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There was something strange about her. She was trying too hard or something, but whatever it was, it made me giddy. It was time for me to go.
“Thank you, but I don’t need anything else,” I said, throwing some cash on the table, hoping she’d leave. But she leaned closer instead, putting both hands on the table and staring into my eyes. “Are you sure about that?”
She shifted her shirt so that I could see even more of her full breasts.Enough.I looked away. The only thing I cared about was getting out of the room. Now. Something wasoff.
I rose suddenly and moved toward the restroom. I budgeted my movements, moving fast but not too fast to alert anyone. By my calculation, if one of these two women was an agent, backup would be well on its way. A few moments more, they might have the building surrounded.
Leave,I told myself.Now.
Just before I reached the bathroom, a door on the right side of the lobby opened and someone stepped out.Nope.Smooth like a cat, I slid into another door before the person noticed me.
It was the kitchen.
“Sorry, this looked like the exit,” I said as a dozen chefs swung their heads toward me, astounded by the interruption.
“What the hell are you doing?” the head chef demanded. I gave him a sheepish smile as if I was confused by it too. Then I walked to the door at the end of the kitchen and tried the handle. It wasn’t locked. I swung it open and started running down the alleyway that opened before me.
The wind was cold on my face as I ran. I didn’t care. I just kept running, not looking back. I wasn’t sure if anyone was following me, but I wasn’t taking any chances. Call it paranoia, I call it the key to my long survival...
From time to time, I swung my eyes upwards, scanning the windows for anyone who might be watching to take me out. That’s how I would have done it. Send an agent in to spook the target, then place a sniper up high somewhere to finish up.
A few blocks away from the restaurant, I crossed the road and then turned down another shadowed alley. The light was dim, but I could make out the forms of a few guys leaning idly against the brick wall behind them. I knew they weren’t up to any good; they had that feel about them. But let them try—they’d be in for a little surprise.
They started to shift nervously around me. Hell, the way I was running, why wouldn’t they?
My pace changed into a more relaxed jog until I finally emerged on a busier, livelier street. I stifled my heaving chest as best as I could and started walking, head down, trying to blend in with the natives who were taking their after-dinner strolls.
I’ve had a map of the city in the back of my mind ever since I moved here. Every night, I studied it so I’d never get caught in a dangerous situation without knowing my way out.
I looked back occasionally, scanning the faces around me. A glance into someone’s eyes was enough to know if they wanted me behind bars or if they just saw me as another regular dude with a beard. No matter how trained the agents, they couldn’t help but give themselves away when they spotted a “most wanted” so close to their grasp.
And I wasn’t on thatMost Wantedlist by coincidence. I was Andrei fucking Kowtisch, the world’s most dangerous assassin who killed for governments and criminals alike—as long as the targets were scumbags like me.
I hurried along, my feet feeling the hardness of the pavement. Heading home wasn’t a quick option, as I’d parked my car some miles from here. I did that a lot: park in a safe location and take a cab so no one could trail me.
Maybe I should just forget about my things in the cabin and leave. The woman in the restaurant with the hand in her purse, not moving it once, was more than suspicious. Maybe my place was already bugged. Either way, I could move to a new city, start over with a new identity and a different way of life. I had until morning to figure it out.
I walked around for a while and checked my wristwatch. It was 12: 13 a.m. I could sure as hell walk out this town. My car was not far from here. I could drive throughout the night. The farther I got away from Durban, the better. But what if I was overreacting? Starting over was a lot of work.
I took a left turn and headed down another dark alley, almost feeling safe again, when I heard a cry.
I slowed down as my eyes scanned the walls around me. I had probably stumbled upon something illicit. South African city streets were full of that. Not my business.Keep walking.
Up ahead, I suddenly made out the forms of two men leaning against the wall, holding bottles and puffing cigarette smoke out of their mouths. The cry came again, this time louder and closer, and so desperate that it stopped me in my tracks. It was a woman. I looked back at the men to see if they would do anything, but they looked totally unbothered and didn’t seem to care about the crying woman or me.
The terrible cry echoed again; this time it sounded like the woman was in physical pain.
Shit.
As if my body was not my own, I started to follow the sound of the cries. I couldn’t help myself. Sure, I was a monster, a man who killed men without remorse. But even I had some morals. If someone was raping a woman nearby, what kind of a man would I be to just keep walking?
As I neared the source, the sound became more desperate and persistent, but I couldn’t tell where precisely the woman was. She could be in any of the apartments above the street or behind any one of the many doors that lined the tight alley. As if the poor girl heard my thoughts, a door in front of me swung upon and a woman in her late twenties bolted out. She lost her footing and fell onto the concrete. Blood was running out of her mouth, forming a small puddle where she landed. I expected her to jump right back up, but instead, she just remained on the ground, crying against the cold of the stone.
Suddenly she looked up at me. At first, her fear made her stunning green eyes wide, but then she just looked at me in calm nothingness, as if she was giving me permission to just keep walking and let her die here all alone.
God damn it.
I kneeled next to her and hesitated for a moment before I gently tucked a black, sweaty strand of hair that had fallen over her face behind her ear. She just laid there, motionless, her eyes staring at me in one of the emptiest gazes I had ever seen—and I have looked into the eyes of death on more than one occasion.
