No Free Man

by Graham Potts

  I shouldn’t have kissed her.

  He knew that hope was dangerous and could lure a man into traps. A starving man could always be baited with food, the lonely lured by sex, the greedy by money. Entertaining fantasies could be deadly and he’d put his own life at risk for a rejection he’d known to be inevitable.

  The rational part of his mind had nagged him since he’d left Moscow to see her again. It had started as an insistent whisper but he’d ignored it until he kissed her and felt his knife at his throat. Suddenly, the whisper became a chorus line of girls, kicking their legs to the lyrics: “I told you so! I told you so! I told you so…”

  Murphy dropped his duffel bag by the door and tossed his coat over the back of a chair. The overstuffed sofa wheezed when he collapsed on the cushions. He placed his pistol beside him and let his head fall back, closing his eyes and grasping his forehead.

  Seven years: always flying, always driving, and always planning the next mission. Each time he’d glance at glassy-eyed customs agents, knowing that the exit stamp represented another murder, but he’d had purpose, direction. At least, it had seemed that way. All this time, he thought he’d been running away from her but instead he’d run in a complete circle. He’d ended up in the same place, standing in front of her again, unsure of what to say, afraid that she would leave.

  I just want her to smile at me.

  He picked up his pistol and stared at it, running his fingers along the barrel. He shook his head and let his arm hang over the edge of the couch, the weapon heavy in his hand.

  The past was a better place, he thought. When her brother had been alive and nobody needed anything from anybody. She had been a woman with a dimpled smile and bare feet, giggling as the summer grass tickled her. Murphy had been the awkward man who couldn’t look her in the eye, feeling like an idiot as he offered to buy her an ice-cream. Things had changed. Everything had changed. It stopped here. It had to stop here.

  He let his head fall back and closed his eyes. Darkness swirled through his mind.

  But I don’t want to let her go.

  The pistol thudded on the floor.

  Colours turned into shapes and his mind summoned words and images.

  “Why do you keep calling Darren ‘China’?” Elliot asked, rolling on to her back to look up at the clouds.

  Murphy lay down beside her and watched the fluffy formations drift through the sky. “China plate,” he said. “It’s rhyming slang for mate.”

  She plucked a flower and started to chew on the stem. “You’ll have to teach me some other words.”

  “One of my favourites comes from England.”

  “Mmm?” She tickled the palm of his hand with her fingertips.

  “I’m afraid to say it in the company of a lady.”

  “Whisper it to me.”

  He lowered his head and whispered, her perfumed hair tickling his nose, his heart beating faster.

  Elliot rose to her knees and smacked him in the arm. “That’s horrible!”

  “I promise you I won’t use that one.” Murphy reached up and cupped her cheek in his hands.

  “Good. I hope I won’t need to remind a dumb James Blunt like you.”

  “Lady, huh.”

  “Don’t ever forget,” Elliot said with a smile, and then she sneezed.

  Murphy woke when he heard a second sneeze. Elliot was gone. He grimaced and rubbed his eyes. “Anna?”

  Anna emerged from the bedroom, padding into the room barefoot. She was swaddled in a large woollen jumper and her hands were swallowed by the sleeves. “Did I wake you?” She laced her fingers in front of her.

  Murphy ran his hand down his face. “I wasn’t really asleep.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was trying to be quiet.”

  “Why?”

  She looked down at her toes. “Grigoriy texted me. He warned me that you were in a…mood,” she said slowly, carefully choosing her final word.

  He frowned. “I paid a lot of money for your private tuition. I didn’t think I was paying by the word.”

  Anna leaned against the doorjamb and hugged herself. “I was concerned that indulging in verbose expressions would fail to adequately articulate your state of ennui.” She pirouetted into the room and threw her arms out. “While you indulge in the proclivity of maintaining a solemn countenance, I understand that your current lugubrious disposition is unique. Consequently, I can infer that your mood has been influenced by unique circumstances, and I would not dare risk accusations of conceit by endeavouring to postulate a potential cause.” She bowed.

  “Dear God,” he muttered.

