Blackmailed by the beast

by Georgia Le Carre

  ‘Are you sure he is properly secured? Hands and feet?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes, he can move his head so don’t get too close to his face,’ Vasluv, the older man, tells me.

  That brings a scatter of goose bumps on my flesh. I swallow my fear. ‘Good,’ I tell them. ‘You can leave and I’ll text you when it’s time.’

  ‘You’ll be alright on your own?’ Vasluv enquires.

  I gaze at him blankly. I definitely did not expect concern from one of Dimitri’s cold-blooded killers. ‘Yes, yes, I’ll be fine. Thank you.’

  He nods. ‘We will wait for your message to return and do the necessary.’

  Tasha Evanoff

  My heart is in my throat as I watch them climb the steps and listen to their footsteps go along the upstairs warehouse floor, then I hear the door close behind them.

  Alone in this depressing and creepy place, my plan seems outlandish, stupid even. Surely, I didn’t think I could kill my own father. What was I thinking?

  I should have asked one of them to do it.

  I can still call them, but that would be the cowardly way out. I have to do it myself. I want my father to know why. I want to face him and let him know how he has hurt me with his actions. He never even gave Noah a chance. He just rubbed him out. Just like that. As if he was just a figment of my imagination. Now he’ll never know how much I loved him. I feel myself choke up and, with a sniff, I turn away from the stairs, the door, the idea of letting someone else do my dirty work for me.

  I pull a chair opposite my father and wait for him to wake up.

  For nearly an hour I sit as if hypnotized and probably a little mad in front of him. Yes, mad with grief. When he opens his eyes I am meant to kill him. Who of my friends could imagine even in their wildest dreams little obedient, dutiful me sitting here contemplating murder? Yet, here I am. I must have become unhinged when I saw Sergei’s body. I’m still unhinged.

  The first sign that he is coming to makes my pulse hammer and my spine go ramrod straight. His eyes flicker and his mouth quivers. Soon his eyes open a little more, but he is still groggy and disoriented. He blinks and shakes his head. I think his mouth must be dry because he licks his lips and swallows. Perhaps they hurt his body too when they let him bump his way down the stairs because he winces.

  His eyes widen when he tries to shake his body and finds that he cannot move. Suddenly, he becomes shockingly alert. His eyes narrow as they first fall on me, then look startled when he sees his environment. He looks down at the ropes that tether to the chair. He struggles, but only briefly, when the realization hits home that these are no amateur binds. He will not get free of them.

  ‘What is going on, Tasha? Why am I tied up?’ he demands.

  ‘Try to guess, Papa.’

  He frowns, suddenly remembering. ‘You drugged me.’ Then his voice changes. ‘Who is here with you?’ he demands.

  ‘We’re all alone, Papa. Just you and me like all those times we went out to eat ice cream and we went to the movies together.’

  ‘What nonsense are you talking about?’ he asks harshly. All traces of sleep has fled from his eyes, and he is as furious as I have ever seen him. His face is red with it.

  I shake my head. Even at a time like this my father will never give an inch.

  ‘Who has put you up to this?’ he questions.

  ‘You did, Papa.’

  He stares at me. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s a good thing you asked, because I’ve been meaning to tell you anyway. I’ve never told you, have I, how hurt I was when you kicked Mama out of the house and never let me see her. All those years you forced me to hide and lie and run around meeting Mama in toilets. You denied me a mother,’ I scream.

  Tears start filling my eyes and I dash them away.

  ‘I forgave you all that because I loved you. I pretended to myself that it’s not as bad as all that. Then when I told you what a horrible man Oliver is, you didn’t care. You still wanted to sacrifice me to your ambition and greed for power and status.’

  ‘What are you talking about? I told you I’d protect you from him,’ he cuts in aggressively.

  ‘Oh, Papa. You are such a liar. You knew even if he did terrible things to me I would never come and complain to you. I was too frightened of you. I would just bear it as I have borne everything else.’

  ‘Look. This is silly. All right. You don’t have to marry him. You have my word.’

