Intentions (Starring Vasily)
This is the most recent of the tales I've written of Vasily and his adventures. It takes place a few months after the Tournament of Wolves and the events of 'Conflict Games'. It won't be the last! I hope to finish 'Hunting Fydor' soon, and maybe get the End of Igor story done soon after that. So. Progress? The story and characters here are copyright to me, excepting for material directly linked to the Silver & Bone universe, which are copyright to their originators.
Once again, tell me what you think!
It should have been the perfect job. Just in and out, easy. He should have known nothing was ever that perfect. His breath was coming in rasps, far behind him the sound of sirens was still cutting through the chill night air. Finally, he had to stop. Hands on this thighs he stood, sobbing breaths shaking his entire frame.
Why the fuck had she been home? Damn it, the place was supposed to be empty! Minutes passed as his heartrate and breathing slowed, stars still appearing before his eyes from the exertion. The sirens finally cut off; he was certain nobody had seen him go, but they'd be searching soon. They'd have to find the body, the broken window where he got in. Then they'd be hunting.
Vince swallowed hard. He knew it wasn't like in the TV shows. Crimes were more often than not solved, especially when they were THIS big of a mess. If he was to get out of it, he'd have to be both smart and very, very lucky.
He didn't feel lucky, or smart. Everything had gone south, nearly from the start. pushing unsteadily upright, he started once again to head away from the scene. He'd run in the opposite direction of his hotel, and he planned to circle the entire damn town before he risked going back there; he'd have to change clothes too- bloodstains and sweat were a dead giveaway.
At least he'd planned that far ahead. He'd parked and walked in to the target, and his car wasn't far from here. He had several changes stashed in the trunk; he'd clean up with quick-wipes, change and drive back to a bar on the far side of town, then go back to his hotel when the place closed. The more difference in timing between his observed movements and the events, the better.
Blood had been everywhere. On the walls, the ceiling... On her. Vasily had arrived too late, and had to choose between saving Miss Kanlon or chasing her attacker. He'd been unable to save her either, and now he sat glowering from the stoop across the street. He watched as the police brought her poor remains out to the coroners van, and began their investigation. The man in charge, Lieutenant Dodge, started again with his questioning of the big Russian.
"So, Mr. Polykov... Am I saying that right"?" The voice was friendly in the false way that people use when they want something. Vasily nodded in the affirmative.
"Right. You were walking home from work. You heard a scream and something breaking, and went in to investigate?"
Vasily shifted position and Dodge unconsciously stepped back. "No. I hear scream, woman. I hear things breaking, I go in to help."
Dodge made a note; Vasily suspected that he wasn't actually writing anything, just making the motions- this was the third time they'd gone over the events. "You just went in? I could have been just a domestic dispute, a couple fighting and breaking things."
Vasily looked at the man like he was an idiot. 'No. Was not the same. She scream in terror; in pain. Someone was hurting her." A massive scarred arm gestured at the body being loaded into the van. "Someone HURT her!" He didn't bother to keep the anger and rage out of his voice, and Dodge flinched. He snorted as Dodge retrieved his dropped pencil, then sighed. "Sorry. I know you must ask. Man came in window, left through back door. I try to help her... But I am not doctor. I call ambulance, police. She... Died while I wait for you." He rubbed his bald head, the stubble rasping beneath rough hands.
It took a moment for Dodge to get his composure back. "Uh. Did you see the assailant?" A new question, finally. Vasily thought this meant that Dodge was finally deciding he wasn't a suspect.
"No. Man, I am sure of that. Angry I think."
"What makes you think that?" Dodge was paying attention now.
"What happened here... He was angry. Kill someone, you shoot or hit- bang, dead. But he beat her. He hit and hit and did not stop even when she could no longer move. That is anger. That is hate." Vasily started to rub his head again then stopped when he realized what he was doing.
"You're Russian; you said that earlier. What are those tattoos?" Vasily raised an eyebrow at the question and raised his estimation of Dodge's intelligence.
