Page 106 of The Nameless Ones

He took the passports from his pocket, selected his own, and handed the others to Radovan.

‘I saw your new name briefly,’ said Ilic, ‘but I have forgotten it already.’

They shook hands, and Radovan walked to the door.

‘What will I do with Spiridon?’ asked Ilic.

‘Spiridon is gone,’ said Radovan. ‘That’s just meat.’

Ilic shifted uneasily. He had few redeeming qualities, but he still retained his faith.

‘I will wrap him in a sheet, if you don’t mind,’ he said. ‘It would make me feel better about leaving him here.’

Radovan nodded. ‘We never liked each other, did we, Zivco?’

‘No, we did not.’

‘For what it’s worth, I like you better now.’

Ilic did not reply in kind. He was beyond lying now.

‘Goodbye, Radovan,’ he said, and went to deal with the body.

Ilic took a clean white bedsheet from the bedroom closet, laid it on the floor, and rolled Spiridon’s corpse across it once, twice, until the sheet wrapped him like a shroud. By then the material was no longer white but red. Ilic could see the contours of Spiridon’s face against it. His mouth was open, and Ilic would not have been surprised had an inhalation sucked the sheet against the maw as Spiridon, or some revenant version of him, returned to this world. Ilic came from Majdanpek, and had spent his childhood living in fear of wraiths. To him, they were as real as his own mother and father.

He hated Radovan for what he had done to Spiridon, just as he hated himself for not avenging the murder, although he knew that Radovan would have shot him before he laid a hand on his gun. Who could have known that Radovan had it in him to take the life of his own brother? Perhaps Zivco Ilic had been frightened of the wrong Vuksan for all these years.

Ilic went to Radovan’s bedroom and searched it before moving on to the private bathroom. He inspected the sink and discovered three nail clippings. He retrieved the fragments from around the drain and carried them back to the corpse. Ilic had a vague knowledge of the processes of autopsy from watching TV shows. He knew that Spiridon’s body would be thoroughly cleaned and examined, and the contents of its stomach emptied. Using the blade of his pocketknife, he cut the clippings into nine smaller pieces. Some he lodged in Spiridon’s throat, others deep in his ears and nose, aided by a cotton swab. The final one he pushed deep beneath Spiridon’s foreskin. Then he prayed that at least one would remain unfound and go to the grave with his master. In that way, Radovan would soon also join the dead.

Ilic became aware of a presence behind him, and thought for a moment that Radovan had returned. He reacted a fraction too late, because when he turned, the muzzle was already in his face.

‘I know who you are,’ said Ilic.

‘And I know who you are,’ said Louis, removing Ilic’s gun from its holster. ‘Who’s under the sheet?’

‘Spiridon.’

‘Did you kill him?’

‘His brother did.’

‘Can’t trust anybody these days,’ said Louis. ‘Who else is here?’

‘No one, only me.’

Another man entered the room, this one smaller and older. He looked to Ilic like a mongrel, with no purity to his bloodline. This, Ilic guessed, was Angel, the hunter’s partner. Ilic was disgusted by his enforced proximity to these peškiri.

‘Check the other rooms,’ said Louis, and Angel moved past him. He returned shortly after to announce that they were clear.

‘Where is Radovan?’ said Louis.

‘Gone,’ said Ilic. He did not know how Radovan had avoided these men. As the old saying went: don’t measure the wolf’s tail until he is dead.

‘Gone where?’

‘Go fuck yourself,’ said Ilic, because one devil did not scratch out another devil’s eyes. He might have wanted to punish Radovan for what he had done to Spiridon, but he would not give this man the satisfaction of taking Radovan’s life.

‘And the girl?’

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