he put his hands up in the air, Shorty’s eyes flicked in the direction of his partner and Redfern again swung the gun to the big guy but he was on the move, and with the phone still to his ear he fled into the hallway and deeper into the apartment.
Shit!
It was then, while he was distracted, that the short guy grabbed his gun hand.
“No!” grunted Redfern, as he struggled for control.
They fell to the floor, and the muzzle of the gun inched its way between their struggling faces. First Redfern gained ascendancy, but finally, Shorty, much stronger than he looked, flipped the technician onto his back. Now able to bring two arms to bear against the abductee’s one, the criminal began to win.
He twisted the gun and slowly lowered it towards Redfern’s face. The thug smiled victoriously…
BANG!
He was still smiling, even after the bullet from his own gun, taken from his pants by his intended victim, blew out the side of his head, spraying the white carpet in a vivid red and gray fan.
Horrified, Redfern pushed the body of the thug off him and scrambled backward. He didn’t stop retreating until his head struck the wall behind him. He began to shake uncontrollably, his ears ringing from the loud gunshot.
He thought briefly about running but just as quickly dismissed it. They knew where he lived. They knew the name of his wife. They knew the name of his kids. There was no way he could leave while the other man was alive.
He got to his feet, still holding the dead man’s gun and took a deep breath as he steeled himself to search the apartment for the other man.
As it was, he didn’t need to.
There was a flash of movement from the doorway of the kitchen to his right and something smashed into the brow of his right eye. Stunned, Redfern fell to his knees, desperately trying to clear his swimming vision. He heard a roar and then saw the formidable albeit fuzzy shape of the big guy barreling at him.
He tried to bring the gun up but didn’t manage to squeeze off a shot before the speeding bus hit him. The technician was propelled backward into the wall, the breath smashed out of his body by the impact and then kept out by the heavy weight of the man on top of him. Strong hands found his throat and began to squeeze.
Redfern had somehow managed to keep a hold of the gun and with a jellylike arm, lifted it slowly until the muzzle was wavering and wobbling under the thug’s chin. The big hands squeezed harder and with more violence, attempting to throttle the life out of him before he could pull the trigger.
As his vision darkened, he made a last, supreme effort to pull the trigger.
19
Twenty minutes after he discarded his phone, Ivan pulled the Dodge into a wrecking yard on Kedzie Avenue. He drove past the small used car lot out front and followed the driveway, weeds poking through its cracks like the hair from an old man’s ears, up to the rundown portable building that served as an office.
To the right, a wall of rusting cars at least ten high muffled the sound of the busy road beyond. They pulled up in front of the building, and Ivan turned to Inga.
“Stay in the car, yes?” he said, placing his hand on the one she had resting in her lap.
It was so warm and soft that he had a hard time reconciling it with the steel he had seen in her open wounds.
“Yes, Myfriend.”
She smiled a smile so humanlike that he couldn’t help but shake his head as he opened the door.
It had been much easier getting into the low-slung car than getting back out, and the big man struggled to do it without looking clumsy. He didn’t quite succeed.
He locked the car and walked to the office. The whole building creaked as he climbed the metal steps and squeezed through the open door. A man of about sixty looked up from behind the counter. His head gleamed under the last vestiges of his hair, which was slicked across his skull as if to hide the baldness which had clearly won its war a long time ago.
As Ivan placed his hands on the counter, the old man to
ok a final drag on the thin cigar hanging from his lip and blew a smoke ring casually into the already hazy air.
“Dolph Lundgren, I presume?”
“What?” Ivan asked, his face serious.
“You look like Dolph Lundgren.”
“Who?” Ivan asked, his face blank.
“Dolph Lundgren – you know – Rocky IV?” Ivan’s face was blank. “Hmmm never mind. A very old movie. What can I help you with, Mister?”
“Where is Pieter?”
“Long gone. I bought the yard from him two years ago.”
“Oh…”
The man stood up and looked over Ivan’s shoulder at the Dodge. Apart from the slight damage to the side, it looked a beauty.
He stuck out his hand.
“I’m Stan, is there something I can help you with?”
Ivan shook the proffered hand.
“I want to sell my car.”
“I see... let’s take a look,” said the old man, his eyes narrowing.
They returned to the office after Stan had taken an in-depth look at the vehicle, not to mention a good look at the beautiful, smiling girl in the passenger seat. He didn’t fail to notice the bruise and scrapes on her face and hoped the big guy wasn’t beating on her. None of his business, though, and he didn’t think she would have looked so happy if he was.
“Is it hot?”
“Yes,” Ivan said. He didn’t see any point in lying.
“Okay,” said Stan, nodding. “As long as you’re up front with me, I’ll be up front with you. I’ll give you five G for it.”
“Okay, sold,” said Ivan.
Stan was taken aback, he had been willing to go as high as ten, and the ease with which the other guy caved bothered him. Either he was an idiot or the vehicle was really hot. Stan’s eyes narrowed as he thought it over. He had the nagging feeling he should reject the offer, but greed won out. The guys at the chop shop would easily pay him three times that amount, and make double again by rebirthing it. Greed won out.
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