weary-of-life voice. âThatâs all I need. Then Iâll make it quick.â
Danton knew when his life had turned for the worst, when heâd gone from a potential Olympic contender, to a complete fucking nobody. But heâd clawed his way back up, and had a life now, such as it was. Friends at the gym, guys down the bar, a couple of whores he hung out with, and serious money from suits like Adamson every few months for a few hoursâ work. It didnât amount to a heap of crap, but he wasnât ready to call it quits. He stalled.
âYou never told me why they call you Lazarus.â
The Russianâs eyes glowed, then dulled, as he looked away. He leaned forward again then heaved himself up, a man mountain, still in his buttoned coat despite the humid summer city air. He walked a few paces to the left of Danton, and stood with his back to the window, obliterating the streetlights outside. âI was nineteen.â He smiled, a real one, like Danton hadnât seen from Lazarus in a long time. âHer name was Sasha. We were driving in Moscow down by the frozen Moskva, you know, where the road winds along its banks.â
Lazarus left the window and drifted behind Danton, between the sofa and the pine cabinet. Danton heard a drawer slide open, something lifted. He mentally ran through options â the window, the Kalashnikov in the kitchen⦠He wouldnât make it. Lazarus was big and heavy, butheâd seen him wrestle years earlier. The man could move fast when he needed to. And then there was the sniper; for sure Lazarus had another one covering the kitchen.
Lazarus continued as he came back around to the armchair, Glock hanging from his right hand. âI had my hand between her legs, her tongue was in my ear. Christ, I was nineteen, you remember being that young, donât you?â
Danton did. Most of it was in hospital, catching the German weightlifting finals on TV while he coughed up blood, the rib having punctured his lung, everything made worse by a botched facial reconstruction op. But a year earlier, at eighteen, was a different matter, heâd been on top of the world.
âYeah,â he said, âI do.â
Lazarus remained standing. âWell, I took my eyes off the road to take a good look at her, you know,â he waved the matt black Glock. âAnd drove straight through the barrier where some idiot had plunged into the river the week before. Just temporary plastic, not metal. Went through it at sixty, like it was paper.â He frowned, then smiled, almost laughed to himself. âYou know in those Hollywood movies, when cars go sailing through the air?â
Danton nodded.
âWell, it was just like that. For a moment, both of us were caught by the sheer exhilaration. We were flying, I mean really flying! Instead of screaming like any normal person, you know what she did?â
Danton looked up into that large mottled face, wondering if Lazarus could really kill him. Of course he could. âNo,â he said.
âShe kissed me. I swear to God she kissed me. Iâll never forget that kiss.â
Danton for the last time wondered if he could rush Lazarus, but the bear of a man was standing right in front of him, whereas he was sitting in a crummy sofa that heâd never get out of fast enough.
âWe hit the ice, front bumper first, rammed it, then the rear wheels smacked down behind. We skidded maybe fifty metres, the car spun twice, and all the time that hissing sound like when youâre skiing on fresh snow. Then we came to a stop. For a moment we held our breath, couldnât believe our luck. Sasha and I burst out laughing, kissed again, and then⦠the sound of ice cracking, deep, like you hear when someone snaps a bone in your own body. We froze, looked each other in the eyes the way â well, you of all people know â and slowly opened the car doors. But there was another crack, like a whip. We sank into the
Danton knew when his life had turned for the worst, when heâd gone from a potential Olympic contender, to a complete fucking nobody. But heâd clawed his way back up, and had a life now, such as it was. Friends at the gym, guys down the bar, a couple of whores he hung out with, and serious money from suits like Adamson every few months for a few hoursâ work. It didnât amount to a heap of crap, but he wasnât ready to call it quits. He stalled.
âYou never told me why they call you Lazarus.â
The Russianâs eyes glowed, then dulled, as he looked away. He leaned forward again then heaved himself up, a man mountain, still in his buttoned coat despite the humid summer city air. He walked a few paces to the left of Danton, and stood with his back to the window, obliterating the streetlights outside. âI was nineteen.â He smiled, a real one, like Danton hadnât seen from Lazarus in a long time. âHer name was Sasha. We were driving in Moscow down by the frozen Moskva, you know, where the road winds along its banks.â
Lazarus left the window and drifted behind Danton, between the sofa and the pine cabinet. Danton heard a drawer slide open, something lifted. He mentally ran through options â the window, the Kalashnikov in the kitchen⦠He wouldnât make it. Lazarus was big and heavy, butheâd seen him wrestle years earlier. The man could move fast when he needed to. And then there was the sniper; for sure Lazarus had another one covering the kitchen.
Lazarus continued as he came back around to the armchair, Glock hanging from his right hand. âI had my hand between her legs, her tongue was in my ear. Christ, I was nineteen, you remember being that young, donât you?â
Danton did. Most of it was in hospital, catching the German weightlifting finals on TV while he coughed up blood, the rib having punctured his lung, everything made worse by a botched facial reconstruction op. But a year earlier, at eighteen, was a different matter, heâd been on top of the world.
âYeah,â he said, âI do.â
Lazarus remained standing. âWell, I took my eyes off the road to take a good look at her, you know,â he waved the matt black Glock. âAnd drove straight through the barrier where some idiot had plunged into the river the week before. Just temporary plastic, not metal. Went through it at sixty, like it was paper.â He frowned, then smiled, almost laughed to himself. âYou know in those Hollywood movies, when cars go sailing through the air?â
Danton nodded.
âWell, it was just like that. For a moment, both of us were caught by the sheer exhilaration. We were flying, I mean really flying! Instead of screaming like any normal person, you know what she did?â
Danton looked up into that large mottled face, wondering if Lazarus could really kill him. Of course he could. âNo,â he said.
âShe kissed me. I swear to God she kissed me. Iâll never forget that kiss.â
Danton for the last time wondered if he could rush Lazarus, but the bear of a man was standing right in front of him, whereas he was sitting in a crummy sofa that heâd never get out of fast enough.
âWe hit the ice, front bumper first, rammed it, then the rear wheels smacked down behind. We skidded maybe fifty metres, the car spun twice, and all the time that hissing sound like when youâre skiing on fresh snow. Then we came to a stop. For a moment we held our breath, couldnât believe our luck. Sasha and I burst out laughing, kissed again, and then⦠the sound of ice cracking, deep, like you hear when someone snaps a bone in your own body. We froze, looked each other in the eyes the way â well, you of all people know â and slowly opened the car doors. But there was another crack, like a whip. We sank into the
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