Last Hit (Hitman) (10 page)

I keep my head lowered and am soon called on to deliver a guest’s luggage to their room. I complete the task and then continue up to Bogdan's room. Once there, I don't bother knocking. They will not open the door. I pull out my gun, attach the suppressor, and use a master key I've pilfered from the maids downstairs. Bogdan looks up as the door swings open. I pull the trigger. He falls. I swivel, locking the Glock on my new target, and I hit.

They both fall to the floor in agony. Quickly, I enter, shut the door, and have them both trussed with duct tape. My favorite. The whole process has taken less than thirty seconds. The second man, one I do not know, spits at me, and I hear a grinding of his teeth. Bogdan must have heard it, too, because he shouts no. I step back from the second man, who is now foaming at the mouth.

"Cyanide?" I ask Bogdan. He closes his eyes and nods.

"In his tooth." Bogdan says, hanging his head.

"A new recruit then."

"
Da,
they are so earnest." Bogdan and I both watch the man. The poison he has swallowed is fast-acting. That's positive. In the past, Sergei would give his foot soldiers dimethyl-mercury. It took a long time for them to die. And it was painful. It was as if Sergei wanted to punish them one last time for failing him. But the downside was that the man, angry about the painful death, could be coerced to give up secrets. This unknown foot soldier is unconscious, and he will soon be dead. I turn away. There is nothing to be done.

"Bogdan, why are you so careless?"

He shrugs. He doesn't know. I believe this. Sergei does not surround himself with anyone who is smarter than him. It is too dangerous. That person will eventually want to throw you over. I go into the bedroom and rip the pillow cases into strips and hand the cloth to Bogdan. He ineptly tries to bind his hand, so I do it for him. "It will heal, you know."

"We were just coming over to warn you, not harm you." Bogdan whines.

I glance at the dead body of his companion in obvious disbelief.

Bogdan tries to smile, but it is a grimace. Smiling is something that comes hard to all of us. Not to Daisy though. She seems to smile constantly. I shake my head to get her out of there. Time for business now; pleasure later.

"Why kill Alexsandr?" I ask bluntly. I want to hear Bogdan’s story. His will be the one told throughout the
Bratva
.

"He fell in love with wrong woman." Bogdan tongues his tooth, the one with the poison, as if taunting me. I want to beat Bogdan for lying, but I wait. Patience. We both know that if he intended to use the poison, then he would've done it earlier, perhaps as soon as I had shot him. The stink of nicotine from Bogdan's clothes almost overwhelms the sulfur, blood, and now piss from the dead man. I rifle through Bogdan's clothes until I find his cigarettes. I place one in his mouth and offer him a flame. He nods in gratitude, takes a few puffs, and begins.

"She comes home two weeks ago. Angry. She says to her papa, ‘Alexsandr is a
mudak
.’ Sergei answers. 'What’s new?'"

I nod. Alexsandr is an asshole. We all know this.

"She yells at her papa that she wanted to marry Alexsandr, but he refuses to marry her. He won’t marry her, but he'll fuck her anytime he gets the chance."

Heaviness sets in. Alexsandr killed because of a woman. This makes more sense to me than the claims that Alexsandr was disloyal, yet I cannot shake the feeling that I do not know all of the story. I think of Daisy again, of fucking her, of her being angry that I cannot marry her. I see her face crumple and cry. I shake my head again. Daisy. I must not think of her now.

"Because she gives voice to the truth, Sergei thinks Alexsandr must die?" I ask.

Bogdan gives a negligent shake of his shoulder. "Sergei says to his daughter, 'I'll take care of this. No man fucks with the
Bratva
.' Then he is gone."

"He does the deed himself."

Bogdan shakes his head. "Don't know. He takes Daniel with him. Maybe Vasily, maybe Grigory."

I’m shocked to hear Daniel’s name. He plays a deeper game than I suspected, but I will pursue that threat later. I need to understand the extent of my vengeance. "Is she happy then?"

"No, she finds out two days later. I guess she wanted a fucking." Bogdan curves his lips around his cigarette. I swallow down the urge to make him eat it. "She comes storming back, screaming and crying. She fights with her papa. Nonstop. She screams that he has ruined her life. He tells her that it is his right to protect and avenge what is his. She does not come out of her room for days. He says he is sorry."

