Every bit of ash has a life of its own. Gets brushed off. Flies along. Runs away. Disappears. Joins an army somewhere.
\nMaybe Antonov knew where he was going.
\nAnd none of those folk-dancing kids were in any way related, if you believed that kind of shit from above.
\nMaybe Gjoeb was the sound guy, slash chauffeur, researching adolescent folk-dance.
\nAnd maybe Gomenko wasn\u2019t really an asshole.
\nMaybe that log seat was awake and could remember the entire thoughts of a forest.
\nMaybe the barman knew nothing.
\nThe Bentley was a fake.
\nAnd people were allowed to escape from prison.
\nOne thing though. Georgieva was right to be a legalised sociopath. That way, she put the lie to reality.<\/p>\n
Zdravko waited in the Opel, parked up in ul. Gurko not fifty metres west of the Grand Hotel, and facing away. It was near one o\u2019clock in the morning. So as not to attract attention, Rusim smoked a cigarette with the window down. He also had the stereo on. Eighties Iranian club sounds. Or something like that.
\n\u201cLa Pulga,\u201d said Rusim looking in the mirror. \u201cHere he is.\u201d
\nZdravko checked the passenger side mirror but the hotel entrance was empty.
\n\u201cTwo girls and a cigar,\u201d said Rusim.
\n\u201cLet\u2019s give him a second then.\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019m gonna take a look,\u201d said Rusim. He got out of the car and flicked his cigarette into the night. Zdravko kept his eye on the side mirror. Antonov was walking in The Grand Hotel with a girl on either arm. \u201cAntonov\u2019s here,\u201d Zdravko said talking into his microphone. \u201cCouple of girls.\u201d He got out and ran. For a round shouldered, phlegmatic forty two year old, his movements were surprisingly graceful and quick. Within a few seconds he was beside the hotel entrance. Rusim was dancing across the street.
\nThe purple-uniformed doorman stepped aside at the sight of two pistols pointed slightly forward of his shoes.
\nInside the lobby, things were getting tense. Antonov and the two girls were motionless facing the lift. Georgieva was in the lobby, Petrov in front of reception. Both had their weapons trained on Antonov. The reception staff had miraculously disappeared. One of the hookers had her face in her hands. Antonov and the other girl had their hands wavering behind their heads.
\n\u201cGet out of here, ladies,\u201d said Georgieva. Rusim, his Makarov still levelled at the floor, shifted in the direction of the lobby. Zdravko stayed at the entrance door. For some reason, the two ladies stayed put.
\n\u201cDon\u2019t shoot,\u201d said the girl who didn\u2019t have her face in her hands.
\n\u201cWhat\u2019s your name, honey?\u201d said Georgieva.
\n\u201cNadejda.\u201d
\n\u201cThat\u2019s a lovely name. Tell your friend it\u2019s gonna be alright. We need everyone just to be alive. Why don\u2019t you reach over, take the\u2026\u201d The lift door opened. \u201cGrab your friend and walk into that lift.\u201d
\nThe girl with the name reached over, took the other girl\u2019s hand out of her face, and together they walked into the lift.
\n\u201cNow press the button that says two. You\u2019ll be OK.\u201d
\nThe lift door closed.
\n\u201cNow turn around slowly,\u201d said Georgieva to Antonov in a more serious tone.
\nAntonov stood motionless.
\n\u201cTurn around or I\u2019ll put a bullet in your back.\u201d Georgieva\u2019s voice had taken on the tone of the lift.
\nPetrov raised his gun a fraction higher. \u201cTurn around and on the floor, motherfucker.\u201d
\nThen Antonov did a strange thing. He lowered his arms to the horizontal. Like Jesus on the cross, except he was back to front and dressed in a tuxedo. And then he swivelled round so fast that Petrov got a fright and let off a round. Antonov crashed sideways onto the tiled floor.
\nPetrov swivelled around like there might be someone looking. Georgieva walked up to take a closer look. She prodded Antonov\u2019s ribs with her boot, blood pouring from his head like an expanding red speech bubble.
\n\u201cGoddam idiot,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Every bit of ash has a life of its own. Gets brushed off. Flies along. Runs away. Disappears. Joins an army somewhere. Maybe Antonov knew where he was going. And none of those folk-dancing kids were in any way related, … Continue reading