‘The price of progress,’ Victor said.
Norimov nodded. ‘Things are more cut-throat now than they ever were. You look different.’
‘That’s the idea.’
‘Surgery?’
Victor nodded.
Norimov smiled. ‘You were prettier before.’
‘I know,’ Victor agreed. ‘That was the problem.’ He held the Russian’s gaze for a moment. ‘Are you going to come down from there?’
Norimov put both hands on the railing. ‘I’m quite happy up here.’
‘Do you think I’m here to kill you?’
The sudden change in Norimov’s face told Victor he had been thinking exactly that.
‘I am unarmed.’ Victor said, holding open his jacket.
‘I believe you,’ Norimov said. ‘But when has not having a weapon ever stopped you before?’
Victor nodded, accepting the point and backhanded compliment. ‘If I had wanted to kill you,’ he explained, ‘I wouldn’t be standing in front of you now. I want to talk.’
Norimov considered for a moment. Victor kept his eyes locked on the Russian, ready for any possibility, ready for the hand gesture that would signal the guards to fire. If it came he had no idea what he was going to do. Die would be the most likely course of action.
‘Okay,’ Norimov said at last. ‘Let’s talk.’
CHAPTER 38
17:37 MSK
They were in an office above the factory floor. It was fitted with filing cabinets and shelves like any legitimate place of business, not the nerve centre of an organized criminal network. Norimov sat behind a simple polished desk, on which rested a silver-coloured laptop and a stack of papers and envelopes. Victor sat opposite him. One bodyguard stood behind him, the other behind Norimov. There was another man stationed right outside the door. All were openly armed.
With so much protection Norimov seemed a virtual prisoner in his own office, and Victor wondered how long this had been the case. He also wondered if Norimov even realized he was an inmate of his own making.
‘I apologize for the less-than-cordial welcoming, but you can forgive my suspicion, I’m sure,’ Norimov began. ‘When a hitman calls on you unannounced, it is better to err on the side of caution than on the side of death.’
‘Don’t use that word.’
‘What word?’ Norimov asked, seemingly perplexed. ‘You mean hitman? I forgot you aren’t fond of it.’
‘No, you didn’t.’
A wry smile formed on Norimov’s face. ‘It’s been what, three years?’
‘Four.’
‘A long time. You’ve aged well.’
‘I take my vitamins.’ Victor’s eyes scanned over Norimov. ‘You seem to be getting enough to eat.’
‘Yes, quite. I’ve filled out at the waist and thinned on top,’ Norimov laughed, slapping his generous stomach. ‘It’s just protection from the cold, I swear.’
‘How’s your shoulder?’
Norimov blew air out through his nose. ‘Ha, it still gives me problems. I went to a specialist in Moscow only last year. He told me there was a fluid build-up behind the shoulder blade. I promise you, he put a needle this big into me to drain it.’ Norimov gestured, his palms a good twelve inches apart. ‘It’s no better. Some weeks I go through a whole bottle of painkillers.’
‘That’s too bad.’
‘Between the pain of living and the painlessness of death, I choose the pain gladly.’
‘Nicely put.’
‘Thank you.’ Norimov tilted his head. ‘And you, Vasily, still bulletproof?’
Victor thought about the huge bruise on his chest and the tiny scab in the centre. ‘I wouldn’t like to say.’
‘Don’t want to tempt fate?’
‘Something like that.’
Norimov pointed. ‘You used to say you make your own fate.’
‘I still do.’
‘No matter how good you are, how fast you are-’
‘You can’t outrun a bullet,’ Victor finished.
Norimov gestured to one of his bodyguards. ‘Get us both a drink.’
The bodyguard opened a cupboard and took out a bottle of Scotch and two tumblers. He poured Norimov and Victor a generous measure each. Norimov clutched the glass tightly, hungrily. There was a red tinge to his cheeks, damaged capillaries showing under the skin. He never used to drink so much.
Norimov raised his glass. ‘To old allies.’
‘To old friends,’ Victor corrected.
Norimov downed his drink and grunted in approval. Victor followed suit, but without the grunt.
‘This is nice,’ Norimov said. ‘It’s not often I get to share a drink with someone who isn’t afraid of me.’
‘I’m surprised anyone is afraid of you.’
Norimov laughed. ‘Yes, well, maybe not of me but what I can have done. All these worms that work for me now, none of them know who I was ten years ago, or even five years ago. They think I’m old, slow. I doubt anyone remembers I was ever any different.’
‘I remember.’
They held each other’s gaze for a long moment. Victor opened his packet of cigarettes and took one out with his teeth. Norimov’s eyes widened a small amount.
‘I thought you quit.’
Victor struck a match and brought it towards his mouth. ‘I did.’
‘Those things-’
‘I know,’ Victor said. ‘So don’t say it. I have been cutting down.’
‘Even Bond doesn’t smoke any more.’
Victor rubbed the match out between his thumb and forefinger and drew in smoke from the cigarette. He raised an eyebrow.
‘Who?’
Norimov grinned for a moment. His teeth were yellow. ‘What score are you up to now?’
‘I don’t keep count.’
‘You used to.’
Victor nodded. Once it had seemed important.
The Russian gave a caustic smile. ‘Still go to church to confess your sins?’
The leather of Victor’s chair creaked. He glanced at his glass. ‘How long are you going to make me wait for another?’
Norimov motioned for his bodyguard, who promptly refilled the glasses. They both took a sip. ‘So, how is the killing business?’
He thought for a moment. ‘I need some more reliable employers.’
‘I would like to be able to hire you myself. But I can keep four good men at my side for the best part of a year for what it costs me to employ you for one night’s work. When you have numbers skill is not so necessary.’
Victor didn’t see the need to challenge the point. ‘I charge a lot more these days, anyway.’
Norimov laughed hard. ‘And I’m sure you’re worth every penny. If you plan to stay a while, I’m sure I could still get you work.’
‘Even if I wanted to, I’ve been away too long.’
‘No matter. Your reputation still endures, and with it all doors open.’
‘I don’t operate like that any more. Such infamy is nothing more than a permanent crosshairs.’
‘You know where I am if you ever change your mind.’
Victor nodded and said, “What about you, Alek, how’s the aspiring empire?’
‘I’m the only honest criminal left in this town. See what it gets me?’
Victor took a taste of whisky. ‘How’s the delightful Eleanor?’
Norimov’s face was hard. ‘Dead,’ he said easily.
‘What happened?’
‘She was sick.’
‘Sick?’
‘The doctors didn’t think it was serious. By the time anyone realized, it was too late.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Thank you.’
‘She was a beautiful lady.’
Norimov looked away. ‘Not at the end she wasn’t.’
The silence hung heavily for a moment. Victor didn’t say anything. Though uncomfortable, it would have been vulgar to speak banalities just to sit a little easier.
But it was Norimov who broke the silence. ‘Do you still take all that shit?’
‘Not any more.’
The Russian cracked a smile then sighed, as if saddened to turn the conversation to the inevitable. ‘I’m assuming that this isn’t a social call.’
‘Someone’s trying to kill me.’
The Russian smiled. ‘Shouldn’t that be the other way around?’