"And now you are here to tell me this story."

"Sergei knew you would not be happy."

"Yet he acted anyway."

Bogdan looks away, draws hard on his cigarette. It is almost ash. I make no move to take it from his mouth. With Bogdan's hands behind his back, he cannot move either. He drops it to the carpet and then spits on the cigarette. When I watch it burn, he shuffles over on his knees and rubs it out, grimacing at the burn through the wool of his trousers.

"So, you let me go?" Bogdan asks, hopeful.

"I cannot do that."

Bogdan tries to lean forward; perhaps he thinks to attack me on his knees. Some men could take me from this position, but not Bogdan. I move back with ease, and he falls forward, his nose now crushed in the carpet.

"You should take poison, Bogdan. It seems fast-acting." I stand to leave.

"Stop, Nikolai. Don't do this."

"What?" I turn and put my arms out. In the plate window beyond, I can see myself, thick cheeked in my red bellman's uniform. I look like a clown. A clown with a Glock 23 and suppressor. I lower my arms. "You come to me, Bogdan. I have job to do. Then I'm done. Don't interfere."

"You'll never get out," Bogdan snarls. "None of us ever do."

"That is what they said when I was six and taken in by Alexandr’s crew. That I'd never get out. But I did."

Bogdan looks torn between wanting to hit me and cry. He does neither. Instead, he begs me. "Don’t leave me here."

"I cannot take you with me, Bogdan. I am in the middle of a job, one that you interrupted." I turn to leave.

"Take me into your network. Make me disappear. Please."

I hate it when they beg. It is an attempt to manipulate me through unsavory means. Through feelings, when they know I have none.

"I know you have a network you work with. I can be part of that network. You just need to give me a little hand." Bogdan offers this.

"Bullshit, Bogdan," I chastise, “always trying to sell out. At the first sign of danger to yourself, you are bargaining. What else will you bargain with? What information can you provide?"

"Anything." Bogdan is beginning to cry. Soon, no doubt, he will piss himself. The room already smells like a urinal.

"I cannot trust you, Bogdan. You have no allegiance."

"Neither do you. We are no different!” he cries.

Whatever sympathy I have for Bogdan disappears. I curl my lip at him. "You and I are nothing alike. I would not sell out a trusted friend or partner for my life."

"You would for a girl."

For a moment my heart stops. How does Bogdan know of Daisy? It takes every ounce of control I have not to attack him, to act nonchalant. To pretend like terror isn’t taking over my body, because if I let it, I will start fileting off his skin until he gives me answers. I force myself to relax.

"A girl, Bogdan? Don’t make me laugh. Is there some Pravadian whore I’m in love with?"

Bogdan sniffs with one side of his nose. "Someday there will be."

Ahh, Bogdan knows nothing.
I walk toward the hotel room door, relief washing through me like a balm.

"Someday," Bogdan screams behind me. "Someday, like Aleksandr, some girl will be your downfall."

I stop with my white-gloved hand on the door and my back to Bogdan. "Then I will have lived for something important in my life."

"Bring me your mercy then," Bogdan pleads. "You know I cannot take the poison. You know this."

Bogdan is Catholic. He crosses himself before each kill, rape, assault. He believes that if he takes the poison, he’ll go to hell. Not because of any of the deeds he committed, but because he believes taking his own life means that his last deed will be a sin. I rub the inscription on my chest. I can hear the whimpering pleas behind me. Mercy, then.

I turn and shoot.

When I arrive at the airport, I am met with the news that my return flight is delayed. I bargain with the ticket counter, offering more money and nearly losing my temper in an effort to get a quicker flight back. My phone has remained annoyingly silent. I do not know if Daisy has gone to the café without me. Whether she has decided she will not talk to me again.

Daisy is not a girl to wait on. If she has gone to the café, there will be dozens of wolves circling her, scenting her distress, and wanting to pounce on her. My nostrils flare, and the ticket agent’s hand moves to hover over a distress button.

