behind his back, then hoisted Luka to his feet. “Keep quiet. You might feel like I'm your worst enemy, right now. But believe me, I'm not. I can keep you safe, but only if you do what I say.”
The thick, heavy dark filled up with the sound of their feet scuffling through leaves and twigs, the sound of their panting. The airless dark. He was suffocating. Body shutting down. Legs not working. Luka stumbled and collapsed to his knees. Tarik grasped him under his arms and hoisted him back to his feet.
The village was eerily quiet and almost completely dark. The black night was just faintly stained, here and there, by a dim light behind heavy curtains. Tarik led Luka along the edge of the woods, then down through a field of tall grass toward a small house set off from the tighter cluster of houses that formed the center of the village. Instead of walking up onto the porch and knocking at the door, Tarik pulled Luka around to the side of the house. Sticking out from under a window was a white towel. When Tarik gave it a gentle tug, a bell chimed inside the house. Around the corner, the click of a latch and the squeak of a hinge.
Dragging Luka along, Tarik crept back around to the front of the house. The front door was open a crack. Inside, the house was dark. Luka couldn't see anyone as Tarik led him up onto the porch and through the door.
A movement, a dry scuffing sound, maybe the sole of a shoe scraping over a wooden floor, then the click of the door latching shut. In the dark a gravelly voice ordered, “Lace your fingers behind your heads.”
Then Tarik's voice. “My hands are up. His are tied behind his back.”
A light flickered on, blindingly bright, then faded down to a gentle dimness. Two men pointing guns at them. Not soldiers. Ordinary men. Unless they were out of uniform. The smaller of the pair came forward and took Tarik's knife and gun, then gestured at Luka. “What's this, then?”
Tarik's voice was smooth and quiet. “That's my prisoner.”
“You brought a Bokan soldier here? Are you fucking kidding me?” The man with the gravelly voice was terribly thin and his eyes were strangely glassy.
“I lost Emir.” Tarik nodded toward Luka. “And he fits the bill.”
Over in the corner, pointing his gun right at Luka, the bigger man laughed. “What do you mean, you lost Emir?” The guy was tall, built like a Calvin Klein underwear model, and his smile was the creepiest thing Luka had ever seen.
“Emir backed out last second. He was convinced we'd end up in front of a firing squad.”
“So why didn't you take him hostage instead of this Bokan piece of shit?”
Tarik grabbed the scruff of Luka's jacket and gave it a possessive yank. “This is my problem. You have your own shit to worry about. If you've taken care of your own shit, we'll be gone by morning.”
“Do you know how fucking hard it is to get the stuff you wanted? How valuable it is?” the skinny one with the hectic eyes and rough voice asked. “I'm not giving that stuff to this Bokan cockroach.”
Tarik let go of Luka's collar and sank into an armchair like he was bored. “No? You got another twenty year-old guy his size for me to go with?”
“That's your problem.” The underwear model seemed familiar to Luka. Like Pero. Beautiful and cruel.
Luka was afraid he might puke. But Tarik was still slouched in the armchair as if he might be about to nod off. “Look. I fulfilled my end of this thing. Fulfill yours, or you're going to have a much bigger problem than an unwelcome house guest.” Tarik got up, walked up to the skinny one with the frenetic eyes, and held out his hand. “I'd like my weapons back.”
“Not 'til we resolve this shit.”
Before the skinny guy could stop him, before Luka even realized what was happening, Tarik snatched his gun out of the other man's hand. Then, while Skinny was still startled and flustered, he snatched the knife. “There. It's resolved. You have clothes for us?”
Skinny and Calvin
The thick, heavy dark filled up with the sound of their feet scuffling through leaves and twigs, the sound of their panting. The airless dark. He was suffocating. Body shutting down. Legs not working. Luka stumbled and collapsed to his knees. Tarik grasped him under his arms and hoisted him back to his feet.
The village was eerily quiet and almost completely dark. The black night was just faintly stained, here and there, by a dim light behind heavy curtains. Tarik led Luka along the edge of the woods, then down through a field of tall grass toward a small house set off from the tighter cluster of houses that formed the center of the village. Instead of walking up onto the porch and knocking at the door, Tarik pulled Luka around to the side of the house. Sticking out from under a window was a white towel. When Tarik gave it a gentle tug, a bell chimed inside the house. Around the corner, the click of a latch and the squeak of a hinge.
Dragging Luka along, Tarik crept back around to the front of the house. The front door was open a crack. Inside, the house was dark. Luka couldn't see anyone as Tarik led him up onto the porch and through the door.
A movement, a dry scuffing sound, maybe the sole of a shoe scraping over a wooden floor, then the click of the door latching shut. In the dark a gravelly voice ordered, “Lace your fingers behind your heads.”
Then Tarik's voice. “My hands are up. His are tied behind his back.”
A light flickered on, blindingly bright, then faded down to a gentle dimness. Two men pointing guns at them. Not soldiers. Ordinary men. Unless they were out of uniform. The smaller of the pair came forward and took Tarik's knife and gun, then gestured at Luka. “What's this, then?”
Tarik's voice was smooth and quiet. “That's my prisoner.”
“You brought a Bokan soldier here? Are you fucking kidding me?” The man with the gravelly voice was terribly thin and his eyes were strangely glassy.
“I lost Emir.” Tarik nodded toward Luka. “And he fits the bill.”
Over in the corner, pointing his gun right at Luka, the bigger man laughed. “What do you mean, you lost Emir?” The guy was tall, built like a Calvin Klein underwear model, and his smile was the creepiest thing Luka had ever seen.
“Emir backed out last second. He was convinced we'd end up in front of a firing squad.”
“So why didn't you take him hostage instead of this Bokan piece of shit?”
Tarik grabbed the scruff of Luka's jacket and gave it a possessive yank. “This is my problem. You have your own shit to worry about. If you've taken care of your own shit, we'll be gone by morning.”
“Do you know how fucking hard it is to get the stuff you wanted? How valuable it is?” the skinny one with the hectic eyes and rough voice asked. “I'm not giving that stuff to this Bokan cockroach.”
Tarik let go of Luka's collar and sank into an armchair like he was bored. “No? You got another twenty year-old guy his size for me to go with?”
“That's your problem.” The underwear model seemed familiar to Luka. Like Pero. Beautiful and cruel.
Luka was afraid he might puke. But Tarik was still slouched in the armchair as if he might be about to nod off. “Look. I fulfilled my end of this thing. Fulfill yours, or you're going to have a much bigger problem than an unwelcome house guest.” Tarik got up, walked up to the skinny one with the frenetic eyes, and held out his hand. “I'd like my weapons back.”
“Not 'til we resolve this shit.”
Before the skinny guy could stop him, before Luka even realized what was happening, Tarik snatched his gun out of the other man's hand. Then, while Skinny was still startled and flustered, he snatched the knife. “There. It's resolved. You have clothes for us?”
Skinny and Calvin
Similar Books
