“Bring him over here. Lift him up. Take him and dump him next to the freeway.”
“But how?” Nicki asked when the tape stopped.
“That wire in my jeans transmitted the signal to the recorder. I knew if I goaded him, he would give us something. I did it for you, Nicki. If you get this story right, your career will take off like you never expected. It's a hot story. Take it and use it. The world will think you are the best journalists alive. The murder weapon is a Magnum; he keeps it in a drawer in the sitting room.”
Nicki had no idea what to say.
“Mel, give me my wallet.” He took out a couple of cards. “Here are two credit cards. Use them to pay for the journey. There is a car in the garage in Montana, so you can go and get supplies. Here's the address and the number of the housekeeper.” He handed Nicki a note.
*****
Nicki and Andrey stood outside the church and applauded as Mel and her new husband, a rancher from Great Falls, Montana, came out to cheers and lots of confetti. Nicki bent down to Andrey Junior and helped him and his toy elephant onto his father's shoulders.
“Well, Journalist of the Year 2015, what do you think of that? Almost as good as our wedding, wasn't it?” Andrey said.
Nicki nodded and kissed him.
*****
Three weeks later
“Andrey, where do you want me to hang this?” Nicki shouted.
“What is it?” he asked.
“The article about Sokolov being sentenced to life in prison.”
“The best place for him is the toilet.”
*****
THE END
MAFIA Romance – Owned by the Mafia
It was terrifying to have a pistol shoved in his mouth. More terrifying was the knowledge that he had no way of repaying his debt.
“How dare you,” Grigori said. “How dare you sit at my table and gamble with me when you know you don't have the funds to cover your debts.”
Grigori tightened his grip around Lenny's throat. Lenny looked up at him with saliva running from his open mouth and a great deal of fear in his eyes.
“I ought to kill you now, you asshole. But I'm a benevolent man. I'm going to give you a chance.” Grigori looked at the photo on the mantelpiece. “She's very pretty, isn't she?” he said. Lenny growled at him and tried to break free. One of Grigori's henchmen stepped forward and assisted his boss in restraining Lenny. “What time will she be home?” Grigori asked, removing the gun from Lenny's mouth to allow him to speak.
“You fucking bastard. If you so much as lay a finger on her, I'll kill you,” Lenny growled.
“From where I'm standing, you don't seem to be in much of a position to carry out your threat,” Grigori said as he forced the gun back into Lenny's mouth.
Lenny was forty-five, the son of an Irish immigrant father and a Hungarian dancer. His father had left them when he was two and his mother, struggling to find work as a dancer, had turned to prostitution. Neglected and alone, by the age of eight he was a master pickpocket, and by the age of thirteen he was one of the best lock pickers in New York. When his mother was murdered by a drunken client, he was fifteen. The authorities wanted to take him into care, but he'd already amassed enough money to look after himself, and he disappeared. When he came back to New York, it was as a heavily muscled strongman who lived from the proceeds of his criminal activities. In and out of jail, he managed to hide his ill-gotten gains and channel them into several pieces of real estate. Lenny was a rich man; he just didn't have any cash. In his opinion, he'd invested wisely, but he would have admitted to one very simple mistake: an evening of gambling with the Russians in Brighton Beach when he knew he didn't have the liquidity to pay if he incurred losses.
“Dad, I'm home,” Lucy shouted. Funny, she thought when he didn't reply. Her dad always shouted to her when she got home. He loved asking her about her day at art college, sitting in the kitchen, drinking tea, and chatting with her. She hung her coat in the hall and put her satchel down on the black and white tiled floor. “Dad, where are you?” she shouted again.
“Sit down and shut up,” Grigori shouted when she walked into the sitting room. She screamed and put her hand over her mouth.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she shouted. She didn't sit down as asked; she walked to Grigori and began to throw punches at him.
“Very spirited,” he said as he held her from him with one arm, the other still holding the pistol in Lenny's mouth. “Get her off me,” Grigori said to one of his men.
A very large, very Russian-looking man took Lucy and lifted her from the floor. She tried to kick and bite him, but he threw her onto the sofa.
“Quite a display of aggression, Lucy. I admire spirited women. In fact, it turns me on. Now, if you don't want to see your father's brains splattered all over this lovely room, sit still and fucking well listen to me,” Grigori snarled.