"He was here two days ago at most." I hold up the receipt so he can see the date. "They moved him after we hit those houses the other night. Dammit!"
"Boss, we should leave now." Vasili sounds a bit tense, and for good reason. "If they moved him recently, there's a good chance they're watching this place to see if we show up."
He's right, and I know it, but I can't make myself move away from this counter where evidence of Marat's recent presence sits mocking me. Knowing he was here only a day or so ago makes my blood boil. I was so close to putting this behind me, and now the hunt continues, probably out of the city too.
When I hear a car door slamming outside, I know we're made. My eyes meet Vasili's as he starts to move, and I'm on his heels like a flash. Neither one of us wants to end up with a gut full of lead tonight. We bolt out the door and across the porch as the authorities begin surrounding the place.
Officers spill from three vehicles with guns already raised and trained on us, voices barking commands to halt and raise our hands. I ignore every word. My pistol clears the holster as I run, and I squeeze off two rounds toward the nearest threats.
Return fire erupts instantly, sharp cracks rebounding off the apartment walls and pounding inside my skull until my ears ring. A hot line of pain slices across my left bicep, sharp enough to stagger me for half a stride, but I regain balance and push harder toward our car parked two blocks away.
We reach the car, and Vasili throws himself into the driver's seat while I grab for the passenger door handle. I fall into the seat more than climb into it, pulling the door shut as Vasili starts the engine. The car lurches forward with enough force to throw meback against the seat, and he weaves between parked vehicles while bullets punch through the rear windshield.
"How bad is it?" Vasili takes a corner so fast, the tires squeal against asphalt.
"Just grazed my arm, nothing serious." I pull up my jacket sleeve to examine the wound, seeing the torn fabric and the shallow cut beneath that's bleeding a little. "Keep driving and lose them."
Vasili jerks the wheel into a series of sharp turns and the car's tires scream against wet pavement while sirens howl and lights strobe across the mirrors. A pursuing police cruiser rams our rear with a bone-jarring crunch that snaps my head forward.
I twist around and squeeze off four rounds through the fractured back glass, and sparks fly from their hood as the driver swerves. Another police car surges up on our left, close enough for me to see the officer's face in the window. He looks terrified. Good, he should be.
Vasili cuts hard right down a tight alley, and the flanking car brakes too late and overshoots the entrance, slamming into the building on the opposite side. But it doesn't stop the cars behind him.
Fog starts rolling in thick from the river as we burst onto the frontage road, and headlights behind us multiply for a moment, then blur and scatter in the mist. Vasili floors it straight through the haze, pushing the car's engine to its limits until we've put a distance between them and us, and we can relax a little and pray they're far behind us.
Vasili checks the mirrors several times and makes a few unnecessary turns to make sure we're not being followed. Myarm burns where I was grazed, and the bleeding hasn't let up, though it's not horrible.
"Are you hit bad?" he asks as I look over my shoulder for good measure. We can't allow them to follow this car back to my home. I won’t go to prison over that rat who needs to be caged.
"Nah, it's just a graze… I'll be fine," I tell him, turning back to face forward now that I'm sure we're not being tailed. "But this means we'll have a lot more work to do…" I'm furious, but I knew I was taking a risk waiting. It's just impossible to do what I need to do when I have baggage sitting around my home in the form of a child.
"We'll get him, Boss," Vasili says, attempting to encourage me, but it's no use.
"Take me home," I growl, and I press my eyes shut to block out at least some of the stimuli that threatens to cause my temper to erupt.
We park in the garage and the door rumbles shut behind us. Vasili grabs the medical kit from the trunk while I head inside through the side door. Hallway lights turn on automatically as we walk to the kitchen where I pull off my shirt and drop it on the floor. Blood has dried around the laceration on my left bicep, a shallow divot three inches long that has now scabbed over.
Vasili opens the kit on the island and in lieu of real antiseptic wash, pours vodka onto gauze. The alcohol burns when he presses it against the wound, but he cleans the area quickly and wraps fresh bandages around my arm.
This should never have happened. Marat should be belly up right now and he's still out there being protected by men who think they're doing this world a service. In reality, theyare protecting a liar who may very well get the boss's wife imprisoned for life.
"You're right. The bullet only grazed the surface," he says. "It should heal without stitches if you keep it clean."
I flex my arm once to test the wrap. "Good. Make coffee while I go check my messages. The boss may have sent an update."
He starts the machine as I walk to the study and close the door behind me. I lean against the desk and examine the wound again under better light. The scrape looks minor now that the blood is gone, but it still hurts like a motherfucker, and it's proof I'm a failure.
Yuri will be devastated if I fail and this thing goes to trial. Inessa is innocent, from everything I can tell, and though I wasn't there, I tend to believe my boss over a rat of a man who didn't have the guts to leave his little hiding place to save his supposed partner. Marat has to be taken out and I will be the one to do it.
I pour whiskey, which I pull out of my desk drawer onto a clean cloth until it's soaked. The liquid burns cold then hot when I press it against my bloody knuckles, cleaning the blood little by little. There are still tiny cuts there from busting heads in that safehouse a few days ago, and they sting as I wipe the fresh blood off my fingers and think of how badly I want to nab this asshole.
The door opens after a soft knock and Noemi walks in and stops a few steps across the threshold. Her eyes roam over my face and down to my bare chest and arms covered in tattoos, then down to the fresh bandage. Color rises in her cheeks.
"Do you need something?" I ask.
She blinks a few times and looks at my face like she's trying to stop herself from staring. "I didn't know you were hurt. What happened to your hands?"
"Work happened." I pour more whiskey onto fresh cloth. "Why are you here?"
