CH3: Let’s Play a Game
Unbeing dead isn't being alive.
-E. E Cummings
She focused her scope. Her eyes scanned throughout the night club 1500 metres away. Her breathing steadied as she focused on her target. He aligned perfectly within sight. He was an unpleasant looking man: overweight, silver hair, that kind of smile that makes your skin crawl. No surprise he was surrounded by trashy whores half his age. But what else can you expect from a gangster? Vladimir Drozdov was his name.
As much as she would’ve loved to shoot his brains out, she settled for his torso. She held her breath to focus the shot, and pulled the trigger.
Blood flew all over the whores he was with, but they didn’t have time to scream. Five more bullets hit them in the head and the prostitutes fell lifelessly on the floor.
She scanned the entrance of the club, counting two guards on each side of the door. They fell onto the asphalt as a bullet hit their hearts.
After killing some more guards, she grabbed her sniper rifle and started packing up. She dismantled her weapon and dusted herself off. She grabbed her rifle, and made her way down a flight of stairs. Her footsteps echoed through the abandoned warehouse, muffled by the passing of a random car.
She reached the club, stepping over the two dead guards. As she opened the door, she instantly heard the faint sound of rapid pants. Her lips slowly parted into a smirk. She was going to have fun.
She walked sedately along the dark hallway lit by pink neon lights, and walked towards the last door. Once the door creaked open, she saw the man seated on a circular couch. Everything was scarlet, the same colour as the blood dripping from the man.
Around him, his five whores lay on the ground, a puddle of blood surrounding each one like some kind of halo.
She grabbed a metal chair and dragged it towards the man, never taking her eyes off the squirming figure. Once she was seated in front of him, she reached for her pants pocket, pulled out a packet of cigarettes and slid one out. She lifted it to her mouth and lit the tip of it with her lighter.
She dragged in a deep breath and sighed as smoke blew out of her mouth. It reached the man’s face, but he did nothing. Hela wasn’t a smoker, but once in a while she would use a cigarette for more than just smoking.
“Gde on?” (Where is he?)
Hela leaned closer to the man with her cigarette between her gloved fingers.
“Kak vy dumayete, vy mozhete zapugat’ menya, ubiv nekotorykh shlyukh?” (Do you think you can intimidate me by killing some fucking whores?)
The man stared back at her with watery eyes, his hands on his bloodied stomach.
Sighing, she reached for the cigarette dangling from her lips, grabbed Vladimir’s beefy wrists, forcing his hands off his wound. Towering over him, Hela pushed the cigarette deep into his bloody wound, putting it out.
He screamed in pain. Music to her ears.
“Trakhni tebya, suka,” he cursed between closed teeth. (Fuck you, bitch.)
Hela grabbed a dagger from her waist and moved it to Vladimir’s face. Caressing the fine blade over his cheek, she whispered: “Ya sproshu yeshche raz, Vladimir. Gde on?” (I’ll ask one more time, Vladimir. Where is he?)
Blood dripped from the shallow cut the dagger left, skin opening wherever the blade went.
“Ya ne znayu, chert voz’mi.” (I don’t fucking know.)
“Let’s play a game. I ask you a question and you tell me the right answer. If you are lying I will cut your precious dick off.”
Now the dagger was resting dangerously close to Vladimir’s cock.
“Where. Is. Nicklaus. Ivanov?”
Between each pause, Hela moved the dagger closer to his pants, until the man was squirming like the pig he was.
“Stop, stop! He’s in Detroit. Tomorrow night he will meet up with some drug lords in the Genesis Nightclub!” Vladimir shouted. Coward.
“See, it wasn’t so hard.”
The Demon stood up and walked towards the door.
“Ya naydu tebya i ub ‘yu-” (I will find you and I will kill-)
Hela shot his cock.
He started screaming and he doubled over on the couch.
“I didn’t ask you a question.”
“You fuckin’ bi-”
Bullet through the brain.