three men. One of them lifted a coat, exchanged a farewell with his friends, and let himself out. None of them paid any attention to the man who watched.
“Come,” the woman said. “She is nice. You see, you like her.”
She stepped through to the bedroom.
He followed.
She extended a hand toward the girl on the bed.
The girl looked up, no more than a glance, but enough to see that she still had her soul. They had not yet stolen it. She could still be saved.
Silently, he thanked the Lord on high.
13
T HE OTHERS HAD been waiting when Herkus and his friends pulled up in the old BMW. The moron Sam drove, the Glock’s muzzle pressed against the back of his seat. Darius lay in the trunk. He had given a pained sigh when Herkus told him to get in.
Now Darius and Sam sat side by side, each bound by cable ties to a chair. Herkus stood over them, blowing into his cupped hands to warm his fingers. The others, Matas and Valdas, stood silent against the roller door. They were good men, Herkus had known them since his army days, and they would back him up, no matter what happened here.
He’d called Arturas on the way, told him he had the two men on the way to the lockup. Arturas had said to do whatever was necessary, to hell with whomever it upset.
The lives of these two men were now worth shit, which gave Herkus solace.
The lockup was as cold inside as it was outside, one of two dozen identical buildings on an abandoned industrial estate that lay to the north of the city. It had belonged to someone called McGinty. Herkus had been told in hushed tones that a crooked cop had been killed here by a madman called Fegan, and the planned housing development that was to replace the complex of storage buildings and commercial premises was indefinitely put on hold as a result.
Herkus regarded each of the men in turn. Sam was as stupid as his idiot brother, both cheap hoods with a big-name organization behind them. No wonder Arturas held his business partners in the Loyalist movement in such contempt; if this was the standard of their personnel, then God help them all.
Darius was a different animal. He was not the brightest of Arturas’s men, that wasn’t under question, but he had heart. And real physical strength. A mountain of a man, bigger than Herkus, even.
So whom should he start with? For a moment, he thought it should be Darius. Show Sam how serious this situation was. But on the other hand, Darius was too useful. At least for the moment.
Sam, then.
Herkus tore two strips off a tissue. He rolled each into a ball and jammed them into his ears. He took the Glock 17 from his pocket and pressed the muzzle against Sam’s forehead.
“Where is Tomas?” he asked.
“Jesus,” Sam whined. “I don’t know, I swear to—”
Herkus squeezed the trigger and shouted, “Bang!”
Sam screamed, and a dark stain spread on his lap.
Herkus laughed. “Other thing about Glock 17,” he said. “No round in chamber, no bang.”
He pulled back the slide assembly.
“Now it goes bang,” he said.
Herkus placed the muzzle against Sam’s forehead.
Liquid trickled to the floor.
“Where is Tomas?” Herkus asked.
“He’s dead!” Sam cried. “She killed him.”
Herkus’s heart sank. He closed his eyes.
“Who killed him?” he asked, opening them again.
“The girl,” Sam said. “She had a piece of glass, off a mirror. She stabbed him in the throat. We panicked. We stuffed her and the body in the trunk of the car. We drove out to the harbor to get rid of them. She got away. We left Tomas there on the side of the road.”
He looked up at Herkus, his eyes wide and wet. “Oh, Christ, I’m sorry. We didn’t know what to do, we were scared, I’m sorry, oh God, I’m—”
Herkus squeezed the trigger.
The back of Sam’s skull exploded.
Darius wept.
Herkus placed the muzzle against his old friend’s forehead.
“Tell me everything,” he said.
14
A RTURAS S TRAZDAS PRESSED the red button on his phone before
“Come,” the woman said. “She is nice. You see, you like her.”
She stepped through to the bedroom.
He followed.
She extended a hand toward the girl on the bed.
The girl looked up, no more than a glance, but enough to see that she still had her soul. They had not yet stolen it. She could still be saved.
Silently, he thanked the Lord on high.
13
T HE OTHERS HAD been waiting when Herkus and his friends pulled up in the old BMW. The moron Sam drove, the Glock’s muzzle pressed against the back of his seat. Darius lay in the trunk. He had given a pained sigh when Herkus told him to get in.
Now Darius and Sam sat side by side, each bound by cable ties to a chair. Herkus stood over them, blowing into his cupped hands to warm his fingers. The others, Matas and Valdas, stood silent against the roller door. They were good men, Herkus had known them since his army days, and they would back him up, no matter what happened here.
He’d called Arturas on the way, told him he had the two men on the way to the lockup. Arturas had said to do whatever was necessary, to hell with whomever it upset.
The lives of these two men were now worth shit, which gave Herkus solace.
The lockup was as cold inside as it was outside, one of two dozen identical buildings on an abandoned industrial estate that lay to the north of the city. It had belonged to someone called McGinty. Herkus had been told in hushed tones that a crooked cop had been killed here by a madman called Fegan, and the planned housing development that was to replace the complex of storage buildings and commercial premises was indefinitely put on hold as a result.
Herkus regarded each of the men in turn. Sam was as stupid as his idiot brother, both cheap hoods with a big-name organization behind them. No wonder Arturas held his business partners in the Loyalist movement in such contempt; if this was the standard of their personnel, then God help them all.
Darius was a different animal. He was not the brightest of Arturas’s men, that wasn’t under question, but he had heart. And real physical strength. A mountain of a man, bigger than Herkus, even.
So whom should he start with? For a moment, he thought it should be Darius. Show Sam how serious this situation was. But on the other hand, Darius was too useful. At least for the moment.
Sam, then.
Herkus tore two strips off a tissue. He rolled each into a ball and jammed them into his ears. He took the Glock 17 from his pocket and pressed the muzzle against Sam’s forehead.
“Where is Tomas?” he asked.
“Jesus,” Sam whined. “I don’t know, I swear to—”
Herkus squeezed the trigger and shouted, “Bang!”
Sam screamed, and a dark stain spread on his lap.
Herkus laughed. “Other thing about Glock 17,” he said. “No round in chamber, no bang.”
He pulled back the slide assembly.
“Now it goes bang,” he said.
Herkus placed the muzzle against Sam’s forehead.
Liquid trickled to the floor.
“Where is Tomas?” Herkus asked.
“He’s dead!” Sam cried. “She killed him.”
Herkus’s heart sank. He closed his eyes.
“Who killed him?” he asked, opening them again.
“The girl,” Sam said. “She had a piece of glass, off a mirror. She stabbed him in the throat. We panicked. We stuffed her and the body in the trunk of the car. We drove out to the harbor to get rid of them. She got away. We left Tomas there on the side of the road.”
He looked up at Herkus, his eyes wide and wet. “Oh, Christ, I’m sorry. We didn’t know what to do, we were scared, I’m sorry, oh God, I’m—”
Herkus squeezed the trigger.
The back of Sam’s skull exploded.
Darius wept.
Herkus placed the muzzle against his old friend’s forehead.
“Tell me everything,” he said.
14
A RTURAS S TRAZDAS PRESSED the red button on his phone before
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