Page 74 of Cilka's Journey
Cilka does as she’s told, leaning her back against the shut door, staying as far away from the man as possible.
“Get over here and stand beside the doctor. Do it now, or I cut him.”
In three steps Cilka is beside the doctor, who looks at her, eyes pleading.
“What do you want?” she asks with a bravado she doesn’t feel.
“You to shut your mouth. You picked the wrong time to come in here; now I’ll have to deal with you too.”
Cilka glares at him. She knows enough about violent men to be able to judge the desperation in this one. His threats are a means to an end. “What do you want?”
“I said shut your mouth. I’ll do the talking.”
“Just do as he says,” the doctor whimpers.
“That’s good advice,” the big man says. “We can all leave here happy if you listen to the good doctor and do as I say.”
As he pushes the knife under the doctor’s chin, a trickle of blood flows and the man smiles a toothless grin. “Now give me the fucking drugs; the ones I got last time.”
Cilka is incredulous. She stares from the man to the doctor.
“All right, all right, but you need to put the knife down,” Yury Petrovich says.
The man looks from the doctor to Cilka. In a flash, the knife is now at Cilka’s throat.
“In case you thought of making a run for it,” he chuckles.
The doctor takes several pill containers from the shelves. With the hand that is not across Cilka’s neck, the man holds open a large pocket sewn in his coat and the doctor stuffs them in there.
“Keep them coming; I’ve got another pocket on this side.”
The doctor places more drugs in the other pocket.
“That’s all, if I gave you any more there wouldn’t be enough for the patients.”
“I don’t care about the patients! When’s the next delivery coming in?”
“I don’t know.”
“Wrong answer.” The man presses the knife against Cilka’s throat. She gasps.
“Don’t hurt her! In two weeks, not for another two weeks.”
“Well, I’ll see you in two weeks, then.”
He lets Cilka go, keeping the knife raised. He looks her up and down. “And maybe I’ll see you too; you’re not bad.”
“You should get out of here before someone comes looking for me,” Cilka says, bravely.
“Yeah, you’re right.” The big man points the knife at the doctor. “He knows the drill—don’t leave here until you know I will have cleared the building.”
Cilka and the doctor watch as the big man calmly walks to the door, tucking his knife inside his coat, opens it, pulls it shut quietly behind him.
Cilka turns on the doctor. “Who is he? We need to get the guards, get someone and stop him.” She wants to say, “How could you just hand over medicine to him?” But how can she ask such a thing when she has taken some here and there to protect herself?
“Slow down, Cilka.”
Cilka waits while he takes a moment, appearing to calm himself before he speaks further.
