Page 1 of Like Grim Death: Part One
The Malikov namecarries its weight in blood. In lavish sex parties too, festered around the edges with cocaine and hookers alongside the biggest players in politics and police work combined. Mafiosos and mayors shake hands at Shadow Villa, then catch glimpses of one another blown in orgies straight through to orgasms.
Located in Acid City, Virginia, Shadow Villa isn’t listed as a Malikov property. But everyone who is anyone understands who owns it. The smartest crime bosses know to keep their names off the books.
There’s something else that happens inside this house though. Something darker. Past the lustful exterior of a raucous sex club, sinister liaisons lurk. Networking occurs through shaking hands but here, in Shadow Villa, it’s the corpses who seal the deals.
And it’s the dead who keep the secrets too. Loose lips… Well, the Malikovs know exactly what they can sink if their ships start to talk.
So they’re eliminated before they get a word out.
Mikhail Malikov,Boaz, boss of Rival’s Claw, doesn’t let anyone speak a whisper of a secret. Priests, politicians, and pied pipers won’t pay up if chit chat gets out of hand and rumors threaten reputations.
Money makes the world go round and Mikhail Malikov was raised to understand exactly that. Rival’s Claw,RC, covets funds above just about anything.
Anything except…family.
Blood means bonds and RC doesn’t play with those monstrous ties.
There’s an exception though, for babies. Infants haven’t learned loyalty.
They’re disposable in Mikhail’s world. They can be recreated.
And when word of a Malikov child reaches Mikhail’s ears at a time of unrest among RC, the 6, Unsaints, and other gangs along the Eastern U.S., he understands exactly how to smooth things over.
A visit to Shadow Villa, to start. Then a trip just a little further south.
Because there’s the issue of Liar’s Island as well.
So many birds can be brought down with only one very wicked stone.
Yes, the Malikov name carries its weight in blood, and Mikhail—elder brother to Lazar, first son of Alexander—knows exactly how and when to shed it.
There is rolling,fuzzy film, then…there is a person.
The film is black and gray and blue, strange hues in darkness. The person is in white, a dress or gown, their knees bent and pulled to their chest as they sit on a cement floor. Their arms are chained to the wall behind them so they’re spread, upper limbs pinned like wings. The gown droops to their elbows, and you see shimmering writing scrawled on their pale skin. You cannot decipher the words, but it looks like it was done with a permanent marker in silver.
There is something on their head, and you think it might be a hat, at first.
A lump forms in your throat, and you are glad your loved ones are not here as you view this film, but you are not so sure they are any safer outthere.
Bile burns up your throat.
The camera is level with the head, not looking down on them, like the camera operator is sitting or a tripod is filming.
And suddenly, as you blink a few times to clear your vision, you realize it is not a hat at all.
It is a plastic bag.
It is wrapped around their head.
The plastic is pressed close to their mouth, their nose, and you understand they are trying to breathe. Music plays, or a recording. Eerie, demonic sounds coupled with someone speaking.“Everybody has an evil inside. Everybody has a goodness.”A man’s voice with an underlying beat. Like maybe the intro to a song.
Your skin crawls.
You sit up straighter, wanting someone to reassure you, but there is no one there.
The person’s arms jerk against the chains, and they clank on the cement wall behind them, but the soundtrack grows louder, repeating the same things over and over.
The bag presses in over their eye sockets, smooth along the top of their head. You do not know if it is a man or woman, the gown is so loose and there is nothing distinguishable about their facial features.
