Marked Man by Jared Paul Read Free Book Online Page B

sirens.
    “ Ostanovit !”
    He waved for them to cease fire. Ivan obeyed immediately. Yakov fired one more round into the river then followed suit. Roman smacked the simpleton Yakov on the back of the head and rattled off a series of insults in French, which Yakov did not understand, calling it a tongue for effete, decadent snobs. When he was through berating Yakov Roman tip-toed up to the very edge of the water, then peaked over the embankment. When he saw what he believed to be blood wafting up to the surface he was satisfied. Roman barked for the others to get back into the Volvo and they left in a hurry before the police could arrive.
    …
    Vladimir Shirokov flipped to the next page in the heavy hardcover volume resting in his lap. He adjusted his reading glasses so they rested further down his nose, a wide beak that drew comparisons to vultures by those foolish enough to utter them. He read fast, absently puffing at the cigar hanging precariously from his bottom lip. By some miracle of physics it stayed in place, as if it feared Shirokov’s willpower more than any penalty that disobeying the laws of gravity might invite.
    The coffee shop he owned on 14 th street had closed an hour earlier, and Shirokov was enjoying his daily down time by reading in the back office by himself. A recording of Dmitri Shostakovich’s ninth symphony emanated from a pair of speakers outfitted on the wall. A tumbler of iced vodka was sweating on the table next to his ash tray. Intermittently Shirokov reached out for the glass and drank. Sometimes he chuckled at inside jokes known only to the author and himself. The more he drank, the more he chuckled.
    The previous Friday he had discovered this volume at the Tompkins Square Branch of the library. It was called Europe Central, a novel written by William T. Vollmann. The book was fictional, which was something that Shirokov ordinarily did not go in for. Although he secretly pined for stories set in faraway lands with dragons and sorcery, Shirokov believed he had gotten too old for such things and now preferred to dwell in the realm of the possible. Besides, history was usually far weirder in his experience. Every now and then though, Shirokov allowed himself a treat from the literature section. He reasoned that since Europe Central was heavily researched and based on actual events in the twentieth century, it did not count as cheating. Plus it had won the National Book Award, which had to count for something towards serious reading.
    Shirokov was craving another mouthful of clear, restorative vodka but he delayed the pleasure until he reached the end of page 472. When he reached his goal Shirokov went for the drink only to find it empty. He cleared his throat and called for the barista.
    “ Nadiya!”
    The pale, plain-faced, buxom girl appeared and asked what he needed, and when he answered vodka she disappeared just as quickly. For a moment Shirokov was tempted to jump right back into reading but he decided to take a break and collect his thoughts. Sliding a bookmark between pages 473 and 474, he closed the book and laid it on the table.
    Just outside the door to his office Shirokov knew that his bodyguard Vitaly was standing watch. He could hear him mouth breathing, in any case.
    “ Vitaly. Come in here.”
    Waddling in, the sweatpants clad Vitaly barely fit through the doorway.
    “Yes Avtorityet?”
    “Sit down. Are you a reading man, Vitaly?”
    Shirokov gestured towards the thick book, wrapped in protective plastic by the library. The hefty bodyguard paused and thought about it, as if worried it might be a trick question. Finally he shook his head no.
    “This i s about the Great Patriotic War, and other things, but mostly the war. Do you know how we came to beat the Germans?
    “No.”
    “We had every reason to lose. Pathetic really. At the start of it some of our regiments were still on horseback, meeting German panzers in the snow with bayonets. Heh. Can you imagine?”
    Vitaly