Kingmaker (24 page)

Florian snickered. “I’m not negative, Kylie.” He took a sip from his second glass and leaned against the polished concrete counter. “I’m discontent. There’s a difference.”

The girl shifted her weight and crossed her arms. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Negativity is destructive. Discontent is
con
structive. Discontent is a catalyst. It’s what makes some of us get up off our asses and do something with our lives.”

“But why would you say it’s a good thing when it obviously makes you miserable?”

“We’re
supposed
to be miserable, Kylie. Christ, it drives me fucking crazy that I seem to be the only person on the entire planet who sees that. Evolution didn’t take us all the way up to this point so that we could sit around feeling fulfilled and enlightened and perpetually gratified.”

The girl moved into the kitchen. She sat up on the barstool beside the one where Florian’s coat hung and hooked her heels on the stool’s cross brace. “You really believe evolution favors discontentedness over happiness?”

“Of course that’s what I believe. What do you think drives us? What do you think makes us get out of bed in the mornings? What do you think motivates us to eat, drink, earn a living, go to sleep when we’re tired, go to the hospital when we’re hurt, fuck each other to propagate our genes? There are only two things that motivate all conscious living creatures: the promise of pleasure, and the fear of pain. The carrot and the stick. But the fear of pain is by far the more effective of the two.”

“I don’t believe that’s true,” the girl said. “I think positive reinforcement is far more powerful.”

“Unfortunately it doesn’t really matter what
you
think, Kylie. It’s a fact. What’s a better motivator to get you to eat? The promise of having something you enjoy, or the pain and discomfort of being hungry? Do you have any idea the kinds of things people will eat when they’re starving to death? Rats. Maggots. Rotten flesh.
Each other
. What’s the better motivator to get you to avoid a dark alley at night? Is it the thought that walking through a well lit and safe neighborhood might make for a more pleasant
stroll, or is it the fear of being raped and having your throat slit? Fear, pain, hatred, and discontent are what advance humanity, Kylie, whether we want to admit it to ourselves or not, and those of us who understand and experience those emotions the most intensely are the ones who will be the most successful. If I wasn’t as discontent as I am, I’d probably be some fat fucking slob sitting on the couch watching TV all day with a beer and a bag of potato chips in my lap. But instead, I’m rich, I’m successful, I’m powerful, and I
will
leave my mark on this world before I die.”

He finished his wine and began filling his glass for a third time. The girl was looking down at her hands on the counter.

“I didn’t come here to argue with you or to be lectured to, Florian.”

“You asked,” Florian said. “Now are you going to tell me why you
did
come here or are you going to make me guess?”

The girl was still looking down at her hands. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Florian let a moment pass while he finished filling his glass, then shrugged. “I can’t read your mind, Kylie.”

The girl looked up. “I came to tell you that I’m pregnant.”

Florian did not react. He sipped his wine while keeping his eyes on the girl. “So you’re here for money, then.”

“Maybe I wasn’t clear,” the girl said. “I’m pregnant with
your
baby.
Our
daughter.”

“So how much does a good abortion go for these days?”

“Are you even hearing what I’m telling you?”

Florian put down his wine glass and pulled his handset out of his pocket. “Five thousand? Ten thousand?”

The girl gave Florian a disbelieving look. “I want you to listen to me, Florian. I
don’t
want your money, and I’m
not
getting an abortion.”

“Look, Kylie, I’m tired and I have a lot of work to do before I can go to bed tonight. Can we please just call this what it is? You’re obviously here to shake me down. People like you don’t accidentally get pregnant by people like me. We both know that. You’re a secretary or an executive assistant or whatever the fuck you call yourselves these days who got knocked up on purpose because you knew it was probably the best opportunity you’d ever have to get someone to marry you, or to pay you a small fortune to keep quiet. You saw a shot and you took it. Good for you. I don’t blame you. I would’ve probably done the same thing if I was in
your position. So why not just make this easy on everyone and name your price. How about we agree to an even hundred thousand and I never see you again?”

The girl had grown calm. She regarded Florian carefully. “Actually, there is something I want from you, Florian, but it isn’t money.”

