A woman stood close to the muscle. She was in her forties, five-nine, average build, lank black hair hanging over her ears. Her weighty duffel coat was buttoned all the way up. Victor smelled cigarette smoke and felt his mouth water. Four stubs lay crushed out by their feet.
The shutters clattered open. Victor stepped out, surveyed the level. Fewer boxes and crates than the ground floor, more open spaces. Empty metal shelving units, metal pillars. Old cement sacks lay in one corner, a stack of dust-covered plastic sheeting near the woman. The air was damp.
Three banks of fluorescent strip lights, of which only the middle bank was switched on, hung at regular intervals from the ceiling. There were no covers, just bare tubes, some burned out. Just enough light to illuminate the centre of the warehouse level. The floor to Victor’s left and right faded into darkness except where the arched windows were set.
Victor noted the ways in and out. On the wall on the far side of the woman and the muscle, a sign above a half-open metal door denoted it as a fire exit. Along the same wall, near to a stained stainless-steel sink, another opening led through to an adjoining room. Sickly green and flaking paint covered the far wall. Dirt and grease smeared the bricks and filled the gaps between them. In places long cracks cut through the mortar.
The guide stood near the elevator. Victor walked forward. The flooring
was narrow planks of wood. Some were cracked, loose, warped or missing entirely. Victor felt soft, rotting boards under his shoes and took a step to more solid footing. He positioned himself so he could keep the guide within his peripheral vision while he faced the woman.
For a long moment no one spoke. Victor assessed the woman and her hulking friend, as he knew he was likewise assessed. What they made of him, he didn’t know. Victor was careful with his body language and facial expression to convey no threat while projecting no weakness.
‘You must be the buyer,’ the woman said eventually.
Her voice betrayed a measure of surprise. Whatever the woman had been expecting, Victor knew he wasn’t it.
He nodded. ‘And you must be Georg.’
‘Not my real name, of course.’
‘Of course,’ Victor echoed.
Georg said, ‘You’re not what I was expecting.’
‘I know.’
The overhead lighting created deep shadows under Georg’s cheekbones, nose, bottom lip. Her eyes were almost invisible in the darkness of their sockets.
‘Are you carrying any weapons?’ she asked.
‘Not unless you count my coffee.’
Georg’s thin lips stretched outwards slightly. ‘That’s good,’ she said. ‘But I have to say I’m more concerned about firearms than I am hot beverages.’
‘I have no gun.’
‘You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.’ She raised a gloved hand, motioning to the muscle while her gaze stayed locked on Victor. ‘Make sure he’s telling the truth.’
The huge guy next to Georg strode towards Victor, eyes narrowed, thick jaw clenched, elbows bent outwards as though he was so laden with muscle he couldn’t walk any other way. The effort to intimidate was basic at best, especially when as he got closer it became apparent that a quarter of the bulk was made up of fat. Victor kept the observation to himself.
He stood still as large hands patted him down around the legs, arms
and torso. He noticed the muscle had a .45 calibre Colt tucked into his jeans, hidden but not well enough. He gestured for Victor to raise his arms, and he did. When the search had finished, the muscle walked back over to Georg.
‘He’s clean.’
‘I’m glad to hear that,’ Georg said to Victor. ‘It would have been very bad for you had we found anything.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘Your German’s excellent,’ Georg said, taking two steps closer. ‘But you’re not German. What are you, American?’
‘Sometimes,’ he answered.
Lines deepened in Georg’s forehead. ‘You’re really not what I was expecting.’
‘You said that once already.’
‘Let me explain myself.’
Victor brought the cup to his lips and swallowed.
‘In my line of work I meet all kinds of people, all different, but what I get for them tells me a lot about who they are. Let’s take you, for example. You don’t have to say what you do for a living as what you’re buying might as well be a business card.’
Victor remained stationary and silent. He didn’t know where Georg was headed, and he didn’t care, but it seemed polite not to interrupt.
‘I’m not sure what the correct euphemism is these days but I’ve dealt with your kind before,’ Georg continued. ‘Not often, but more than a few times. And when I have I’ve always been able to analyse that person completely within seconds of us meeting. It’s not difficult. They try so hard to make out they’re fearsome when they’re actually not, else they really are that scary and they don’t need to try.’ She paused. ‘But you’re neither.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
‘I’m not sure I meant it as one.’