  “I finished my last exam on Thursday,” she said, tumbling on to the sofa.

  “Grigoriy told me. Now you can speak bad English like the rest of us.” He groaned as he rose from the sofa, and walked stiffly to the counter to pour a scotch.

  “How was your trip?” Anna asked, lying on her stomach.

  He glanced over his shoulder.

  “Your eyes locked,” she said, “the orchestra burst into life, she leapt into your arms, and you kissed passionately?”

  “Don’t you start,” Murphy mumbled. “I’ve already been lectured by Grigoriy.” He lit a cigarette.

  “I was actually hoping I was right.”

  “This is not a movie.” Murphy gulped down his scotch and poured another. “Otherwise, I’d be slightly better looking.” He turned around and rested against the counter.

  Anna smiled but her expression faded. She ran her thumb over the stamped metal of the dog tags draped around her neck. “I’ve heard stories about the bombings.”

  “Stories aren’t always true.” Murphy swirled the scotch around in his glass and puffed on his cigarette.

  “Even stories about Simone Elliot?” she asked.

  Murphy’s eyes narrowed. “I never told you her last name.”

  “You never told me she was a thief, either.”

  He gulped down his drink and turned away, crushing his cigarette in an ashtray and placing his empty glass on the counter. “It was none of your business.”

  Anna sat up on the sofa. “You told me that she was afraid of what people thought of her. It wasn’t until I googled her that I understood why. Everyone judged her, but you didn’t. You cared about all of her.”

  Murphy wrapped his fingers around the edges of the countertop, his knuckles white.

  “Me, Natalie, and all those other girls were about her,” Anna said. “You never judged me. You gave me a second chance. You gave me everything and expected nothing back. You gave Elliot a second chance too, and she rejected you.”

  His grip tightened and the countertop creaked.

  “She doesn’t deserve you, Stepan. She’s a hypocrite, seeing you for what you are and what you did instead of who you are and how you feel about her.”

  The edges of the counter shrieked and the timber splintered with a crack.

  Anna jumped and then crept back into the embrace of the sofa. He was breathing heavily, his broad shoulders rising and falling.

  “It was never about that,” he murmured. “I wanted to be her second chance.”

  She stood up and neared him cautiously. “Why now? After all this time, after avoiding Australia for all these years, why go to her again?”

  “Because I’d forgotten what it felt like,” he mumbled. “It’s been so long that I think I forgot how to feel anything.”

  Her face fell, her brow knitted.

  “I don’t care if the whole world hates me, just not her,” he said. “Not her.”

  Anna leaned against the counter and stared at him. He refused to look at her, contemplating the bottle of scotch on the splintered countertop instead. “Only she can decide whether she hates you. You can’t control that.” Anna tilted her head and gazed at him thoughtfully. “That’s what you love about her most, isn’t it?”

  Murphy turned away and dragged his feet along the carpet.

  “Stepan?”

  He stopped behind the chai
r and picked up his coat.

  “You want her to choose you but you don’t want to make her.”

  “Damn it!” Murphy spat. “The fucking photos are gone.” He pitched his coat across the room and ran his hands through his hair. “Of all the things to lose.”

  “Where did you lose them?”

  “I don’t know,” he said impatiently. “I’ve barely worn the coat since I left Australia.”

  “Maybe she stole them,” Anna suggested absently, pouring a drink. “She steals everything else.”

  He kicked the chair, muttering a curse.

  “She cares for nobody else,” she continued, “only herself. The Melbourne Cup, that gold, Nikolay’s art, jewellery from movie stars.”

  Murphy froze, his eyes hard.

  “She leaves a trail of human wreckage behind, including you.” Anna sipped from her glass. “Why bother with a woman like that?”

  “What did you just say?”

  “Don’t defend her,” Anna said. “She’s a user.”

  Murphy seized her wrist and she stared at him with wide eyes.

  “What did you say about Nikolay’s art?”

  Anna’s mouth fell open. “I, uh, I said that, um.” She trembled, splashing scotch on her hand.