  ‘You think you’re here because of that?’

  The first flash of fear crosses his eyes. ‘Then what?’

  ‘You sent someone into my bedroom to kill Sergei. He was like my son, Papa. He was an innocent little thing and I loved him with all of my heart, and you just took him away. How could you? How could you?’ I sob. The tears are rushing down my cheeks, and I’m ugly crying, but I don’t care anymore.

  ‘Solnyshko, Sergei was not your son. Sergei was a dog. One day you will have a child and you will understand. You are my daughter, my flesh and blood. Everything I have done is for your own good. All of this we can put aside … and start again. Maybe I’ve been too harsh with you. I’ll change … I’ll be a better father. What do you say?’ His voice is soft and manipulative.

  ‘As if that wasn’t enough, you then took the only man I’ve ever wanted. I loved Noah, Papa. I would have given up my life for him. I didn’t even get a chance to tell him. You took everything away from me.’

  ‘Solnyshko, listen to me,’ he says, his voice is not sorry or remorseful. It is just wheedling. It’s all just a technique. A trick. A bluff. As if I’m stupid.

  For a few seconds I continue to stare at his pathetic attempt at finding a way out of his mess.

  ‘You are young and beautiful. You will find someone else,’ he says.

  I walk over to where my rucksack is on the floor and feel his eyes follow. I kneel down, pull out the untraceable handgun I got from Dimitri’s men, and take the safety catch off. I get to my feet and walk towards him with the gun in my hand. What irony that it was my father who taught me how to use a gun.

  Tasha Evanoff

  If rain drops were kisses. I could send you showers. If hugs were seas. I’d send you oceans. If love was a person I’d send you me!

  -Shahid Abbas

  ‘It’s too late for that,’ I say softly.

  My heart feels like a piece of ice. ‘You are a destructive rabid dog. The poison is in your bloodstream and the only humane thing to do is to put you down.’

  He struggles instinctively, making the chair rock so violently on the concrete floor it almost topples over. Curiously, for I have become quite removed from the scene around me, I see real uncontrollable fear slither into the bully’s face. He’s beginning to sweat. For the first time in our lives the power is in my hands.

  Without warning he stops struggling and makes a great effort to control himself. He’s changing tactics. He laughs. It has a harsh hollow sound to it.

  ‘You think it is so easy to take a man’s life? It doesn’t end when you have pulled the trigger. Let me tell you about the nightmares. They come back. Their souls haunt you. There’s nowhere to run. Kill me in cold blood, you want me in your nightmares, because I swear, Tasha, I will never forget this ingratitude. I will haunt you until your dying day, and after you are dead I will be waiting for you in hell.’

  My hand shakes so I use the other one and try to keep it steady.

  ‘Look at you. Shaking like a leaf. You’re not a killer. You haven’t got it in you. Just like that bitch who bore you. Weak. Go on. I dare you. Pull the trigger and see what happens after. It won’t be unicorns shitting rainbows,’ he taunts.

  His words have a strange effect on me. They make me feel light-headed. I swallow back the strange sensation and try to stay focused.

  ‘This is for Sergei and Noah,’ I say, but my voice is weak and uncertain compared to his loud, aggressive threats and taunts.

  ‘Stop this now, Tasha, and I promise there will be no repercussions. I will put it do
wn to temporary madness caused by grief over your dog. I give you my word here. You know me. I have never broken my word to you ever, have I?’

  I bring the gun up to his chest height, with one finger on the trigger and the other tightly clasping my firing hand.

  He changes strategy again. ‘For God’s sake, Tasha, you can't shoot your father. What will your life be after this? Do you want this on your conscience?’ he cries.

  The more he talks the more confused I become.

  I try to think of my poor Sergei, and Noah, and how much I hate my father, but it is not like in the movies. Pulling the trigger is difficult. Sweat prickles across my neck and my armpits are drenched. I straighten my body, point the gun, close my eyes, but I just can’t hold the gun straight.