"Vory tattoos. Most from prison, many from before." He spread his hands and held his arms out for Dodge to see. "I was enforcer, criminal. This," he pointed to a largish image on a scarred hand, "means I no longer live as Vory. I am no longer criminal."
"You were in prison?" Dodge was interested now, perhaps for the wrong reasons.
"Da. Eleven years. Then, I come here to build new life. I do not wish to go back, and I have papers and visa in order." He gave Dodge a look. "I have nothing to go back to, Lieutenant Dodge. I have a life and friends here. I would not do... What was done in there tonight."
Dodge closed the notebook. "Honestly, Mr. Polykov, I wish you were the villain here. This was done by a monster, and God help me I wish we had him. Can you come down to the station please for a final statement?"
"I can do that. I am sorry I was not sooner. Faster."
Dodge watched as the coroner's van started to drive away. "I am too."
The bar plan hadn't worked out. He'd tried to scrub the blood off his hands, but it was under his nails, in the lines of his palms- the wipes just smeared it around without really removing it. He ended up driving around the countryside until four AM. Fortunately, nobody was at the desk when he got back to the hotel. He locked his room door, then immediately stripped and showered, scrubbing furiously. When he got out the mirrors were dripping with condensation and his hands were red from the scrubbing. Wrapped in a towel he sat on the bed, head in his hands. He had to get out of this town, out of fucking Canada before they found him... But he'd gotten what he was hired for, at least, and the buyer wouldn't pay unless he got the goods.
That meant he was stuck in town, at least for now. Hopefully he'd not left anything behind that was traceable.
He laid back where he was and stared at the ceiling; it didn't make sense. Or it did, and he wasn't seeing it. Two weeks before he'd gotten a call from a confederate that there was a job available, one that was perfect for his skills. A theft of a small item held by an old woman. Intrigued, he called the provided number.
The voice was somewhat cultured, male and accented- he couldn't place it for certain, but he thought Russia or one of the Slavic states. "I will make this brief," the man said. "I need an item obtained, and I will pay handsomely for it. Are you interested?"
He said yes, and the man continued. "It is an antique silver stiletto, nearly 400 years old. It is held by a woman named Elizabeth Kanlon, who was uninterested in selling it. I must have it, and you will get it for me. The fee will be ten thousand American dollars, plus travel expenses. If you accept, a packet will be sent to you with the remaining particulars, and half the fee. Do you accept?"
Of course he had. Ten grand for a weekend trip to a small town in Canada? That was more a vacation than work. Or it should have been.
The packet had arrived via FedEx at the address he'd supplied. The usual was within- the address of the target, a picture of the owner, and half the money- especially that. He called the confirmation in and shortly was driving to Canada. Much as the US government would like to believe otherwise, the northern border was a sieve- anyone with half a brain could get across without a hitch.
He arrived in the town late and checked into the local chain hotel. He spent the next few days playing tourist, all the while scoping out the locations of the police station, the house where the old lady and her pigsticker were, and the general layout of the area. He spent a lot of time in bars; people who saw you in a bar frequently would often remember you being there even if you weren't, if you were there enough. He never saw the old lady though; the old bag didn't seem to be in town. That fit with the information in the packet. Perfect.
If only. He'd gone for a night job- they were usually the easiest, after all. Day jobs were for snatch-and-grabs, not serious thefts. Getting in had been easy- the window wasn't latched, and the screen popped right out.
That was the last thing to go right. First, the 'sticker wasn't where he'd been told, and he had to search. Second... The old bitch had been home, and surprised him as he rummaged. Things went south incredibly fast, and she'd actually cut him with the damn knife he was sent to steal! Something about that drove him into a frenzy; he'd come to himself atop her, a heavy petrified-wood paperweight in his hand and blood everywhere. The knife lay nearby, and a gruff voice yelled something just before the whole damn house shook from an impact on the door. He hadn't needed another hint- he'd run like hell, grabbing the knife.