"Sorry," I say to alleviate her concern.
Doorak,
idiot. I give her my best crestfallen look, the one I saw on Daisy’s face when she thought I spent too much money on her at the mall. She does not realize yet I will keep buying her things to give her the life she deserves. Already, I have ordered her a leather jacket she admired and passed by at the store. I had it delivered to my apartment for when I get home. I will give it to her after I ruin the one tissue-thin coat she owns.

This is the right gesture because the agent smiles at me and removes her hand from the panic button.

"There’s a flight that leaves in forty minutes, but you may not be able to make the gate."

I will make the gate. "Sounds great," I hand her my ticket, and she keys in the change.

I make the gate and arrive in Minneapolis without further delay, but I’ve still missed our date and had no response from Daisy. While I know she is not at the café, I run there anyway.
Perhaps she likes the place so much she returns,
I hope stupidly. But of course she is not there.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." I kick the brick wall of the restaurant, but it does not alleviate my frustration. Two girls walk by and stare at me in horror. I want to bare my teeth at them and give them something real to be afraid of. Closing my eyes, I lean my forehead against the brick wall. The crisp night air should be refreshing, but all I can think about is how my sweet Daisy would have been here alone, waiting for me. She could’ve been cold and needed my arms. Had she felt unwanted? I release a low moan of despair. I wonder if I’ve already allowed her to slip away.

I decide to text her again.

Daisy, I am here at the café. I know it is two days late but my business trip was unavoidable. Forgive me. Please.

I lean against the brick wall and will the phone to respond. I wonder at her cellphone. It’s cheap and must be hard to send messages. This is good in that it prevents her from texting other males, but bad in that it makes it challenging for her to communicate easily with me.

The next time I see her, I will break her phone, accidentally of course, and then she will allow me to buy her a new one. Cheered by my new plan, I decide to go to the cellular phone carrier located three blocks away and buy the phone right now. That there will be a GPS locator in the phone is only so that I can keep track of her safety—or so I tell myself.

My phone dings, and I raise the screen immediately. It is her. My breath quickens.

Why didn’t u txt or call?

Good question.
"I was busy shooting two Russian criminals”
was not the right answer.

I did text three days ago before I left. Did you not get it?

I do not get an immediate response. Was it possible that she did not receive my message? I take a screenshot of the message I sent as proof. I think it must be her phone. Perhaps I do not have to break it. I will explain to her that her phone is already not working right and that I should replace it. Perhaps the gift will make her forgive me more quickly. Instantly, I feel much better.
Good job, Nikolai,
I think.
This is smart.

As you can see I send message. One thousand apologies for being so disrespectful of your time. Please allow me to make it up to you.

Inside the store, I pick out the latest smartphone.

"With a new contract, sir?"

"No, without." I will have it activated after I gift her the phone.

The purchase is completed before I receive another response from her.

Oh. I didnt get ur msg. Felt stupid. Didn’t know how long 2 wait.

Ah gods, I made her feel alone and uncertain. I should knife myself in punishment.

I beg of you to flush this incident from your memory. Give me one more chance. I promise I will not fail you this time,
lapochka.

lapo-what?

I tell you when I see you.

I wait for her response but none comes.

I go back to my apartment and wait. The night grows long, and there is no response. Perhaps Daisy is right to have rejected my attempts at reparation. Why should she want to be with filth like me? The past forty-eight hours weigh upon me. I have killed two men while she struggles to feed herself. I kill men for money, and if she knew the truth, she would spit in my face. I knew from the moment she caught my eye as I was watching Mr. Brown that she was an angel. But thoughts of Daisy make me ache. My cock is stiff and my balls are drawn up tight against my body.

Suddenly, I remember that I have something of Daisy’s. The jeans I wore during the laundry confrontation lie folded in the corner. In the back pocket, I pull out the pale pink cotton that once touched Daisy’s ass, her pussy lips, and the soft thatch of hair between her legs. I lift the cotton to my nose, but it smells only of detergent; the soap had washed away what I knew must be a delicious scent.

Still…I unzip my jeans and pull out my cock. It is hard to imagine Daisy in this place, this desolate space I call my living quarters. Closing my eyes, I fantasize that my hands are Daisy’s hands and that I’ve just removed these panties from her body. The crotch of the panties are still soaking wet because of the double layer of fabric, and I use the moisture to wet my cock.