those of their shoes on the floor. Victor kept his head fixed forward, but his eyes moved continuously, taking in everything about the location, memorising the route and looking for advantages. All the corridors were the same: bare brick, plain doors, sprinkler nozzles in the ceiling. Nothing to tip the odds in his favour.
They turned another corner and the lead guy opened a door. He gestured for Victor to enter the dark room beyond. He walked in first and the light was switched on to reveal a small room, ten feet square. Cardboard boxes were stacked against one wall and a simple table with plastic chairs against the other. A mop and metal bucket stood in a corner. The air smelled stale and dusty.
‘Sit,’ the tall man said.
Victor turned around. ‘I prefer to stand.’
The tall man took a step closer. ‘It was an order, not an offer.’
‘All the same,’ Victor said. ‘I think I’ll stand.’
The tall man’s eyes narrowed a fraction. ‘Sit. Down.’
Victor remained standing.
The tall man made a gesture and the patchy-beard guy rushed forward. He had short, blond hair and dark circles beneath his eyes. He was maybe five inches shorter than Victor, but far more heavily built, jacket straining against the strength in his shoulders and arms. In return, Victor knew the guy saw only weakness. Which was how he always preferred it. He offered no resistance as he was flung backwards against the wall. He grunted, but didn’t need to.
Maintaining eye contact with him the whole time, Victor straightened down his jacket and took a step towards his assailant. It was a long step, bringing him well inside the blond guy’s personal space. An unmistakable challenge that was greeted with a smile.
The punch itself was fast but clumsy — they were too close together, no room for the man to get all his power into it, his posture awkward, lacking in balance. Victor tensed his abdominals but didn’t try to stop it. The punch hit square in the gut. He dropped to one knee, coughing.
All three of his captors laughed and Victor continued to cough and splutter far longer than he needed to. The guy who’d punched him stepped back to where the other two stood closer to the door.
‘Perhaps you are ready to sit down now,’ the tall man said.
Victor slowly stood and pulled out one of the plastic chairs. He sat down in his own time.
‘What happens next?’ he asked, a pained and broken edge to his voice.
They gave no response. The tall man took a cell phone from his hip pocket and hit a speed-dial number. He held it to his ear while it rang.
‘We have him,’ was all he said when it connected.
There was a pause, the person on the other end talking.
‘Yes, at the station,’ the tall man answered. ‘No, he is still alive. Do not be concerned, we have him out of the way. Your source can show you where.’ Another pause. The tall man stared at Victor, who sat sheepishly. ‘No, we can take care of it. He has been no trouble at all.’
So far, Victor silently added.
He noticed the two shorter men weren’t watching him particularly intently. All their attention was on their boss and the phone call. They weren’t worried about Victor — he’d already shown them he could be easily subdued. Good. But all three were clustered together by the door on the far side of the room. Not so good.
The tall man mumbled something and slipped the phone away.
‘Not long, my friend,’ he said to Victor, ‘and then this is all over.’
‘Suits me,’ Victor said back. ‘I hate waiting.’
The tall man smiled and took a step towards the table. Victor could smell cigarette smoke on the man’s clothes.
‘I hope you do not mind me saying, but you are being surprisingly calm about this.’
‘I’m always calm,’ Victor admitted.
The man nodded thoughtfully. ‘I suppose men of our profession must learn to be in control of our nerves.’ He sat down opposite. ‘Did you ever believe that this would be how it all ended?’
‘Can’t say I did.’
The tall man stroked his chin for a moment. ‘How long you been in this business?’
Victor acted as if he had to think. ‘A long time,’ he said eventually.
The tall man nodded. ‘That is what I deduced. Myself, I am relatively inexperienced. But I am a fast learner.’ He smiled, revealing sharp, irregular teeth. ‘Before, I was a police officer. Not as generous a wage, but it taught me a lot about how not to get caught doing this more profitable work.’
‘Prefer this?’
‘Absolutely, my friend. Not only is it far better paid…’ He flashed another smile. ‘It is a lot more satisfying.’
‘A man should take pleasure from his work.’
‘Indeed.’ He shuffled his seat forward. ‘Though no means of employment is without negatives, of course.’
‘Very true.’
‘Since you are more experienced than I, have you any advice to share with me?’
‘Don’t get killed.’
He smirked. ‘You know, my friend, you really should have listened to your own advice.’
Victor stared at him. ‘I’m not dead yet.’
‘Yet,’ the tall man echoed. He stroked his chin again. ‘I liked what you said before, about being civilised. I think I will use that myself sometime. You do not mind if I steal your line, do you?’
‘Not if I can get a cigarette while we wait.’
The tall man reached into his pocket. ‘Always happy to grant a dying man his last request.’ He smiled at Victor, man to man. ‘My wife keeps telling me to quit. Yap, yap, yap in my ear all day long.’
He took out a lighter and packet of cigarettes and put them on the table. He slid them towards Victor.
‘I stopped myself,’ Victor said. ‘About six months ago.’
‘And do you miss it?’
Victor slid the packet closer and toyed with the lighter. ‘Every day.’
The tall man looked at him with a degree of understanding. ‘Is that why you quit, for a woman?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Well, she will not see you now,’ the tall man said. He checked his watch ‘You have five minutes. Smoke all you wish.’
‘Actually,’ Victor said after he’d edged the cigarette packet a couple of inches closer, ‘I’ve changed my mind.’ He set the lighter on top of the packet. ‘Thanks anyway.’
The tall man shrugged. ‘Suit yourself, my friend. Now there is more for me to enjoy.’
He sat forward, reaching across the table. His fingers closed around the cigarette packet.
Victor grabbed the outstretched wrist in his left hand, pulled the piece of broken mirror from his sleeve, reversed his grip and drove the point through the tall man’s hand and into the table below it.
He screamed. Blood poured out from around the glass.
The other two guys hesitated an instant — pure shock. Victor leapt up from the chair, grabbed it, hurled it their way. The guy in glasses reacted in time to dodge, but the one with the patchy beard and blond hair was too slow. The chair struck him in the chest and sent him to the floor.
By the time the guy in glasses regained his balance, Victor had already crossed the room and shoulder- barged him into the wall. He grunted against the hard brick, arms flailing, torso exposed. Victor punched him — a short uppercut to the solar plexus. The man gasped, breathless, face screwed up in pain, sagging against the wall.
Victor turned to face the guy on the floor as he scrambled on to his back, drawing a handgun out from under his jacket — a big. 45 calibre suppressed Smith amp; Wesson automatic. Victor took a quick step forward, kicked the gun from the guy’s hand as it angled up, kicked him again in the side of the head and stamped down on his face. Bone and cartilage crushed under his heel. Blood cascaded over the man’s cheeks.
Victor spun back around to see the gasping man against the wall fumbling for his own gun in its underarm holster. With the suppressor already screwed on, the weapon was too long to draw with speed. An amateur