‘I’ll still take it as a compliment.’
Georg stepped closer and stared hard at Victor. Her eyes were bloodshot, pupils dilated. On something stronger than just nicotine. ‘I’m really not going to find out who you are, am I?’
‘No,’ Victor said. ‘And you wouldn’t want to.’
‘A shame.’ Georg sighed and perched herself on a crate and used a hand to wipe something from her jeans. ‘Let’s do some business.’
Victor nodded. ‘I take it you have all the goods on the list.’
Georg counted off on her fingers as she said, ‘Russian army blasting caps, nine-millimetre pistol with threaded barrel, silencer, pick gun, and fourteen pounds of cyclotrimethylenetrinitramine with the bits to make it go ka-boom. Did I pronounce that right, by the way?’
‘You did,’ Victor assured. ‘I want to check everything.’
‘Of course, my boy, I would have expected nothing less. You’re a professional, after all.’ She drew out the words. ‘But so am I. And I’d like to see the money first.’
With his free hand, Victor slowly reached into an outer pocket. He did so while closely watching what the muscle and the guide were doing. There were no tension-relieving gestures, no shifting of weight, nothing to suggest they were waiting to put a pre-planned course of action into play when he showed he had the money. Satisfied this wasn’t an ambush, Victor withdrew the slim bundle of hundred-euro notes.
Georg dropped down from the crate and inched closer. She stared at the money. ‘That doesn’t look like enough to me.’
‘It’s half of it.’
Georg’s eyes rose to meet Victor’s. She spoke quietly, menacingly. ‘Then you’ve not only wasted my time but insulted me. And neither is a very wise move for a man in your position.’
‘After I have the goods you can come with me to pick up the rest of the money,’ Victor explained. ‘Or send one of your men to do so.’
‘That’s not how I do business.’
‘And ferries, empty warehouses and guards with forty-fives aren’t how I do business,’ Victor countered. ‘This is the price you pay for how things have been conducted thus far.’
The muscle touched a hand to his gun. His expression was half-surprised, half-annoyed. Georg considered for a few seconds.
‘What’s to stop me taking that money and having the location of the second half beaten out of you?’
The guide and the muscle both stiffened in readiness for what might follow.
Victor kept his gaze locked on Georg. ‘One, you’d lose a valuable
future customer. And two,’ he said, voice calm, emotionless. ‘I’d kill you and your men inside ten seconds.’
The muscle didn’t like that answer. His scowl intensified and his knuckles whitened. The guide’s back straightened. Victor ignored them both. He watched Georg’s reaction, first shock and anger that eventually became a smile and Victor knew he’d played it correctly.
‘Okay,’ she said, ‘we’ll do it your way.’
Victor heard them a few seconds before he saw them. They entered fast, through the entrance on the wall next to the sink – five men full of intent, four with guns in hand. One shotgun. Three handguns. They didn’t move or look like trained professionals but the way they held their weapons showed they were no strangers to violence.
The muscle reacted fast, turning and reaching for the Colt but a shout to stop and muzzles pointed his way made him think twice. The guide showed the palms of his hands while Georg kicked a crate in anger, or disgust or both.
Victor remained as he was. Aside from the elevator there was no exit close enough to risk moving to, and no way to get the shutter opened and closed before bullets started taking pieces out of him. Until he knew what was happening, there was nothing else he could do.
As he entered, the last of the intruders shouted, ‘Ah, my dear Georg. Fancy finding you here.’
He was short, slight of build, dressed in a cheap suit. His hands were free of weapons but Victor paid him the most attention. The others moved closer and spread out, one covering Georg, the guide and Victor. Two at the muscle. The one with the shotgun pointed it at Victor.
Typical
.
Georg held her arms out questioningly. ‘What are you doing here, Krausse?’
The man in the cheap suit stepped into the light. He was maybe forty years old. His thinning hair was black and short. Pockmarks covered the skin of his cheeks and forehead.
‘I could ask you the same thing, Georg,’ Krausse said, glancing around. ‘But it looks to me like you’re conducting some business, and without my prior knowledge.’
‘Get out of here, Krausse,’ Georg shouted, ‘and take your clowns with you. What we’re doing has nothing to do with you.’
