Page 68 of Arranged Control
Right up until I ran straight into my wife.
Now I’m stuck. I’m standing still. And I don’t know what to do with myself.
I carefully approach the entrance. It looks like it’s locked up, the windows blacked out with cardboard and paint, but up close, it’s clear the door’s been broken and left ajar. I test it, and it pulls easily.
The interior is black. A waft of mold and mildew hits me. I lightly hold my gun in front of me as I give my eyes a moment to adjust before I step inside, the door swinging shut behind me.
The store’s empty. There are still shelving units left where the products would’ve gone, but now they’re all stacked up against each other. Old baskets, a few random soccer balls and baseballgloves, and some tee shirts for the Jets are tossed on the ground beside where the registers would’ve gone. Otherwise, there’s nothing.
I walk slowly forward. Molchanie told me to be here right at this time, which means they’ll show. But if they’re as good as I think they are, it won’t be until I’m completely vulnerable.
I keep going. I stumble into the trap. It’s not until I’m right in the center of the room that a shadow moves toward the back, just a black shadow leaning up against another set of shelves.
A familiar shape lowers toward me. A red laser dot appears on my chest.
Center mass. Just like a professional.
I don’t move. I don’t put away my gun, either. If they wanted me dead, I’d be dead.
“I’m happy you showed.” Molchanie’s voice is smooth with a light Russian accent.
And it’s a woman.
I’m surprised, but only briefly.
“After your polite invitation, I couldn’t pass up the chance to speak. Why’d you have to kill Oliver?”
“Oliver was specifically instructed not to speak about me. He decided he enjoys selling information more than he enjoys being alive.”
“You worked with him?”
“Everyone worked with Oliver the Nose. But I suppose New York will need a new information broker, yes?”
“Seems that way.” I study the shapeless shadow still leaning against the shelving unit, but I can’t make out any distinguishing features. The laser sight flips up into my eyes and forces me to look away.
“Stop that. You don’t need to know my face.”
“You’ve been killing my people.”
“Yes, I have.”
I grip my pistol, anger flaring in my chest. “You’re not even going to deny it?”
“Why would I insult you by lying? That’s not how our relationship is going to work.”
“Who said anything about a relationship?” I step forward. The laser dot moves back to my chest, right over my heart, and doesn’t waver. She has very good hands. “You sure you can blow me away before I squeeze off a few rounds? I bet you’re a good shot, but it’s still a gamble. I might be faster than you think.”
“You’re not so stupid.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I’ve done my research, Seamus Whelan. You come from a good family. Your mother is a clever, strong woman. Your father is a good leader. Your brothers are all decent men, or as decent as a bunch of criminals can be. I have no problems with them or with your organization.”
“Then why do you keep killing my men?”
“Because death is the only language you truly speak. I know you now, Seamus Whelan. I know what you are.”
I stare at her, struggling to keep my composure. There’s no doubt in my mind that my life’s hanging by a thread. She must want something from me; otherwise, I’d be filled with lead and bleeding out on the floor already. I can play that to my advantage, but only if I keep a cool head.
