Olga’s too far gone to notice anything wrong about this situation. She’s too desperate for her fix to think I’d ever let her walk away knowing I was aware of my father’s secret.
I tie off her arm, find the vein and push the plunger. Olga sighs, moans, then slumps back against the chair, her eyelids fluttering.
"That's good," she murmurs. "Thank you. So, so good.”
"I know."
Her breathing slows. Soon, her eyes close. I sit in my chair and wait. I need to make sure the drugs worked. It does. Five minutes later, she’s dead. I walk over and check for a pulse. There’s none.
Overdose.
This happens all the time with addicts. No one will investigate too hard. Olga’s been using for years. A simple case of a whore who met with a man in an abandoned building for a quick fuck and a fix right after.
I place the syringe in her hand, pack up the vodka bottle and glasses into my bag and leave. Next, I drive across the city, to one of the ugliest sections of Moscow. Crumbling buildings, smokestacks rising to the sky, belching out black smoke that hovers over apartment buildings.
This is where Pyotr lives. He’s an engineering genius who lives like a hermit. I knock once, then twice in a faster beat. He opens the door. Sixty something with gray hair and thick bifocal glasses, Pyotr lives under the Bratva radar, despite doing work for me when I need discretion.
"Ivanov?”
I step inside his apartment. Papers and technical manuals cover the floor and table.
“Let yourself in,” he mutters, shuffling behind me.
I don’t waste time. “There’s a building, old as dirt. The electrical system hasn’t been updated in decades. I’m concerned about fire safety.”
His brows shoot up. Pyotr scratches his chin, his interest sparking. "Which building?"
"Brothel on Trudovaya."
"Oh, that one. You’re right, that building’s ancient. Soviet-era construction. The wiring has to be original. Extremely dangerous if you ask me.”
"Exactly. That’s why I want it inspected. Make sure everything is safe."
“And if I find problems?” Pyotr asks, eyeing me carefully.
"You fix them. It’d be a real shame if it caught fire.”
He nods slowly. "You worried about total loss or minor damage?”
“Minor. The kind that leads to evacuation.”
"When?"
"Next Tuesday. Early in the morning, around two.”
"That's very specific."
"I have my reason. Can you do it?"
He considers this, nodding “Yes.”
“How much?”
"Sixty thousand rubles."
"Done." I count the money out and hand it over.
Pyotr set it on top of his paper pile. “Any cameras I should know about?”