Vasily entered his apartment; it was empty. Talo's things were carefully piled in the closet; he didn't know where she'd gone, but he hoped that she'd come back. She'd obviously been through horrible things in her life, and it made him want to help, hut he didn't know if he truly could. He sighed and sat on the couch, thinking about what he'd seen- death was no stranger to him of course. He'd seen plenty of death, and killed many times himself. But this... She was just an old woman. Harmless. He'd had a casual word or two with her in passing, and she'd come across like someone's grandmother. The whole thing just bothered him, leaving him on edge.
He'd caught the intruder's scent- he couldn't tell the police that though. Despite Chambury's insane population of were-whatevers, the general population were in the dark as to what lived amongst them. Vasily wasn't sure that was the best tactic, but then he'd been here not much more than a year. Enough time to rebuild his life, and invest some interest in his new home.
It was when he started the third review of the evening through his mind that he knew he couldn't just sit there. He rose with a snort and went back out- he'd see if he couldn't trace the killer's path. Maybe he wasn't as good a tracker as the born weres, but the thief's mix of cheap cologne, sweat and blood was pretty distinctive.
He had little trouble getting back to the scene; it wasn't all that far from his apartment. Evading the remaining police who were watching the scene was more difficult, but he'd been doing similar for long before he changed. Sure enough, the scent was strong at the back door, and he began to follow. less than an hour later the scent was gone; his quarry had gotten into a car and driven off. Vasily rubbed his head and frowned in frustration. Shrugging, he cracked his scarred knuckles and sat on the curb to think. "Police thought theft gone wrong," he considered. "Maybe that's right... And maybe I have someone who could tell me how such a theft would be planned. A slight grin came to his face, and he dialed a number on his cellphone.
On the fourth ring someone picked up with some unintelligible sounds. "Hello?"
"Pavel. I need to ask you some questions, get some advice." Vas rolled his eyes at the pained sounds his friend made.
Finally, Pavel started using his words, speaking in Russian as that was the tongue Vasily was using. "Why the hell is it that you always manage to call when I'm asleep?" He sighed. "Fine. I do owe you. Again. What's up?"
Vas grunted a little, shifting on the uncomfortable concrete. "If you were to commit a theft, how would you go about it?"
Silence from the other side for a time, then, "maybe you ought to come over and explain it all- you're into something, I can tell that, and you're not worth shit as a thief. C'mon over, I'll have tea on." The receiver clicked off.
"Do you have the item you were retained to collect?" The oddly accented man's voice brought Vince no calm; he had to know things had gotten messy.
"I have it. How you you want me to get it to you?" He hoped it was something quick and simple, so that he could get out of this fucking town.
His employer said something away from the phone before answering. "I am told things... Have become complicated. Care to explain?"
Shit. Not what he wanted to get into. "Well, yeah. Your information was off- the item wasn't where you said, and-" He was interrupted before he could finish.
"That would not be my problem; you were recommended to me by someone who considered you reliable and able to adapt. I am revising my opinion of them. As for you, it is fortunate that you at least retained the sense to obtain the goal. It will be more fortunate if you manage to get it to me. You will be informed where to deliver the package." The line went dead.
"FUCK! God-fucking-damned..." His shouts trailed off, leaving him frustrated and red in the face. Who the fuck was this guy? This was NOT worth ten grand. But... He was trapped. He needed that money badly. His past indiscretions were near to collecting from his hide if he didn't pay with cash. Not for the first time he looked out the window at the street, seeing nothing untoward. He wondered how long that would last.
He slumped back in the lounger, staring at the fruits of his labor- somehow he'd not been able to get all of the blood off of it, and he was afraid to scrub it or use polish. Collectors could get truly nuts if you cleaned an antique- something about 'damaging the authenticity' and similar rot. Who'd want a filthy antique? Vince had no idea. He just stole the stuff, and was good at his job. He picked it up and gently placed it in the box he'd gotten earlier in the day. No sense in the damn thing being out in full-view. He lifted the mattress of the bed and dropped it into the deadspace beneath; it'd be safe there for the time being.
"So," Pavel asked once Vasily sat down, "what are you into this time?"
Vasily snorted. "I am not into anything. However... Something did happen. A woman was murdered by a thief; I want to find him. So I need you to tell me how this could have happened."
