The Insider by Reece Hirsch Page A

game.
    Nikolai and Yuri stopped talking. Nikolai reached into the pocket of his coat and withdrew a box cutter with an exposed razor blade. He heard the rustling of a paper bag in the backseat, but he couldn’t turn around to see what Yuri was up to. He couldn’t turn around because that would mean looking away from the dull gray edge of the blade. If he looked away, there was no telling what might happen.
    â€œTake off your jacket,” Nikolai said.
    â€œLook, this isn’t going to accomplish anything,” Will said.
    â€œTake off your fucking jacket!” Nikolai shouted, raising the box cutter.
    Will slowly removed his jacket, his mind racing. Everything seemed too close and too vivid. The stench of Nikolai’s perspiration, which was staining the underarms of his shirt. The sound of Yuri mouth-breathing a few inches behind him, clearly excited by what was coming next.
    Will noticed the button on the dashboard that released the electric door locks. Placing the jacket in his lap, Will felt his breathing grow shallow as he prepared himself.
    Will slammed his elbow backward between the seats, aiming for the spot where he thought Yuri’s face would be. His elbow connected with Yuri’s forehead with a thud, and a Russian curse issued from the backseat.
    Will reached for the button on the dash to unlock the doors. Before he could reach it, Nikolai pressed the blade against Will’s throat. Will’s eyes darted, searching for someone outside the window, but the garage was still deserted.
    â€œIf you touch that, I’m going to make a mess in here,” Nikolai said. Will withdrew his hand and faced forward. To the backseat, Nikolai added, “You okay?”
    â€œ Pohsol na khuy! You stupid, fucking asshole!” Yuri spat, again yanking Will’s arms behind the seat. “Nikolai, hand me the blade. This is taking too long.”
    â€œIn a minute,” said Nikolai, shifting the box cutter from one hand to the other, watching Will’s eyes follow.
    â€œLook, this is a mistake,” Will said. “There is no deal! Katya got it wrong!”
    â€œDon’t worry, Will,” Nikolai said reassuringly. “We won’t touch your face or your hands. No one at work will be able to tell how fucked up you are.” To Yuri, Nikolai added, “Roll up his sleeve.”
    Yuri loosened his grip on Will’s shoulders and pulled up Will’s shirtsleeve to expose the forearm.
    Nikolai’s hand shot forward, leaving a long, bright red gash about an inch below Will’s elbow. Pain and shock scrambled his thoughts like a bad radio signal. There was a sound echoing in the car’s confined space. It took him a moment to realize that he had shouted.
    â€œYou know, every animal responds the same way to pain,” Yuri said. “You could be Albert fucking Einstein. Doesn’t matter.”
    More rustling of the paper bag, then Yuri’s hand emerged from the backseat holding a Band-Aid and a dish towel with the price tag still on it. “Use these,” Yuri said.
    Will’s hands were shaking a little as he applied the bandage. The cotton pad went red instantly, and blood oozed out the sides.
    â€œTalk to us, Will,” Nikolai said. But before he could respond, Nikolai lunged again. This time, he buried the short blade in Will’s upper forearm and ripped downward.
    Will thrashed to release himself from Yuri’s grip. He was shaken by the pain, by the sight of his blood, and most of all by the realization that Nikolai and Yuri were just warming to their work. He examined his arm; it looked like he was wearing a red elbow-length glove.
    â€œUse the towel,” Yuri said. “You better put some pressure on that.”
    â€œIt hurts, doesn’t it?” Nikolai asked.
    â€œHe made more noise than I thought he would,” Yuri said. “You think we should be doing this in a parking garage? Somebody could hear.”
    â€œI