  “She stole art from Nikolay?” His eyes were on fire.

  Anna nodded quickly, the blood draining from her face.

  “How do you—”

  “Don’t make me say,” she pleaded, her voice quivering. “I promised him. He’s been keeping the secret to protect you, to protect all of us.”

  “What secret?” he snarled.

  “Simone stole some paintings from Nikolay three years ago,” she said quickly. “Nikolay sent people to kill her but she disappeared. They only realised where she’d gone when you ran into her at that pub.”

  Murphy let go of her wrist. “I’m going to kill Grigoriy,” he said. “Where’s my gun?” He spotted his pistol on the floor.

  “No!” Anna cried. She stepped in front of him and pushed against his chest. “Please, Grigoriy thought he was helping. He thought you would kill Nikolay if you found out.”

  Murphy glared at her hand on his chest.

  “Please don’t hurt him, Stepan,” Anna begged. He arched his fingers and balled his hands into fists, his chest heaving. Anna touched his cheek with her hand. “Please, Stepan,” she soothed. “Please.”

  “I’m the last person to know about this, aren’t I?”

  Anna pressed her lips together.

  His breathing slowed down, his eyes closed, and his muscles relaxed. He reached up and held her hand against his cheek. “I think I’m going mad, Anna.”

  “You’re not mad, you’re just in love.”

  “Really? Is there a difference between passion and obsession?”

  A long pause, then, quietly: “Yes.”

  “You still haven’t told him, have you?” Murphy asked.

  Anna handed him the glass. “You haven’t exactly inspired me,” she said. “Besides, there are things that he’s said…” She grasped her dog tags. “What if I disgust him? What if I tell him and he feels nothing?”

  Murphy emptied the glass in one gulp. “You have to decide between your fantasy and the truth.”

  “I don’t want to decide.” She pouted.

  “Then the decision will be made for you,” Murphy said. “That’s how the world works.”

  The door opened and Grigoriy walked in, marching towards Murphy.

  “Grigoriy,” Anna said. “What happened to your neck?” She pointed to the red welt on his throat.

  “Go get changed and pack a bag, Anna,” Grigoriy said. “You’re leaving.”

  “What?” She frowned. “Why?”

  Grigoriy looked down at Murphy. “I just got a warning call from one of the girls. Nikolay is on his way and he’s pissed off.”

  “Do as he says, Anna,” Murphy said.

  Anna looked at Murphy and Grigoriy in turn. “I guess I’ll go pack,” she said, leaving the room.

  Grigoriy didn’t take his eyes off Murphy. “Eight men, Stepan,” he said.

  “They had it coming.”

  Grigoriy reached into his back pocket and pulled out a media player wrapped with a set of headphones.

  “I thought I told you I wanted a thumb drive,” Murphy said.

  “This is all I had in my laptop bag,” Grigoriy said. “If you find porn on it, it’s not mine.”

  Murphy arched an eyebrow.

  “Some of the guys don’t know how to use computers,” Grigoriy explained. “I do them favours. You know how it works.” He shrugged. “Or maybe you don’t.”

  Grigoriy handed him the media player and Murphy grabbed his wrist. “Are there any other secrets I should know about?”

  “Now you want to talk?”

  “Yeah, let’s talk about Nikolay’s missing art, Grigoriy.”

  Grigoriy snatched his hand away.

  “This isn’t the first time Nikolay has put out a contract on her, is it?” Murphy asked. “Is this why she disappeared for three years?”

  Grigoriy straightened his back, his chest out. “I did what I had to do, Stepan.”

  “Jesus,” Murphy spat.

  “See, this is what’s wrong with you,” Grigoriy said. “You think you know best, but the world would’ve crashed down on you and everyone around you.” He clicked his tongue. “Look at you now: eight men dead and Nikolay’s coming for you.”

  “I killed five the other night.”

  “This is different. You defied him.”

  “Do you think that matters to me?”

  Grigoriy’s eyes fell to the media player.

  “Did you listen to this?” Murphy asked.

