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I tug up my pants. “How did you find us?”
Romano snorts. “You think I can’t tell when a man’s taking his instructions properly? I had your car tagged, Hickman. Just followed the signal after you’d delivered your fake evidence.” He sniffs. “Fun, was it? Cutting off that tattoo. Peeling it free. I’d not had you down for a sadistic streak, Hickman. Maybe I was wrong. Did it give you a rise when she screamed?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The car jolts and grumbles along a forest trail. Barely even a track, deep ruts are overgrown with weeds, scrubby bushes leaning in from the sides, scraping doors and side-panels.
It’s all too clear where this is leading.
Romano drives, Katya in the passenger seat. In the back, my wrists zip-tied behind me, I’m jammed between Armando to one side and Schmidt the other. Armando’s gun muzzle jabs into my ribs. Schmidt’s weapon rests against Katya’s head.
Deeper into the forest we drive, and deeper still. Katya trembles, her breathing noisy, her face sheened and pale.
The trail trickles to a close, nothing but fallen trees ahead of us, a thick green curtain overhead. To one side, a clearing. The car squeaks to a stop and the child-locks disengage with paired clicks.
“So, here we are,” says Romano. “What a fun little party we’re going to have.”
Armando and Schmidt open up, climbing out either side, pistols angled toward us. Armando gestures with the muzzle of his gun at Katya; a short, ugly movement. She flinches but, struggling with her bound wrists, tries to get out. Her movement’s awkward and after several seconds, he yanks her out and up by the arm.
The clearing’s only small, barely enough to let a trickle of sunshine dance over crisped leaves. Birds twitter melodically. On a different occasion, it would be a perfect spot for a picnic.
Something Clunks. The trunk unlocking.
Romano tucks keys back into his pocket. He jerks a thumb at me. “Spades in the back. Get digging.”
“Fuck you,” I say. “You want to bury us. Do the work yourself.”
Lids lowering, his lips flatten. Reaching into his jacket, he produces a knife, unfolding the blade. He sniffs, holding it to glint brilliant sunshine from the edge. “You’re a pro, Hickman…” He pauses and shrugs… “Or, at least, I’d have said so until now. In any case, I’m sure you recognise the type. It’s sold for skinning deer. I have a better use for it. If you don’t start digging, I’ll stake your bitch, spreadeagled on the ground, and you can watch while I get that bastard you planted inside her out.”
White-faced, tear-streaked, Katya neither moves or speaks.
“You going to unfasten my hands?”
“Turn around.”
Turning on the spot, I extend backwards. A tug at my wrists and they fall free. Blood bursts back into my hands in an agony of pins and needles. Briskly I rub my palms together, stretching and extending the fingers.
“Get on with it,” hisses Romano.
It’s not difficult work. The soil is soft and loamy. The spade slices easily and I make rapid progress, the hole deepening steadily. All the time I dig, I’m listening…
Birdsong…
The whisper of wind in leaves…
Nothing else. No sound of traffic or passing humanity. Not even a dog barking.
And Romano’s commentary... “I can’t decide whether to simply put a bullet through your head and hers. Or maybe nail you through the arms and legs and finish the job by burying you…”
Katya’s sobs burst free.
He smiles, his expression jovial…
“… and I might just have one more happy time with you, my dear. For old times sake. Or… would perhaps… Armando… Schmidt… Perhaps you would enjoy the use of my deceitful ex-paramour here?”
Armando and Schmidt exchange glances. Armando stares at his feet. “Whatever you say, Boss.”
I straighten up, lean on the spade. “Armando, you realise that’s his own kid she’s carrying, surely? And you’re going to go along with this?”
