doin’, man?’ one of Guk’s coworkers shouted.
‘Oh, shit!’ another added when Leskov drew a pistol from the small of his back and aimed it in their direction.
‘I’m bleeding,’ Guk wailed, staring at the reddish smears on his hands.
Josef stood near the hallway aiming a second pistol at the group. Leskov set his remaining beer on the pool table.
‘Gentlemen,’ Leskov announced calmly, ‘this matter concerns only Guk. I suggest you remain where you are and enjoy the rest of the game.’
Guk’s coworkers hesitated for a second, then slowly backed away. Leskov stepped over to Guk and struck him in the head with the butt of his pistol. Guk fell facedown on the pool table. Leskov grabbed Guk around the chest and dragged him toward the hallway. Guk hung limply in his arms, unconscious.
Once Leskov and Guk had exited the back room, Josef put his two untouched bottles of beer on the pool table.
‘This round is on us,’ he said with a laugh.
Guk regained consciousness as the sharp scent of ammonia burned in his nostrils. There was a dull throbbing in the back of his head. He tried to open his eyes, but something was holding them closed. He lay flat on his back, wedged between a pair of hard vertical walls.
I’m in a box , he thought, panicking.
Guk tried to sit up, but his arms and legs were bound. A fist struck his abdomen, knocking the wind out of him as he fell back.
‘He’s awake,’ a voice announced.
‘Good. Take that thing off his eyes.’
Guk felt fingers probing the material adhered over his eyes, and then a violent tug jerked his head upward as the tape tore the eyebrows and lashes from his face. He blinked repeatedly as tears filled his eyes, as much from fear as from the irritation of salty blood.
Slowly, his vision cleared and he was looking up at a white tiled ceiling. The room was warm and had a clean antiseptic look, like a hospital. Guk heard footsteps. Then a man with a thick fleshy face and stringy black hair leaned his arm against the rim of the box and looked down at Guk.
‘Walter, do you know who I am?’
‘ Da , Pyotr Voronin.’
Voronin smiled. ‘Very good. Now for a more difficult question. What the fuck happened to the cargo container I sent to Moscow?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about! I didn’t—’
Voronin smashed his fist into Guk’s mouth, splitting the man’s lower lip.
‘Don’t lie to me, Walter. I know how things work at O’Hare – I get a percentage. Yesterday International Airfreight flight number eleven twenty-eight left Chicago for Moscow. I have a receipt confirming that a container of property belonging to an associate of mine was on board that plane. When the plane reached Moscow, the cargo was not on board. How is this possible?’
‘I don’t—’
Another fist slammed into Guk’s face. Blood flowed freely from his lip and nose; one eye was nearly shut from swelling.
‘I apologize,’ Voronin said as he wiped Guk’s blood from his knuckles. ‘I must not be making myself clear. If you don’t tell me what I want to know, I am going to kill you. It will be slow and most unpleasant. Do you understand me now? Just nod your head yes or no.’
Guk nodded yes.
‘Wonderful. Where is my cargo?’
‘Moscow,’ Guk replied, slurring his words.
‘Why you little fuck!’ Voronin wound up for another punch.
‘No, no!’ Guk pleaded. ‘It’s in Moscow, I swear. It was on the plane.’
Voronin pulled his punch, his thick knuckles less than an inch from Guk’s damaged face.
‘How?’
‘I changed the flight manifest to make it look like the container wasn’t on board.’
‘But it was loaded on the plane?’
‘ Da , it went to Moscow,’ Guk replied emphatically.
‘Why did you do this?’
‘I didn’t think anyone would notice. It was just some furniture, a computer, and a stereo. It was insured, so if it got lost, I figured the owner would rather have the money.’
‘If you were going to steal my property,
‘Oh, shit!’ another added when Leskov drew a pistol from the small of his back and aimed it in their direction.
‘I’m bleeding,’ Guk wailed, staring at the reddish smears on his hands.
Josef stood near the hallway aiming a second pistol at the group. Leskov set his remaining beer on the pool table.
‘Gentlemen,’ Leskov announced calmly, ‘this matter concerns only Guk. I suggest you remain where you are and enjoy the rest of the game.’
Guk’s coworkers hesitated for a second, then slowly backed away. Leskov stepped over to Guk and struck him in the head with the butt of his pistol. Guk fell facedown on the pool table. Leskov grabbed Guk around the chest and dragged him toward the hallway. Guk hung limply in his arms, unconscious.
Once Leskov and Guk had exited the back room, Josef put his two untouched bottles of beer on the pool table.
‘This round is on us,’ he said with a laugh.
Guk regained consciousness as the sharp scent of ammonia burned in his nostrils. There was a dull throbbing in the back of his head. He tried to open his eyes, but something was holding them closed. He lay flat on his back, wedged between a pair of hard vertical walls.
I’m in a box , he thought, panicking.
Guk tried to sit up, but his arms and legs were bound. A fist struck his abdomen, knocking the wind out of him as he fell back.
‘He’s awake,’ a voice announced.
‘Good. Take that thing off his eyes.’
Guk felt fingers probing the material adhered over his eyes, and then a violent tug jerked his head upward as the tape tore the eyebrows and lashes from his face. He blinked repeatedly as tears filled his eyes, as much from fear as from the irritation of salty blood.
Slowly, his vision cleared and he was looking up at a white tiled ceiling. The room was warm and had a clean antiseptic look, like a hospital. Guk heard footsteps. Then a man with a thick fleshy face and stringy black hair leaned his arm against the rim of the box and looked down at Guk.
‘Walter, do you know who I am?’
‘ Da , Pyotr Voronin.’
Voronin smiled. ‘Very good. Now for a more difficult question. What the fuck happened to the cargo container I sent to Moscow?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about! I didn’t—’
Voronin smashed his fist into Guk’s mouth, splitting the man’s lower lip.
‘Don’t lie to me, Walter. I know how things work at O’Hare – I get a percentage. Yesterday International Airfreight flight number eleven twenty-eight left Chicago for Moscow. I have a receipt confirming that a container of property belonging to an associate of mine was on board that plane. When the plane reached Moscow, the cargo was not on board. How is this possible?’
‘I don’t—’
Another fist slammed into Guk’s face. Blood flowed freely from his lip and nose; one eye was nearly shut from swelling.
‘I apologize,’ Voronin said as he wiped Guk’s blood from his knuckles. ‘I must not be making myself clear. If you don’t tell me what I want to know, I am going to kill you. It will be slow and most unpleasant. Do you understand me now? Just nod your head yes or no.’
Guk nodded yes.
‘Wonderful. Where is my cargo?’
‘Moscow,’ Guk replied, slurring his words.
‘Why you little fuck!’ Voronin wound up for another punch.
‘No, no!’ Guk pleaded. ‘It’s in Moscow, I swear. It was on the plane.’
Voronin pulled his punch, his thick knuckles less than an inch from Guk’s damaged face.
‘How?’
‘I changed the flight manifest to make it look like the container wasn’t on board.’
‘But it was loaded on the plane?’
‘ Da , it went to Moscow,’ Guk replied emphatically.
‘Why did you do this?’
‘I didn’t think anyone would notice. It was just some furniture, a computer, and a stereo. It was insured, so if it got lost, I figured the owner would rather have the money.’
‘If you were going to steal my property,
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