  Grigoriy nodded. “I never imagined…” His voice trailed off. “He can’t do it.”

  “Do you still want to stay and fight?”

  “Not for you.” Grigoriy rubbed his throat. “Not anymore.”

  “What are you talking about, Grigoriy?” Anna asked.

  Grigoriy glanced towards the doorway. She was clutching a gym bag, her face twisted in confusion. “It’s time to go, Anna. Say goodbye to Stepan.”

  “But I—”

  “Do it,” Grigoriy ordered.

  “Why?” she asked. “Where are we going? Why isn’t Stepan coming?”

  “We’re going someplace safe and Stepan is going to stay here and do what he’s always done.” He glared at Murphy. “Wait for permission to die.”

  MOSCOW, RUSSIA SATURDAY 17 SEPTEMBER 8:22 AM MSK

  Stephen Murphy dropped the magazine from his pistol and put it on the bench. He worked the slide, catching the ejected round and placing it next to the magazine. He handed over the pistol.

  “And the knife,” Nikolay Korolev said.

  Murphy unsheathed his knife from its scabbard and flipped it over, holding the blade.

  “Take all of it,” Korolev ordered, nodding to his bodyguards who collected the weapons. “Leave us,” he demanded, gesturing to the door of the hotel suite. The bodyguards left, closing the door gently behind them. “Sit down,” he said to Murphy.

  “I’d rather stand.”

  “Sit!” he commanded, pointing down with his finger.

  Murphy muttered a curse and sat down on the sofa.

  Korolev paced in front of him, rolling his coin across his hand. “I told you to remember your place.”

  “We had a deal.”

  “Eight men!” Korolev snarled. “Do you think you’re worth eight men, Stepan?”

  “Is she?”

  Korolev turned, stabbing his chest with his thumb. “She stole from me.”

  “She steals from everyone.”

  “Not from me,” he hissed.

  Murphy sprang to his feet. “We had a fucking deal.”

  “Don’t you dare yap at me like some junkyard dog,” Korolev said. “Don’t pretend that this matters to you anymore.”

  “There was only one person on this entire planet you weren’t allow
ed to touch and you couldn’t help yourself.”

  Korolev threw a left hook and Murphy blocked, but he missed the right uppercut that followed. Murphy swayed and felt blood pool in his mouth. “And you promised you would stay away from her.” Korolev seized Murphy’s jaw in his hand and squeezed. “So, tell me, was it worth it?”

  Murphy didn’t speak.

  “She kicked you out like a stray dog, didn’t she?” Korolev said. “I treat you like a prince and you betray me by chasing after this woman, a woman who robbed me, and for what?” He shoved Murphy back on to the sofa. “You’re nothing to her.”

  Murphy spat a mouthful of blood on to the floor. “How would you know?”

  “Because you came back.”

  The veins bulged in Murphy’s neck. “So I should give up, right?”

  Korolev shook his head impatiently, shoving his coin into his pocket. “You already have, Stepan. I know you have.”

  “I have to let go, so why can’t you? Why are you still holding on to Valentina?”

  “Enough, Stepan.”

  “Her grandfather’s coin was just the start, wasn’t it? Valentina took everything from you, so you had to—”

  “You don’t want to do this,” Korolev said.

  “She turned you away,” Murphy said. “You disgusted her.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “She became leader of Russian intelligence, so you became leader of a criminal syndicate,” Murphy shouted. “She went into politics, so you bought the politicians. She became mayor, so you stole the city.” Murphy shook his head. “Now she’s president. What’s next, Nikolay?”

  “This country will die if I don’t do something.”

  “This isn’t about the country.”

  “Yes, it is.” Korolev began pacing across the living room. “And I’ll be the one to save it because I know what has to be done.”

  “Valentina will destroy you.”

  “She can’t. There are hundreds of syndicates in this country and their leaders will move in to take my place. There will be blood on the streets without me. I keep them in line, I control them.”

  “You won’t be able to control them once they find out what you’re up to. They’ll lose their status, money, property. They won’t give it all up for you. They’ll fight you.”