“We’ve already established that I can’t read your mind, Kylie. Spit it out.”

“I know you’re not going to be a father to this baby. That’s not what I want, and that’s not what I’m asking. All I ask of you is that you think about the kind of world that you want to leave behind for your daughter. That’s it.”

“Come on, Kylie. This is bullshit. You’re not having this baby.”

“I
am
having this baby, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. I’m going to raise her by myself, and you will never see her, hold her, touch her, or talk to her. But you will always know that somewhere out there, you have a child who has absolutely no chance at any kind of opportunity or success with the way the world is today. And someday, with that in the back of your mind, you might just decide to do something about it.”

“And what exactly do you think
I
can do about it? You think I can just change the way the entire world works because I suddenly feel guilty that my kid can’t get a job, or has to sell her vote to buy something to eat?”

The girl suddenly looked perplexed. “Wait a second. I’m confused. Weren’t you just telling me how incredibly important and powerful you are, and about how you’re going to bless all of humanity by leaving your mark on the world?”

Florian glared at the girl. “You’re goddamn right,” he told her. He moved his glass to his other hand so he could point. “
My
mark. Not yours, not your baby’s, and sure as hell not the mark of some pathetic washed-up Russian spook. Nobody ever looked out for me when I was a kid, so why should I look out for anyone else? I had to fight for everything I have, so let everyone else fight for what they want. It’s called survival of the fittest, and it’s the only law since the very inception of life on this planet that’s ever meant a goddamn thing.”

“I think you’re actually selling yourself short,” the girl said. “I think you’re capable of doing much bigger things than you even realize.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’ve always taken the easy way out. It means you just do what everyone expects you to do and what comes easily and naturally to you. Survival of the fittest is easy when you’re the fittest, isn’t it? But maybe someday you’ll decide to actually challenge yourself—to walk away from a fight, or to fight a fight you know you can’t win, or to do something in someone else’s best interests rather than your own. Someday maybe you’ll understand the meaning of the word
humanity
.”

“Do you really think that just because you refuse to have an abortion, I’m suddenly going to turn into some kind of bleeding heart humanitarian? I’m sorry, but I’m not following your logic.”

“Believe me, no one expects you to become a humanitarian, Florian. But I do think that one day, you could be in a position to change the world. And when that day comes, I want you to remember your baby. Even if you’ve never thought about her before and if you never think of her again for the rest of your life, I want you to think of your daughter right at that moment, and I want you to challenge yourself to do the right thing.”

“Thank you, Kylie. That was truly inspirational. I promise to do my very best to keep all that in mind. In fact, maybe you can needlepoint it for me and frame it and I’ll hang it up in the bathroom. Now if you’re finished, I believe you’re familiar with the exit.”

The girl did not move. “Florian, please,” she said.

“Please what?”

“Please,” she repeated. Her resolution was beginning to falter. “Don’t be like this.”

“Like what? Like the person I am? Like the person you knew I was when you decided to sleep with me? How should I be? Should I be who
you
want me to be? Should I be who
God
wants me to be? Should I be like everyone else in the world and pretend to be someone I’m not so I can spend the rest of my life repressed and miserable? Tell me what you think I should do, Kylie. Tell me. Please. I’m dying to know.”

“I don’t know what I want you to do,” the girl said. She looked at him imploringly. “I just don’t want you to send me away.”

“What’s the matter? Are you having second thoughts about the money? Well I’m sorry, but that offer has expired. My new offer is this: you have thirty seconds to get the
fuck
out of my apartment before I call security.”

The girl looked down at her hands. She was still for a moment and then she shook her head and tears fell into her lap.

“Oh, Christ,” Florian said. “Not the fucking waterworks now.”

The girl did not respond. She crossed her arms and hugged herself and seemed to grow smaller beneath the weight of Florian’s glare. Florian watched her a moment longer and when he spoke again, his tone was milder.

“Kylie, look. I’m sorry. I know I said some shitty things tonight. But the reality is that you’re much better off without me. We both know that. Now come on. Pull yourself together.”

