Marked Man II - 02 by Jared Paul Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jared Paul
Jordan wondered if he’d lost a couple of marbles in the crash. He came closer and stopped right in front of the car. Jordan pointed the .38 at his sternum and asked a question.
“How many more of you did they send?”
“I relent! I tell you I relent!”
“Yeah I got that part. How many Russians? Three? Four?”
With his hands still raised over his head, the Russian looked around like he might find the answer somewhere in the detritus of the yard. From overhead the sun was beating down mercilessly, reflecting off of the broken glass that seemed to cover everything in a fine layer. Jordan guessed that the Russian had a concussion and was trying to jog his memory so that he could answer.
“I uh. Zerr were five. Five of us I sink. Yes five.”
“Are you absolutely positive? Just five?”
“Yes. I am sure. Only five.”
Somewhere in the distance the sound of police sirens wailing was approaching. The front door to Mary’s house opened and two tall Russian men who looked like they might be brothers if not closely related came sprinting out. Jordan jerked the .38 to aim in their direction, but instead of charging at him they immediately ran away, leaping over the next door neighbor’s backyard fence and fleeing the growling terror that was their Chihuahua.
When the last two Russians had disappeared over another fence and into the alley Jordan turned his attention back to the man in front of him. He had a goofy sort of grin on his face and he shrugged as if to apologize for his comrades’ cowardice.
“You see? Only five. Like I say. Yes?”
Jordan smirked and bowed his head.
“Yep. Just the five.”
Putting the weapon aside, Jordan reached for the transmission. He put the CRV in reverse and backed up about twenty feet. Jordan shifted gears again and looked at the Russian who still had his palms up in a helpless gesture.
“Just five, I relent,” he repeated.
“It’s too late for that friend.”
Jordan gunned the engine and ran him over.
…
The Montville Police Department arrested two men fleeing the scene of the shooting shortly after. Alexei and Timur Prokorov admitted to breaking and entering the domicile at 313 Revere Court, with the intention of stealing a flat screen television set and an extensive collection of costume jewelry they had found in the master bedroom.
When they were asked why they left the house empty handed they said that they were frightened off by the gunshots outside. They told the investigators that they had no connection to the men who were killed, and that they had no knowledge of the whereabouts of the members of the Pollard family, who could not be found.
One of the officers at the Montville station ran a search and discovered that both brothers had active warrants in New York for grand larceny and conspiracy to distribute large quantities of heroin. The liaison for the case was a detective working out of the 86th precinct in Brooklyn, one Leslie Bollier. He looked up her contact number in the database and called to let her know that the Prokorovs had been caught.
…
“Have either of them made any statements yet?” Bollier asked the small-town cop as she eyed the younger brother Timur through the glass box. He was sitting alone in the interrogation room.
“Sure have. They’re some chatty Cathys. Neither one even asked for a lawyer yet.”
Taken aback, Bollier raised an eyebrow at the officer.
“I get the impression they’re both a couple stars short of a galaxy. Know what I mean?”
“I do. Thank you. Is it alright with you if I talk to them together at once?”
“Alright by me if it’s alright by you.”
They took Alexei out of his cell and put him into the same room with his little brother. Bollier watched them for a few minutes, whispering nervously to each other and gesturing feebly in their handcuffs. A special microphone planted into the
“How many more of you did they send?”
“I relent! I tell you I relent!”
“Yeah I got that part. How many Russians? Three? Four?”
With his hands still raised over his head, the Russian looked around like he might find the answer somewhere in the detritus of the yard. From overhead the sun was beating down mercilessly, reflecting off of the broken glass that seemed to cover everything in a fine layer. Jordan guessed that the Russian had a concussion and was trying to jog his memory so that he could answer.
“I uh. Zerr were five. Five of us I sink. Yes five.”
“Are you absolutely positive? Just five?”
“Yes. I am sure. Only five.”
Somewhere in the distance the sound of police sirens wailing was approaching. The front door to Mary’s house opened and two tall Russian men who looked like they might be brothers if not closely related came sprinting out. Jordan jerked the .38 to aim in their direction, but instead of charging at him they immediately ran away, leaping over the next door neighbor’s backyard fence and fleeing the growling terror that was their Chihuahua.
When the last two Russians had disappeared over another fence and into the alley Jordan turned his attention back to the man in front of him. He had a goofy sort of grin on his face and he shrugged as if to apologize for his comrades’ cowardice.
“You see? Only five. Like I say. Yes?”
Jordan smirked and bowed his head.
“Yep. Just the five.”
Putting the weapon aside, Jordan reached for the transmission. He put the CRV in reverse and backed up about twenty feet. Jordan shifted gears again and looked at the Russian who still had his palms up in a helpless gesture.
“Just five, I relent,” he repeated.
“It’s too late for that friend.”
Jordan gunned the engine and ran him over.
…
The Montville Police Department arrested two men fleeing the scene of the shooting shortly after. Alexei and Timur Prokorov admitted to breaking and entering the domicile at 313 Revere Court, with the intention of stealing a flat screen television set and an extensive collection of costume jewelry they had found in the master bedroom.
When they were asked why they left the house empty handed they said that they were frightened off by the gunshots outside. They told the investigators that they had no connection to the men who were killed, and that they had no knowledge of the whereabouts of the members of the Pollard family, who could not be found.
One of the officers at the Montville station ran a search and discovered that both brothers had active warrants in New York for grand larceny and conspiracy to distribute large quantities of heroin. The liaison for the case was a detective working out of the 86th precinct in Brooklyn, one Leslie Bollier. He looked up her contact number in the database and called to let her know that the Prokorovs had been caught.
…
“Have either of them made any statements yet?” Bollier asked the small-town cop as she eyed the younger brother Timur through the glass box. He was sitting alone in the interrogation room.
“Sure have. They’re some chatty Cathys. Neither one even asked for a lawyer yet.”
Taken aback, Bollier raised an eyebrow at the officer.
“I get the impression they’re both a couple stars short of a galaxy. Know what I mean?”
“I do. Thank you. Is it alright with you if I talk to them together at once?”
“Alright by me if it’s alright by you.”
They took Alexei out of his cell and put him into the same room with his little brother. Bollier watched them for a few minutes, whispering nervously to each other and gesturing feebly in their handcuffs. A special microphone planted into the
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