Better Off Dead: (Victor the Assassin 4) by Tom Wood Read Free Book Online Page A

was purely for his own protection and nothing to do with trying to convince Victor his intentions were not angled towards violence.
    Experience suggested to Victor this wasn’t a set-up. Had he any intimation that it was, he wouldn’t have come this far. But he maintained a heightened vigilance. He kept himself ready to act – to fight and run. In his line of work it was the unexpected that was most dangerous. There was nothing to lose if taken by surprise by innocent actions.
    Dropping the two outside had been insurance. If he had to make a fast exit he would not be interrupted going out of the rear entrance. Or, should things go bad before he had the opportunity to get out, there would be two less goliaths to flank him. A quick scan of the room revealed another four guards. They were all as big and serious-looking as the two standing out front or the two prostrate ones out back had been. That made a security detail of eight. A serious display of strength, but Victor had expected more. If there were others here he hadn’t identified or if they were hidden elsewhere, things could get ugly. But if eight was the total, then so far the situation was manageable. He’d already disabled twenty-five per cent of the opposition.
    The closest stood up, surprised and unsettled as he noticed Victor without a heads-up from the sentries outside the rear entrance. The guard called out to be heard over the din of patrons and gestured to a nearby guard, who then did the same to another. Within twenty seconds all four were standing and staring Victor’s way. They were aggressive and ready to attack, but restrained – attack dogs behind a fence.
    Victor made eye contact with each in turn so they knew he was aware of them and approached the corner booth they shielded in a loose semi-circle. He weaved his way through the crowd and between tables. He was intercepted by one of the guards. He was a giant, even compared to the rest of the security detail. He was a shade off six-six and almost three hundred pounds. He’d been around twenty pounds lighter when Victor had first met him a couple of years beforehand. He’d also been somewhat less ugly.
    ‘How’s the ear, Sergei?’ Victor asked.
    To his credit, Sergei maintained an even expression. He pivoted his head to the right so Victor could see his right ear. It was twisted and unsightly where it had been sewn back together with a ragged knot of discoloured scar tissue across the centre.
    Victor said, ‘You can’t even tell.’
    Sergei frowned. The bunched-up jaw muscles looked as though they might pop through the skin. He gestured for Victor to raise his arms.
    ‘I was searched outside.’
    ‘And now we are inside,’ Sergei countered. ‘So raise your hands. Please.’
    Victor did. He stood motionless while he was patted down. Sergei’s hands were huge and his technique was rough, but also effective. He now knew Victor had no weapon and to which side he dressed.
    Sergei said, a measure of surprise in his tone, ‘You’re clean.’
    ‘Then why do I feel so dirty?’
    Something resembling a smile creased Sergei’s face. ‘Some of the boys had a bet on whether you’d show.’
    ‘Did you?’
    ‘I don’t gamble. I’m not stupid. But I didn’t think you would.’
    Victor waited a moment in case Sergei had anything else to say, then asked, ‘Are we done?’
    ‘I want to tear your face off.’
    ‘You’ll have to join the queue, I’m afraid.’
    He stepped past Sergei, who did nothing to stop him, and approached the booth where Aleksandr Norimov sat.

TEN
    Norimov was nearly as big as the guys guarding him but he was more out of shape than Victor had ever seen him. The once huge shoulders now relied on the pads of the good suit to square his posture. That suit did its best to conceal the excess bulk stored elsewhere but couldn’t disguise the white shirt stretched taut across his stomach. Light pooled on the Russian’s bald head. The face beneath was lined and pale. His