The Hitman: Dirty Rotters (29 page)

I was close enough now to see he was
taller than me and wearing a fluffy fur coat. “You’re a
human-trafficker. A murderer. A scumbag, dirty-rotten piece of
shit.” I paused, then asked, “Did I miss something?”

He paused for a few seconds. “I know
nothing of vwut you speak, American vool.”

I kept walking, confident and strong,
ten yards away.

He shuffled around, obviously annoyed.
“Who are you?!”

I stopped about five feet away from
him. I could see his ugly face tighten up with anger. I smiled.
“You’re going to take me to get the women, then I’m going to kill
you.”

Vladimir grinned slowly, then began to
laugh. It was a quiet hiss of a laugh. Not like he found me
humorous, and he shouldn’t because I wasn’t joking, but more like
he was warning me of something.

“
Come here, American. Come
closer. I can barely hear you.”

“
Where’s the pick-up,
Vladimir? Where’s the women?”

“
Closer,” he
whispered.

I kept walking. I kept my vengeful
eyes on his beady ones. He smiled. I said, “Tell me and I’ll kill
you quick. But if you don’t, then by God almighty I swear you will
suffer like no one ever has.”

His voice was but a whisper, almost
swallowed by the night. “Closer.”

He grinned like a wolf.

I made two concrete fists.

Then I walked closer.

I was even with the front of the
train, nearly five feet away from Vladimir’s wretched life, when my
peripheral vision picked out a man rushing toward me. I turned on
him quick. He stopped and our eyes met. He was old, probably in his
late fifties, early sixties. He was short and scrawny, wearing a
dingy blue work uniform. The faded blue with white pinstriped hat
he wore made me think he was the train conductor. He held a long
crowbar, raised over his head, ready to strike me down. It would
have been a good plan, but the old guy was scared. He
froze.

I stared him in the eyes. My hard look
versus his frightened one. I heard Vladimir hiss with displeasure.
The conductor’s eyes rapidly looked away from mine to Vladimir’s.
The look said it all. He couldn’t do it. He sure as hell didn’t
want to.

I said to him, “I’ve killed every man
working for this scumbag. They’re all dead. You heard them
screaming.”

Uncertain looks to Vladimir, then back
to me. The crowbar lowered. He was shaking.

“
Do it!” Vladimir shouted
angrily.

The conductor was trembling out of
control. Vladimir cursed at him again, but to no gain. The crowbar
came down gently and rested like a cane in the old man’s
hand.

“
Go get back inside the
train and be ready to leave when I come back.” He quickly
obeyed.

Vladimir was beside himself. I could
feel the tension glowing around him. “Vee own the police. I am
unarmed and have done nothing vrong. Vwut do you think you’re going
to do?”

“
What I was born to
do.”

Vladimir spit at me.

“
Last chance. Where are
they?”

“
No, American rat. They
vill votch you suffer virst.”

I took a step towards the Russian. He
stared me down hard. No fear in his frosty eyes whatsoever. I took
another step and he nodded gently.

“
Yesss.” A soft hiss
escaped from his lips. His right hand reached in his fur coat and
slid out a long machete. His hand reared back as if he was going to
slice me in half.

I charged forward in a
blur.

Chapter 24

Vladimir’s grin
disappeared.

I smashed my knuckles hard against his
pasty-white forehead. A rather large target. My right hand wracked
in pain instantly. I wish I would have taken that hammer when I had
the chance. I wish I would have lifted weights a lot more when I
was younger too because the punch wasn’t nearly hard enough to
bring the big Russian down. If anything, it just pissed him
off.

He sliced the machete at my head but I
ducked, sending his head another fury of blows. My hands were like
wiffle bats and his head was like concrete. I struck home a vicious
uppercut to his nose and he dropped the huge blade. He ran his hand
over his bleeding nose, looked at it curiously, then looked at
me.

Vladimir smiled. It was an ungodly
sight. A few teeth were missing, a few more should be, and a few
more I can work on now. He slipped off his fur coat slowly. It was
fluffy and brown, streaked with black splotches, which could have
been oil stains in the dark. The whole thing could’ve been made
from rats or squirrels. But he’s careful with it, like it was
Armani.

Who the hell wears a fur
coat anyway?

A six foot, five inch, two-hundred and
fifty pound Russian who stank like cigarettes and cheap
cologne.

I gave him a flurry of rights and
lefts, jabs and hooks, knuckles cracking against skin and bone in a
bloody mess. He took my best and didn’t stagger. I’ll give him
that. Years of hand to hand combat training in Siberia gave him an
edge. He swung a big round house right straight at my face with
everything he had. It would have made a dent in a Buick. It would
have sent every bone in my face clean out the back of my skull. But
I didn’t come here to die. At least not now. Not by him.

I ducked in time to hear his giant
fist whiff overhead, nearly sat against the iron rail, and swung up
hard, pushing off my legs upwards with the blow, sending my right
fist into his groin. Dirty move, I know. But I wasn’t there to make
friends. Plus I was doing the gene pool a favor.

He dropped to his knees, then fell
onto his face in between the train rails. He scrapped against the
loose stones, maneuvering into the fetal position. His mouth opened
and closed like an ugly catfish out of water.

In between gasping, he was speaking.
It was in Russian, and I didn’t understand. I took a guess that it
wasn’t very nice. I may have deserved it. And if I didn’t, I
would.

I was exhausted. I stepped over to him
but kept my distance just in case. He rolled onto his back,
shifting loose gravel beneath him in a grinding crunch. The train
stood motionless five yards behind him, blacker than the Russian’s
soul.

“
I need you to answer my
questions.” I said.