The girl looked up. She wiped her eyes with the palms of her hands and sniffed. She held Florian’s gaze as she got down off her barstool and tentatively approached him. Even with her heels, she looked like a child standing in front of the much larger man, and she reached up and touched his chest through his shirt. Florian looked down at the girl, neither withdrawing nor reciprocating. As the girl slid her arms around him and pushed her body against his, his demeanor began to soften, and when he had relaxed enough, the girl was suddenly behind him. Florian’s wine glass shattered against the concrete floor as she did something to his knees to knock him off balance and cause him to collapse back against her. One of Florian’s hands grasped at the counter beside him while the other searched the air for something else to give him leverage. The girl’s hand struck at the knife block beside her and came back with a long, mottled, Damascus-steel blade. She flipped it around to reverse her grip, and Florian froze when he felt the edge press against his throat.

The girl’s voice was soft and sweet as she spoke into Florian’s ear. “I didn’t come here for money, Florian. I came to deliver a message.”

Florian’s astonishment turned to bitter amusement and he smiled. “Son of a bitch. I should have known. Very well played, Kylie. Although I’m guessing your name isn’t actually Kylie, is it?”

“Good guess.”

“So who are you?”

“You’re the genius. You tell me.”

“OK,” Florian said. “I think you’re Hyun Ki, Alexei’s little pet assassin. I think you’re the little slut who killed Nicolas Laroche.”

“What gave me away? Was it the knife?”

“I take it Alexei says hello.”

“Not hello,” the girl said. “Goodbye.”

Florian’s smile vanished and he reached up for her hand, but the blade cut deeper. Blood trickled out from beneath it and ran down into his collar.

“Kylie, please,” Florian said. His breathing was rapid and he closed his eyes. “I mean Ki. Whoever the fuck you are. Please. You don’t have to do this.”

“I don’t? But you just said positive reinforcement doesn’t work on you.” She moved the knife and it bit down closer to his jugular. “So why don’t we try a little fear and pain, instead. Since you weren’t interested in the carrot, let’s give the stick a try.”

“
Jesus Christ!
” Florian screamed through his teeth. “Ki,
please!
”

The girl held Florian for another moment, then stepped back and dropped him to the floor. Florian cried out when his hand slid through the shattered glass. As the girl stepped past him toward the door, she slammed the stone handle of the knife down on the counter.

“Just a friendly reminder that we’re watching you,” she said.

“Wait,” Florian said. The girl stopped and turned. Florian pulled a shard of glass from his palm and tossed it down beside him. “I have a message for Alexei, too.”

The girl gave a mocking shrug. “I can’t read your mind, Florian.”

“Do you know what a queen sacrifice is?”

She took a dish towel from a steel rack by the stove and tossed it down to Florian. He caught it with his good hand.

“I wasn’t trained to play board games,” she told him.

“Clearly,” Florian said. He used the counter to pull himself up. His hair had fallen down over his forehead and there was blood on the front of his shirt. “It’s when you sacrifice your most powerful piece on the board in order to gain a tactical advantage—usually to win the entire match.”

“And?”

“Tell Alexei that when the time comes, he needs to stand down.” He wiped the blood from his neck, then held the towel against the opening in his palm. “Tell him if he doesn’t, he’s going to lose everything.”

“I don’t think that’s going to go over very well,” the girl said. “Alexei doesn’t like to lose.”

“That’s the problem,” Florian said. He took a drink directly from the wine bottle, then smiled wildly at the girl. His teeth were red and wine trickled from the corner of his mouth. “Neither do I.”

It was rainy and still early so the foot traffic in central London was light. Alexei sat at the intersection of Arlington and Piccadilly in the driver’s seat of an old Aston Martin One-77 which had been retrofitted with a hydrogen fuel cell, a first-generation auto-drive system, and an electrostatic air filter which was doing a poor job of containing the smoke from his cigarette. The windshield had at some point been treated with a superhydrophobic vapor which actively repelled the rain so there was no need for wipers. The sky was solid gunmetal gray, and red ran through the wet streets as London’s iconic double-decker buses lumbered by.