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I was prepared to order the other man out, but he jumped out on his own to help his friend. Just as he reached the rear of the Lincoln, Darya sprang out from behind the car parked next to them. I had no idea what she did, but the guy was on the asphalt in a heartbeat.
I said to her, “You okay?”
She said, “Good.”
She was careful to keep her words to a minimum, because even though her accent is barely discernible, she didn’t want these Russians to pick up that she knew their language.
I focused on the man I had in an arm bar against the car. I patted him down quickly and pulled out a Ruger 9mm from his waistband. Holding him with one hand, I holstered my Glock and stuck his Ruger in my pants.
I said, “If you don’t speak English, you’re under arrest for carrying a concealed weapon. If you do speak English, I’ll talk to you for a minute.”
He said in a remarkably clear voice, “We speak English.”
“Good. See how easy that was?” I eased up slightly on my arm bar, then stepped back and let the man face me. I said, “Now, why were you asking about Temir Marat?”
“Who?”
I grabbed his arm again to show him I could get rough if I had to. That’s when he surprised me. He was fast for a big guy. He twisted his body and then landed a knee right on my thigh. It hurt. I mean, in an it-made-me-want-to-pee kind of hurt.
I staggered back and he immediately threw two punches at my head. He had some style and looked like he’d boxed at some point in his life. That’s probably how he landed a job like this.
I had done a little boxing myself and immediately had my guard up, fending off his punches. As I stepped back, I saw that Darya, still alert and on top of her man, was watching what was happening.
I let the guy in front of me take a wild swing. I ducked the right fist as it just grazed the top of my head. Then I twisted hard and landed a left, low on his back, right in his kidneys. Ouch—I knew from experience that that location was painful.
I spun to his other side and kneed him in the left thigh, making sure things were equal. Then I grabbed him by the groin with my left hand and by the throat with my right hand, and bull-rushed him backward into a parked pickup truck.
He let out an umphf as the air rushed out of him. Then I put him on the ground close to his partner.
The partner tried to sit up and Darya blasted him with a forearm right across the back of his head. I could hear his nose crush against the asphalt; blood started to leak out and pool into puddles near his face.
I said to the guy I had on the ground, “This is serious shit. For all I know, you were involved in the attack on the parade. That’s why you’re about to have the worst day of your life.”
The man sputtered, “Wait, wait. It’s not what you think.”
“Then tell me what it is.”
“I don’t want to get in more trouble.”
“You can’t get in more trouble. You’re carrying a gun illegally and you assaulted a police officer.”
“I don’t want to get in more trouble by talking.”
I sat there for a moment and thought about it. Darya looked up at me expectantly. Finally, I said, “Tell me what you want to tell me. Anything you say while I have you on the ground like this is free. Total immunity.”
“If I tell you the truth, you let us go?”
“That depends on how much of the truth you tell me.”
The man thought about it for a moment, then said, “I don’t know your man, Marat. I have the same photo you showed the bartender. Someone contracted us to take him out.”
“A mob hit on a terrorist? Why?”
“Why is not one of the questions we ask in my line of business.”
“Where did you get the photo of him?”
“It was in an envelope with some cash and instructions to find him and kill him.” After another moment he said, “That’s the truth, the whole truth.”