“
Nyet.” Russian for
‘no’.

I stomped on his left ankle
repeatedly. Something in there cracked. His eyes
watered.

“
I don’t want to kill you.”
I lied. “So listen to me. I’m very tired. I’m starving. My head is
pounding. I probably need to see a doctor. So answer my questions
then we can both be on our way.”

Me into the train. You
into hell.

“
Nyet.” He spit blood at
me. He moved around in a valiant attempt to rise, but his ankle was
in no condition and he remained in a sitting position. I stayed in
front of him. Worst he could do now was throw stones.

“
Where are you meeting The
Bear?”

More words in Russian. I made out a
word here and there, but not enough to put the pieces together.
Such an ugly language. I wished he was French. Now there’s a
language of beauty and elegance. Tell me to go to hell in French
and I might consider it.

“
In English,
Vladimir.”

He reached two dirty fingers inside
his mouth and yanked out a tooth. “I vus in the Black Dolphin for
twenty years, American hero. Vwut do you think I did there? Make
friends?” He laughed hard. “No. I make no friends in Russian
prison. I hurt people.”

“
They should’a never have
let you out. You should of rotted away there forever.”

He laughed again and shook his head.
“No, American. I vus not prisoner. I vus punisher. I verk for KGB.
Verst criminals in Mother Russia come and I hurt them. I make them
die.” His smile sinister. His eyes were cold. “Vwut do you think I
do to American police? You are vun man only. Better vor you to run
away now.”

“
Where’s the
pick-up?”

He laughed loud.

“
Where’s the pick-up,
Vladimir?”

He spit blood at me.

It was almost midnight. The air was
chilly and there was no wind. Somewhere above the city lights and
past the smog was a blanket of stars. Millions of them. The
Andromeda Galaxy was buried there someplace. A sight to behold.
When I was young, living in the country, on any given clear night,
I’d be lying in a field with my hands for a pillow staring out into
space. I’d do it for hours. I saw hope out there. It made all my
dreams seem small and insignificant.

I wished I had those nights back. I
wished dreams came true. But life was ugly. That fact was staring
me down.

“
Vwut is wrong? Not going
to hit me more, American?”

“
I’m going to tie you down
and drive that train forward, nice and slow.”

I saw the uncertainty in his eyes. My
knuckles may not be able to crack that thick skull of his but that
train sure could. The look I gave him left no doubt of my
willingness and he shifted uneasy. He made another attempt to rise,
but failed poorly. It was useless. He was finished
walking.

He sat quiet for a moment, doing
nothing but staring down at the rocks between his legs. He was
considering something. Weighing the odds, maybe. But they were not
in his favor. He was out of luck.

And I was nearly out of
time.

“
Do it.”

I stared down into his pale grey eyes.
The fire was gone, the fight and madness vanished. His stare was
hollow and empty. He had made his decision.

I did nothing.

“
Do it, American
police.”

His voice was a mere whisper, just as
empty of life as his gaze. I kicked my right foot into the ground,
peppering him with rocks. He made no move.

“
Do it, American! Do it and
be big hero!”

“
Dammit,
Vladimir!”

No response. He just sat there,
slumped slightly forward, staring with a blank, defeated look. I
met his gaze and held it. I remembered then, the look, the
emptiness. I saw it before, years ago. I felt it then, and
understood it now. The Russian wanted me to kill him.

“
I’ll let you keep the
money,” I lied. “Tell me the pick-up.”

Vladimir stopped laughing right then.
The spark in his eyes flamed once again. “I cannot trust you,
American.”

“
I can send you without
it.”

“
Vy?”

“
What’s the Bear going to
think when you arrive with no money? He’ll think that you’ve double
crossed him. He won’t think twice about shooting first.
Right?”

Silence.

Someplace in that grey muskmelon of a
brain he was doing some considering.

I got him. He knew the Bear better
than I, and what I knew was that he had little understanding or
compassion. He would shoot Vladimir the second he realized there
was no money for the exchange.

“
Better vor you boy to vun
avay back home and pray to God that vee do not find
you.”

“
I am going to count to
ten. If you haven’t told me where the stop is by then, I am going
to take your money and put you back on the train and let the chips
fall where they may. That’s English for you’re screwed.”

He laughed like the notion was
absolutely ridiculous.

“
One…Two…Three…”

“
Better vor you if you kill
me on train tracks.”

“
Four…Five…”

“
You cannot do this,
American boy. It is big game you play and you have only one
chip.”

“
Six…Seven…”

“
Go before it is late vor
you.”

“
Eight…Nine…”

Big production then, like saying ten
was definitely going to be the last straw. He became flustered and
spoke quickly, like a desperate man.

“
Okay, American. I tell
you. I tell you then I take money back to Russia and you go get
killed. It is vine. Your plan is vine with me.”

“
Where are
they?”

He laughed, as if it were the most
obvious answer ever given. “Vare they alvays are,
American.”

It hit me then, sudden and hard. When
I was in Jeff Dimeglio’s trunk I could smell it. I was right there.
Right where it had all started. I felt stupid for not putting it
together before.

I took two steps forward and used my
momentum and kicked Vladimir in the side of the head. He flopped to
the side, motionless across the cold iron rail. I probably broke a
toe or two.

I gripped his wrists with my hands and
tugged hard, nearly hard enough to pull his arms out of their
sockets but not hard enough to move the big Russian quickly. I
continued, inch by inch, and moved his bulge off the train tracks.
I wished my conscious would have just let me run him over and be
done with it.

It took me a full ten minutes to move
his body ten feet away from the tracks into the narrow strip of
land in between the other set of tracks. The weeds were high enough
to cover his body.