The cabin was up ahead. I noticed an old man crouched down in his garden picking vegetables; he had a pail in one hand. I stepped in closer to get a better look, checked the photo Abramovich had emailed me, and bingo - I was ready for business.
He stood about twenty feet away dressed in baggy trousers and a pair of muddy boots. He had on a wool coat and a long grey shirt underneath with a banded peasant collar that circled his neck. There was no gate or fencing to guard the place. It seemed the old man had no concern for poachers, thieves, wolves, or vengeful Jews. This killer thought he had all his bases covered. I was going to give him quite a surprise.
It was a small cabin, fragile and weather-beaten; the salt air and sea winds had seen to that. At its base was a stone foundation that looked uneven, but somehow it held together – kind of like the old man’s conscience, I thought.
His vegetable patch was extensive, producing enough to survive the winter and then some. He seemed quite content in his little outback, knowing full well the good fortune he had escaping justice all this time. I was about to change that in spades. I got up pretty close, as he was hard of hearing, but he finally noticed me out of the corner of his eye. I stood my ground and stared into his eyes.
He had a bunch of carrots in his hand and began speaking to me in Russian. I didn’t respond and moved in closer. He started yelling at me, sensing a problem, no doubt, then quickly retreated to the cabin.
I went after him and grabbed his coat just as he got to the door. He was shouting like a madman, so I wrapped my arm around his neck and squeezed till he couldn’t make any sound at all, then dragged him back to the garden. He was easy handling; I could have broken him in two. It didn’t seem right manhandling an old geezer, but tell that to his former victims.
When I let off a bit he immediately started pleading for his life. It sounded like he was gargling mouthwash. I tightened up on my grip till he stopped begging, and held him like that for almost a minute before letting go. He fell to the ground gasping, his face beet red and his false teeth lying beside him on the ground. A sorry sight, I had to admit. But I couldn’t let pity get the better of me.
He began crawling away in a mad frenzy. I followed his moves, kicking him twice under the shoulder. He tried curling up but I wouldn’t let him. We played a game like that for a while. Each time he curled up I kicked him in his lower back and he’d straighten out. I was having some fun. I should have squeezed the life out of him by now, or cut his throat with that razor blade in my pocket. But I was feeling sorry for the old bastard and couldn’t finish him off.
There was a sudden movement in the brush. A big, burly figure appeared through the trees a few yards away. He held an ax in one hand and some cut wood in the other. His expression left no doubt as to his intentions. He threw down the wood and swiftly made tracks toward me.
He was coming with that rusted ax primed over his shoulder. I started to run, but he was fast, and when I looked back he was about to bring the ax down on my head. But he let out a loud shriek instead, the likes of which I never imagined a human voice capable of. I watched in horror as his face contorted in extreme pain. He collapsed on the vegetable patch, knocking down a few stalks of corn on his way down. Vitaly suddenly appeared through the trees.
“Why not to do job?” he roared.
“Huh? This guy was about to kill me!” I pointed to the big lug lying face down in the vegetable patch, a long, thick arrow embedded between his shoulders. Vitaly had finished him off with the crossbow he held in his hand.
“Why not kill old man? Go...do,” he commanded angrily, pointing to the cabin the old man had just crawled into. I’d forgotten about the old bastard.
I marched back and found him hiding behind the cabin door. He lunged at me with butcher knife but I quickly dodged his shaky hand and watched him stumble over himself, thrown off balance by age and disrepair. I lifted him up by his collar and wrapped one arm tightly around his neck, then twisted the hand that held the shiv, forcing it to fall to the floor. I felt a bone snap in his arm and he began writhing with pain. I squeezed his neck as tightly as I could, looking to finalize my task and put this miserable bastard out of existence. His face turned a grayish hue. I held on, making sure he was a goner.
When I let go he slumped to the floor like a loose rack of meat. I stared at my handiwork for a moment, then stepped out of the cabin ready to call it a day. A moment later Vitaly was screaming again. “This not my job to do!”
He was pulling the arrow out of the woodsman’s back, his foot set firmly on the victim’s buttocks. “What’s matter with you?” he heaped on, pointing to the cabin again.
I looked back and watched the old bastard crawl out of the cabin.
That old jerk had more lives than a house cat.
Vitaly pulled out a hunting knife from his pocket and ran over to fetch the old man. He crouched down and took hold of the geezer’s head, slitting his throat with one swipe of the blade.
The old man fell on his back and quivered for a few seconds before going limp. It was a sure bet he wasn’t getting up this time. Vitaly laughed in amusement.
“Go, go back to car,” he ordered. “We leave now.”
“Okay,” I returned slavishly. I noticed more movement in the brush behind the cabin.
The driver and the other goon who’d come along suddenly appeared through the pine trees. It seemed they’d watched the whole episode unfold behind a cover of thick brush. Vitaly handed one of them what looked like a card. I couldn’t make out what they were doing, but I figured it was some sort of payment.
The two lackeys proceeded to drag the bodies one by one into the cabin. Vitaly and I walked back to the car. I got in the rear while he threw the crossbow in the trunk. He came around and sat in the driver’s seat. After a long moment of silence he started mumbling.
“Good we not make noise. With gun...bang, bang, can hear in forest long way,” then continued his ramblings in Russian. I thought he made a good point.
Ten minutes later his henchmen came by, their hands caked in mud. They filed into the car very casually, like it was all in a day’s work.
Vitaly quickly pulled out of there and sped away, making good time out of the forest and back to the paved road. He drove fast and talked angrily to the others - grumbling over me, no doubt. His henchmen listened intently and smirked, throwing shameful looks in my direction. I couldn’t blame them. It was pretty clear I had gotten in over my head. It seems easy enough to dispose of human beings in theory; it’s another thing when you’re tasked to do it. Any soldier in the field could tell you that, and I couldn’t even measure up to buck private with my resume. I just didn’t have what it takes to be a hit man. My tough guy persona was just for show to promote myself as a private detective. Vitaly was the real killer – cold blooded and professional, the guy who did this sort of work thoroughly and with finesse while reaping pleasure from it, to boot.
I worried what Abramovich would do when they filled him in on my botched efforts. I figured to be right out of a job. He wouldn’t trust me delivering precious art all the way to Prague after showing myself inept and a coward, as well. He’d have no problem getting someone else to finish the job, and for a lot less money, too. This wasn’t a corporate junket I signed up for. They might decide to fire me in a most unconventional way. These boys played by their own rules.
This neck of woods had a long history of killing fields; it was saturated in the blood of millions who perished for no good reason. Nothing could be done to bring justice to those poor victims, but the old bastard got what was coming to him even if it was a pittance of payback in the scheme of things. It was better than nothing; and it gave the dead a little bit of their due.
The story of the mighty Khazar kingdom that once ruled by these same shores was a footnote to history that I handily appropriated; much like raising up a dybbuk to wreak revenge. I was no contract killer and had better drop the ruse before it did me in, if it wasn’t too late already.