Pavel tilted his head, looking for the holes that had obviously materialized in Vasily's skull; not seeing any he said, "why do you care? Not to be offensive, but you generally don't go 'round playing hero. Was she a girlfriend or something?"
"No. She was just a nice old woman I talked to occasionally on my way to and from work. I... She was murdered, Pavel, and I couldn't stop it. I couldn't save her. But I WILL find her killer."
Edging back unconsciously, Pavel knew there was no shaking Vasily's resolve. "Fine. So what exactly happened?"
Taking a few slow breaths, Vasily calmed himself before starting. "I was going home from work. It was late, dark- just after nine o'clock. As I passed her house, I heard a man yell, then something, a lamp perhaps, shattered. I started towards the door, hearing more sounds, then she started screaming; there were other sounds as well, and I ran to help. The door was locked so I smashed it open. Blood was everywhere. She had been beaten with some kind of rock. I hesitated, hearing the back door open and close, but he was out of sight before I got to it. I had to choose between trying to save her and trying to catch him. I chose her, calling the ambulance and police... But she died before they got there. I don't think they could have saved her." He went sullenly quiet after the story was finished.
Pavel leaned back. "Whoof. Vas, I'm sorry. Do you know what was taken, or did the bastard not get what he was after?"
"I don't know. Maybe one of the others would know, but I doubt it." Vas drank his tea in a single gulp.
Refilling his friend's cup, Pavel mulled it over. "This town doesn't have a lot of crime other than," he made air-quotes with his fingers, "bear attacks. An old lady is a real odd choice for a target for a random theft, especially if she wasn't wealthy. Or was she?" Vasily indicated no, and gestured for his friend to continue. "If this is just a random job, some idiot burglar, they'll be caught. Cops don't take lightly to something that ugly. Hmm... Did you get anything from the man's voice when he yelled?"
Vasily shook his head. "No. He could have been Canadian or American, but that's all."
"You're not giving me much, Vas. ...Was she a were? Nah. She'd have gutted any thief then. He wasn't either- if he had been he wouldn't have used a rock." Pavel continued to mull things over. "Did you get a scent?"
"Yes. Male human, I'd guess in his thirties and in good shape, using Old Spice deodorant." Vas considered for a moment. "He smelled of that stink Americans put in new cars, too."
Ah, there's something. I can poke about and see how many non-local rentals there are at the hotels. If he was in one his scent'll probably still be there. After a job gone bad he'd stink of sweat and exertion, and from what you're saying, blood. That doesn't clean out anywhere near as easily as people seem to think."
"I will go too." Vas started to stand, and Pavel shook his head. "The hell you will. You were probably seen. They spot your ugly bald head snooping around they'll bolt. Me, they got no idea. And unlike you, I can lose the accent."
Vas grunted. "Could they already be gone?"
"Yeah, and honestly, with things gone this bad for them they probably are. But we can look."
Vince tried to relax. It had been two days since the job, and there was no sign that anyone was after him. The morning after had been the worst, with the local paper's headline: LOCAL WOMAN MURDERED. Could it have been any more lurid? He sipped his coffee and watched, breakfast not sitting well in is stomach due to stress. No call had come to him to arrange the drop; he was wondering if maybe they wanted him to be caught. But no; it was more likely that they were making sure that he wouldn't be caught be acting too quickly.
He stood up, leaving the cash for his meal on the table. It was a clear day, cool with a slight breeze. He decided to play tourist some more, if only to strengthen his story. He'd been finding out a lot about Chambury, and it seemed to be overall a quiet little place. Oddly so, he thought. It was big enough that there ought to be more crime, but if there was, he couldn't see it.
The day went by at a snail's pace, and his anxiety got worse the later it got. When he started flinching at the sight of police cars, he went back to the hotel room. At least there he could panic without an audience. He'd never, ever been in a mess this bad, never been quite this trapped by circumstance. He didn't care at all about the old lady; she'd have died in a few years anyway. His hide though, that he cared about.
