Scorpion Winter by Andrew Kaplan Read Free Book Online Page B

woman began leading them in a chant.
    â€œKozhanovskiy! . . . Kozhanovskiy! . . . Kozhanovskiy!” the crowd shouted in response, erupting into a roar of approval as the candidate himself replaced the woman at the podium.
    â€œUkraintsi!” the older, barrel-chested man shouted, grinning widely. “The time has come to choose your future!” The crowd roared again. There were ripples of applause as Kozhanovskiy went on, and then, from the edge of the square, a jumble of shouting and women screaming.
    â€œDopomozhit!” a woman screamed. Help! “Prypyny!” others shrieked. Stop it! “Militsiyu!” Security Police! And at the edge of the crowd, “Bandity!” as people began to surge away, shouting and running.
    Scorpion couldn’t see what was causing it. Someone banged into him and without looking, continued running. A gap opened in the melee and he finally saw what was happening.
    A mob of perhaps a hundred men, many armed with clubs, had waded into the crowd. They were swinging wildly, smashing heads, shouting “Het Kozhanovskiy!” Down with Kozhanovskiy! As people trampled each other to get out of the way, Scorpion waited. The front wave of the attackers came toward him. They looked like thugs, and he saw what seemed to be criminal tattoos on many of their necks.
    Two burly men were coming at him, clubs upraised. One had a spiderweb tattoo on the side of his neck, a Russian prison tattoo signifying that he was a drug dealer. He swung his club, and Scorpion sidestepped him with a leg sweep, taking him down as he blocked a punch from the other thug, using an aikido ikkyo wrist lock to bring him to the ground. As the mob surged past them, Scorpion lay on top of the second, pressing hard on his elbow and wrist, causing him to cry out in pain. The drug dealer started to get up. Scorpion kicked him in the face and he collapsed, his nose spurting blood. Someone else kicked at Scorpion then, who kicked back and caught a knee, this third thug grunting and stumbling on.
    â€œKto vas poslal?” Scorpion demanded of the man he still held to the ground. Who sent you? He could see a crucifix tattoo on the back of the man’s neck. Another blatnoi thug, he thought, applying sharp pressure to the man’s wrist and elbow.
    â€œPoshol na khui!” the man cursed at him, his breath smelling of onions. He managed to grab Scorpion’s neck with his free hand and try to choke him. Scorpion applied more pressure to the wrist, pried one of the man’s fingers from his neck and bent it back suddenly, breaking the finger. The man screamed.
    â€œKto vas poslal?”
    â€œYob tvoiyu mat’!” the man shouted, telling him to do something obscene with his mother.
    Scorpion grabbed another finger and bent it back till he felt the finger crack like a twig. The man screamed again. “Yesche vosem raz?” he shouted. Should I do this eight more times? Kto vas poslal?”
    â€œ Yob! You are making a mistake— Aieee! ” he screamed as Scorpion started bending the next finger. “Syndikat says do this, I do.”
    â€œKto avtoritet?” Scorpion asked. Who’s the boss? Around him, he could hear the klaxons of militsiyu police vans approaching.
    â€œEverybody knows. Mogilenko is the pakhan , the boss. Sukin sin , you broke my fingers,” the man said.
    â€œGood. Where do I find Mogilenko?”
    â€œDynamo Club. Mogilenko fix you good, upizdysh ,” the man cursed, suggesting Scorpion had sex with his mother.
    But Scorpion had already gotten up. He moved fast, working his way through the crowd. People were lying on the ground or stood around holding handkerchiefs to bloody heads. By the time militsiyu police in riot gear moved in, he had already left the square.
    T he Dynamo Club was a multistory building, bright with neon and electric lights, near the end of Khreshchatyk Street by the Bessarabsky Market. A half-dozen