Snow Storm by Robert Parker Read Free Book Online Page B

these were potentially unsolved cases off their books. Clear
up rates would be unaffected and so on and so forth. It was all
about the politics.
    So when the phone rang
again he was more than ready for Edwards’ Oscar winning
performance.
     
    ********************
     
     
    Victor had wasted no time
in setting up camp. It seemed the two idiots were intending to act
as his body guards, which would have perhaps been funny if he were
a laughing man. In any case, it wouldn’t do to be seen laughing in
the company of these imbeciles. The underdeveloped one clearly
thought of himself as the brains. No one else would be likely to
make that mistake, though looking at the overgrown one, clearly
typecast as the goon, he supposed it was all relative.
    The small one
had repeatedly tried to make conversation, seemingly impervious to
Victor’s lack of acknowledgement or reply. “Ye been tae Embra
before like?” he’d asked and then, realising Victor wasn’t totally
sure what this meant, repeated the same question twice, each time
in a language closer to what Victor guessed passed for English
round here. On the third and final attempt, though Victor admired
the runt’s persistence, he looked him squarely in the eye, saying
nothing, until the effect caused him to wither, his confidence
seemingly draining like someone had let the air out of his tyres.
The car journey had been somewhat more pleasant after
that.
    They’d
arrived at the offices after around forty five minutes. After being
shown into Oleg’s private suite, Victor resolved to make it is own
for the time being. “Where did you get these?” he asked, tilting
his head towards his escorts.
    “ Saughton,”
the large one said in a squeaky voice as the small one kicked him
in what was obviously intended to be a subtle gesture.
    “ I did not
ask you,” he replied putting the large one in a state of unease.
Victor guessed he was not used to being spoken to this way, given
his size; probably a gentle giant prone to the weakness of loyalty.
Not that loyalty was necessarily a weakness in the right
circumstances but this was not the brotherhood. This was loyalty to
his sidekick, or the weasel like man who it seemed considered him
the sidekick.
    “ What is
Saughton?” he fired at Oleg in their native tongue.
    “ Local
prison,” he replied. “They did some time with an
associate.”
    Victor nodded. He knew
something of this kind of association. “Nonetheless, you should
have at least sent some of our people,” he replied in English,
knowing reprimanding Oleg in front of his goons was a loss of face
to the man; unorthodox to say the least.
    “ I thought
you would have wanted our people with Sacha and Boris.”
    Victor nodded again. He
was inclined to agree. “It is not your place to presume to know
what I want,” was all he said.
    “ Of course,”
Oleg replied.
    “ And stop
sweating.”
    “ Right
away.”
    “ You may go,”
he informed the two body guards, and they awkwardly made their
exit, shuffling and nodding deferentially.
    “ You’ve let
yourself go old friend,” he told Oleg as he helped himself to a
whiskey from a well-rounded minibar. Something he did know of this
country was the 25 year old Glenlivet in his glass. Oleg made some
good decisions.
    He took in the older
man’s appearance. He’d grown fat and redder of face. His hair stuck
matted to his head, held in place by stress and sweat. “If it isn’t
bad booze I can only assume it’s bad food.”
    “ You can say
that again,” he agreed, pouring himself a large measure.
    The scotch
grounded him, biting the back of his throat and warming everything
on the way down, focussing him fully on the here and now for the
first time in hours. He was now very aware of the plate glass wall
behind him. A river meandered past the building; the banks and
everything on them seasonally cold and dead, a husk of what they
had been a short time ago.
    “ So,” he
began, recovering his train of thought, “What do