  ‘You see, Tasha, you're not a killer. Now listen to your Papa and untie me. Let’s get away from here. We are family. What will Baba say if she knew what you have done? You will break her heart.’ There is hope in his voice now and his face is no longer so fearful. He thinks he is stronger than me. He thinks he knows me. He knows which buttons to push. He can win this.

  That is when I decide I can pull the trigger. I realize that I’m not doing this to be vindictive. I’m not even doing this for revenge. Sergei and Noah will not come back whether I take his life or not. I’m doing this because someone like him shouldn’t be allowed to walk this earth. I don’t need to tell him that Baba planned this together with me. Without her help I would never have been able to carry out this murder without getting caught.

  Maybe he is right. I was so caught up in the planning that I’d lost sight of what it takes to actually kill someone. I suddenly find myself overcome by all the emotions and feel my resolve slipping.

  ‘Think about what you are doing, Tasha. Do you think there won’t be an investigation? How many clues have you left behind? Do you want to spend the rest of your life in prison? They love blonde little girls like you in prison. You want to be someone’s bitch? Is that what you want? There’ll be no more trips to the hairdressers and shopping and holidays, and forget about having a dog. The only dog around will be you. An ungrateful little bitch for all the tough, hardened criminals. You’ll be eating pussy for the rest of your life. How about that, huh?’

  Tears start running down my face. I take a big gulp of air. I can do this. I have to. No matter what happens after this I have to end it here and now, not only me, Mama and Baba will get punished.

  Cursing, he bares his teeth at me. ‘Enough is enough. Don’t make me any more angry than I am already. I am your father. I order you to untie me right now,’ he barks impatiently as if he is somehow controlling all around him. In that moment I look into his eyes and I know I cannot untie this man. He will not rest until his revenge is absolute. I know that I can and must do this. I train my gun on him again.

  ‘I’m sorry, Papa. I can’t do that. This is the end. No matter what happens to me after this, you will not walk out of this room on your own two feet.’

  His face changes suddenly. He starts sobbing. I mean great big tears roll out of his eyes. What an actor my father is.

  ‘I’m sorry, Solnyshko. I’m so sorry. You are right. I’ve been a terrible father. I beg of you. Please. Spare me. You are kind and good. This is not you. You are an angel. You could never shoot a helpless human being. I know you. You are kind and gentle. Remember that time you rescued the bee? Remember, you found him on the floor and you picked him and let him drink sugar water from the palm of your hand until he recovered and flew away. That’s you. Not this. Tasha, you have taught me a great lesson that I will never forget. You’ve made me a better man.’

  Oh, God. I can’t. I just … My hands are shaking so badly.

  ‘Shut uuuuuup,’ I scream.

  I will count to ten. I can do this. I have to. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six … My hands are still trembling but a bit less. I put my finger on the trigger. I close my eyes.

  ‘Pleeeeaseeee,’ my father begs. This time it’s real.

  Tears and snot run down my face. My mouth is open in a silent cry as I start to depress the trigger.

  ‘You’re right, Nikita, she can’t, but I can.’

  My eyes fly open, but the words have barely time to register in my dazed, confused brain before I see my father topple over with a small hole in his forehead. How quick and silent his death, but I didn’t shoot Papa!

  My head swings around and my mouth drops open in shock.

  ‘You’re … alive!’

  Jack Irish

  Two Days Before

  When I lean over the man, his hand instinctively reaches out to grip my wrist. He is dying in a narrow alleyway, but he is a fighter. There is still surprising strength in his grip.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asks.

  ‘I’m a doctor.’

  He lets go of my hand and grips my shirt. ‘Don’t let them hurt her,’ he whispers urgently.

  Then his eyes dim and he starts to lose consciousness. I rip his blood soaked shirt open and see the gash. It’s pretty bad. Blood is seeping out like a hot water spring. I also don’t miss all the tattoos that immediately identify him as someone from the Russian mafia. As I press my hand to the wound, I see a man dragging himself along the ground towards us. His face is contorted with pain and his leg is broken. Behind him I see more bodies on the floor, but they are not moving.

