Page 57 of Blood & Snow
The basement contains a single room with concrete walls and basic furniture.
A chair sits in the center under harsh fluorescent lighting while tools hang from wall-mounted hooks.
Both men stop when they see the setup, recognizing its purpose.
Igor follows us as my backup, just in case either of them gets any funny ideas.
"Sit," I tell them, gesturing toward the chair.
The taller one moves toward the chair first, while the other stands against the far wall, watching with growing alarm.
I select a knife from the tool collection and test its edge against my thumb.
Sharp enough for the work ahead.
"One of you handles money transfers for three of your remaining cells," I begin conversationally.
"The other manages cryptocurrency exchanges and offshore banking. Both of you know account numbers, passwords, and transfer protocols."
"We're legitimate businessmen," the seated man repeats weakly.
I step forward and drive the knife through his left hand, pinning it to the chair’s arm.
His scream echoes off concrete walls while blood pools beneath the wound.
His buddy presses himself against the wall, eyes wide with terror.
His gaze flicks to the doorway where Igor pulls the thick, reinforced steel door shut, effectively locking us into this room unless I give a signal.
"Account numbers," I say, twisting the blade.
His resolve crumbles immediately.
He provides bank details, cryptocurrency wallets, and transfer codes whiletears stream down his face.
The information flows between gasps of pain as I document each piece of intelligence on my phone.
It was too easy, like stealing candy from a baby.
Arkady's men are weak fuckers who give him up like they’re serving dinner at a party.
"Excellent cooperation," I tell him, removing the knife.
"Now I need locations where your people conduct business."
More information follows.
Addresses, meeting times, security procedures.
He describes operational details between sobs while his friend remains frozen against the wall.
Fear makes men talkative when properly applied.
"One final question," I say, approaching the short man.
"Arkady's current location."
"He moves constantly," he stammers.
