Marked Man
Page 19
After he finished the third round of washing Shirokov dressed and went out to the car, a spring evident in his step even with the crutches.
“Take me to library,” he ordered Vitaly, who stepped on the gas with a gusto that said he knew better than to dawdle on the way to his boss’ favorite stop.
In order to celebrate his release Shirokov allowed himself a treat by checking out a novel, The Long Goodbye by Raymond Chandler. Growing up Shirokov had been a fan of the Humphrey Bogart films based on the character but had never taken the time to read any of the books.
Shirokov read faster than anyone he knew. After a few short hours he was nearly half way through the story, when a disturbing thought occurred to him that was inspired by the plot. Right away Shirokov yelled and summoned Vitaly, who came rushing in to the studio chewing a pretzel smothered in cheese.
“Start car, Vitaly. We must go for drive.”
“Where now?”
“Pick up Leonid first and then drive to Greenwood Cemetery.”
Vitaly almost asked why they would go to such a place, especially when the sun was going down but he thought better of saying anything.
...
Shirokov chain-smoked cigarettes in the backseat of the Continental, reading and blowing the smoke out of the window. The evening sky was clear and the stars were visible through the stripped branches of the trees in the cemetery. Spring was coming on but the greenery had not yet returned. A cool wind, more reminiscent of winter stirred the air but Shirokov kept the window down. After a week in prison he would have found even the open air in Antarctica fresh and invigorating.
He finished the last page of the novel and turned it over to read the back cover. Shirokov concluded that Chandler had been a very bright man, who probably could have done amazing things in his life. Why anyone would choose to squander such talent making up stories was a mystery to him. Although, he could sympathize as a painter, but only if the creative process was sacred. Anyone could tell a story. Telling it well was probably an art form, if an art form that was beyond his understanding.
The two burly bodyguards had been digging for nearly two hours when Vitaly came and tapped on Shirokov’s window, which he had since rolled down.
“Avtorityet. We found something.”
“Show me.”
Vitaly helped his boss out of the car, supporting his weight until he could take over. When Shirokov was upright with the crutches he followed the bodyguard over to an open grave. Below in the rich black earth Leonid was shoveling dirt out of the pit. Just like Vitaly, He was covered in a thin sheen of sweat that would probably give him the chills come morning.
“What is it?” Shirokov asked.
Leonid tapped the shovel on something metallic sounding just beneath the dirt. He helped Vitaly down into the grave and they unearthed a bronze casket. To Shirokov’s eye it was not the most expensive casket on the market, but not far off. Vitaly looked up at his boss and gestured at the box.
“You see. They buried him.”
“Open it,” Shirokov commanded in a tone that would entertain no argument.
It took a while but eventually the two of them used a pair of crowbars to jimmy the lid loose. The tail lights of the Lincoln were bathing the scene in an eerie red glow. Fog rolled over the heads of the tombstones. Shirokov plodded a step forward on his crutches and peered in to have a look. The movement of his shadow cleared the way and illuminated the name and inscription on the headstone.
Here lies Jordan Ross: Loving Husband, Doting Father, Honorable Soldier.
With a pair of grunts Leonid and Vitaly lifted the upper half of the lid open. Shirokov gasped.
“Son of the bitch.”
The casket was empty.
From the Author
Thank you for reading my book “Marked Man”. Please leave a review here and let me know what you thought about the book.
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Copyrighted Material
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons is coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by JacobsIM LLC
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