  ‘It’s not what you think it is,’ he says. He has a lisp that makes him sound like he is hissing. ‘Don’t get involved. It is dangerous for you. My people are on their way. You better run, pretty boy, and quick if you want to stay pretty.’

  I look at the unconscious man. He took them all down on his own. That means he’s lethal, but if I don’t do something to stop his wound from bleeding out he will die. I look at the creature dragging himself along the ground. The last thing I need in my life is to get involved in some Russian Mafia gang fight. My car is parked less than a few feet away. I can be identified by it, and they will come after me. I glance again at the man’s wound. First rule of medicine: Do no harm.

  Oh, fuck it.

  I look at the guy slithering towards me. ‘I suggest you stop right there. Don’t come an inch closer.’

  He stops and makes a strange sound. Presumably, he is cursing me in Russian. ‘Are you stupid, boy? A whole team of men with knives and guns are on their way here. I have seen you and even if you kill me there is a security camera at the top of this street. They will identify you. They will come after you. You are a dead man walking. He is almost dead anyway.’

  ‘Whatever. Stay right where you are, or I will have to kill you myself.’

  His eyes bulge with incredulity. ‘This man is nothing to you. You don’t know him at all. Do you know he is a contract killer? He has killed many people. He is not a good man. You want to kill for him? Or worse, give up your life for his?’

  I look down at the wounded man. He does look dangerous, and I can well believe that he could be a contract killer. He has the eyes and physique for it, but even at the moment he believed himself to be dying, his only concern was for saving a woman. I’ll take my chances with him any day.

  ‘You’re making a big mistake,’ the other guy says.

  ‘Shut the fuck up.’ I take my jacket off and rip my shirt off quickly.

  ‘You are a fool. I promise you my men will arrive any moment now.’

  ‘Another word out of you and my boot’s going to end up in your mouth.’

  I tear my shirt into wide strips and tie them together to make a long bandage. I look around at the walls of the alleyway. There is a black water pipe. I run to it. My guess was right. It is full of spider webs.

  I take my credit card out of my wallet and as fast as I can, collect the spider’s web behind the pipe in my hand. Then I run the edge of the credit card along my palm so that all the white strands end up on the card.

  Getting on my haunches, I press my credit card spider’s web side facing his wound. Spider silk helps stop bleeding and speeds healing. I learned this lit
tle gem from an old African healer. Holding the credit card tight against the wound, I tie the shirt-bandage firmly around his chest. I tear the ends and tie it up.

  I feel his throat. His pulse is weak but steady.

  I glance around. His mates have still not arrived. I might just make it. I cover the wounded man with my jacket and go and unlock my car. I open the passenger door and put the seat down. Running back to him I get behind him. Putting my hands under his armpits I carefully sit him upright. Then, using my body as a wall to help support his weight, I stand, lifting him up with me. Once standing I take a deep breath.

  He’s a big guy and my next move has to be lightning fast.

  Grasping his right hand and holding it at 90 degrees to his body, I duck under it, and pop up in front of him before he can collapse on me. Still holding his wrist, I bend my knees and use the fireman’s lift to get him on to my shoulders.

  With him securely and mostly balanced over my right shoulder, I jog as fast as I can to my car. I’m conscious that any moment the other guy’s compatriots could turn up and I’m really not in the mood, or drunk enough, to take on a bunch of guys wielding knives and guns.

  ‘You won’t get away with this,’ the guy on the ground threatens. There is a tinge of desperation to his voice. The guy is shit scared of the reaction of whoever ordered the hit.

  As I lay the man in the front seat, sweat is dripping off my body, even though it is a cold mid-October night. I close the door and jump into the front seat. As I am driving out of the street I see the thugs drive into the road in a blacked out black Merc.

  I knew instantly it was them because one of them has his glass down and his elbow is resting on the edge of the window. A blind man couldn’t miss those tattoos. As our cars pass I look in and see them. You can tell they are thugs from a mile away – they have hard, mean faces and they look pissed as hell.