‘Oh, but it does,’ Krausse laughed. ‘We’re business partners, remember?’
‘We
were
,’ Georg corrected.
Malice was in Krausse’s smile. ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ He looked at Victor. ‘Who’s the suit?’
‘What does it matter? He’s no one.’
‘It matters.’ Krausse gestured Victor’s way. ‘Who are you?’
Victor stood casually. ‘Like she said, no one.’
‘You will be no one if you don’t tell me what you’re doing here.’
Victor glanced at each of Krausse’s men. The three with handguns were twitchy – lots of little movements, swallowing. Light caught the sweat on their skin. The one with the shotgun was calmer, more focused, his small eyes barely blinking. The nostrils of his flat, misshapen nose flexed with relaxed, regular breaths.
After a moment Victor said, ‘I’m making a buy.’
‘And what are you buying?’
‘Flowers for my mother.’
A couple of Krausse’s men smiled.
Krausse exhaled. ‘Funny fucker, aren’t you?’
‘I’m reading a joke book.’
Georg looked over a shoulder. ‘Do us all a favour and stay quiet.’
‘That’s good advice,’ Krausse said. ‘We don’t have to get unpleasant. I’m just here to take my rightful share of any transactions.’
‘You mean you’re here to steal,’ Georg said.
Krausse smirked in response. ‘If that’s how you want to put it, my sweet, I’m not going to argue.’ He turned to Victor. ‘What are you buying? And think about your answer before you speak this time.’
Victor remained silent.
‘He’s buying explosives,’ Georg said after a few seconds. ‘A gun, stuff like that.’
‘Interesting.’ Krausse raised his eyebrows at Victor and nodded. ‘Are they for your mother too?’
‘She likes to stay active.’
Krausse laughed and his men joined him, guns lowering a few
inches. Victor watched the guy with the shotgun turn to one of the others and shake his head in disbelief. The shotgun barrel angled down a fraction.
Krausse looked back to Georg. ‘Where the hell did you find this guy?’
‘He found me.’
‘Figures. Just how much explosive is he buying?’
Georg shrugged. ‘A reasonable amount.’
Krausse smiled at Victor. ‘Then knowing Georg, you’ll be paying an unreasonable amount for it.’ He looked at one of his men. ‘Take his cash.’
The man who approached Victor was about the same height – an inch or two over six feet – but bigger at the neck, shoulders and especially waistline. His face was hard, serious. He stank.
‘You packing?’ he asked as he came closer.
Victor said, ‘Not unless you count my coffee.’
In the edge of his vision, Victor caught Georg glancing his way. Victor didn’t glance back.
The gunman lowered his weapon as he approached. ‘Just keep your hands where I can see them.’
He patted Victor down with his left hand. Not as thorough as Georg’s muscle, but thorough enough. The man took the stack of money from Victor’s hand and held it up for Krausse to see. He half-turned away from Victor to do so. Victor waited a second and took a small sidestep to the right.
Krausse didn’t look happy. ‘That’s not a lot of money.’
Before anyone could respond, a cell phone rang. Victor approved of the ringtone:
Water Music
by Handel. Krausse struggled to pull it from the pocket of his suit trousers. He looked at the screen for a moment before denying the call.
‘I hate these things. They rule your life,’ he said, putting it back in the pocket. ‘Now, you were about to tell me where the rest of the money is.’
Victor didn’t say anything. He glanced at the other three of Krausse’s men. They weren’t as stiff as they had been when they first arrived. They looked in control, relaxing more as time ticked by. Comfortable.
‘He was going to take me to it after he’d collected the stuff,’ Georg explained.
‘Now he can take me instead.’ Krausse looked at the guy with the money. ‘Count it.’
His back to Victor, the man put his gun into the left pocket of his jacket and started thumbing through the notes.
‘Do I get to keep the goods I’m here for?’ Victor asked.
Krausse said, ‘I told you that you’re funny.’
‘What if I say please?’
Krausse laughed, turned to his men with a look of amused astonishment. They smiled or shrugged back at him, guns as close to their waists as shoulders. Victor took another small sidestep. The one counting the money now blocked his line of sight to the two with handguns to his left. And vice versa.
Victor spoke to Krausse without looking at him. ‘Are you sure you won’t reconsider?’