He jumped nearly a foot into the air when his cellphone rang. He answered it with more panic in his voice than he wanted. "Yes?"
"Do you still have the package?" His employer, finally.
"Yes. Where do you want it?" His heart was racing at the prospect of money and of getting the hell out of town.
"Patience, patience. There is still trouble due to your blunder. Tomorrow evening between eight and nine you will bring the item to Candystripe Park- I trust you can find it, and place it beneath the bag in the trash receptacle on the east corner. Do not be seen. Your payment will be in the same location that you leave the item. Do not think to cheat me."
Vince sighed, tucking the disposable phone away. At least the end was in sight. But one more day in town did nothing to let his nerves uncoil. The drop was almost spy-stuff- he'd not had to do a blind-drop like this in years, and that was a mob-deal.
Maybe that was it; some mob-boss wanted the stupid knife for his collection for some reason. The thought comforted Vince some- the Mafia generally didn't whack the help... His stomach tightened again. Unless the hired help fucked up badly.
He'd fucked up real badly. But he hadn't been caught. Not yet.
Vasily was at work when his cell rang. "Da, who is?"
"It's Pavel, Vas. I got something, but I need a sharper nose than mine."
"I can be where you need me at noon. Where?" Vasily unconsciously flexed and clenched his free hand.
Pavel heard the anger in his friend's voice. "Leonard's Parking Ramp, across from the Ramada. Be as discrete as you can- we don't know if anyone is watching."
The hour to the appointed time seemed more like days to Vasily as he worked; finally, he was able to leave, quickly entering the ramp at a side door where Pavel held it open. There was something familiar in the air, but the scent was old. Pavel led him up to the second level.
"That one, the grey Corolla. check the trunk." Pavel said, pointing. The car had Illinois plates, and the rental company's logo on the trunk lid where a dealership's name would usually be. On the trunk by the lock there was a smudge of dull rust- blood.
Vasily looked at Pavel, and sniffed the car, looking about before he did so. It was the killer's car- the same mix of scents were there. "Can you open this?" He gestured to the trunk.
"Probably. Might be an alarm though- these newer cars all need the proper ignition key or a valet key to open. Some need a fob... Just a moment." He went to the front of the car, slipping underneath with some difficulty.. Vasily heard him fumbling with something, and saw the slight glow of a pocket flashlight. A few more mysterious sounds and Pavel grunted his way out, brushing the dust off as he stood. "I disabled the alarm, and the transmitter that'd send a tamper-signal to the owner." He went to the back, quietly thanking his lucky stars that the ramp's cameras were all on the vehicle-access areas, and picked the lock.
Vasily sniffed as soon as it opened; he knew the smells. Dried blood, Old Spice deodorant, sweat... And baby powder? He asked Pavel, who grinned and pointed to a plastic container of baby-wipes. Vas gestured for Pavel to close the trunk; Pavel had gloves, he didn't. "Whose car is this?"
"We can call the rental shop, but I doubt we'll find out. The cops could, but it'll be a false name. It might lead them to the killer eventually though, especially if his DNA or prints are in the system."
"Then we point them at the car, and see what comes of it," Vasily growled, "but anonymously. I don't think they would appreciate our poking around."
Vince came out of the hotel to stretch his legs, planning to have a few beers at one of the bars he'd been frequenting. It was walking distance, but he noticed something as he headed down the street. There were several police cars at the ramp where he'd parked. His heart made a lump in his throat, but he kept walking, keeping and eye on what was going on. Sure enough, a tow truck appeared from the ramp, his rental dragging behind. Two of the squads went after the tow, one went to the hotel he was staying at, and the last remained parked and empty, its officers obviously investigating the location.
That was bad, but he knew there was no connection between him and the car. He'd parked in the ramp late, and had left without being picked up on camera after parking. On top of that he'd given two different names for his room and when he'd rented the car. He had time, but he couldn't afford to panic. They'd be interviewing the guests, but that he could likely avoid. He'd have to spend more time at the bar than he'd planned, but at least the booze could take a bit of the edge off.
The hours passed, and he chatted with the bartender about the town, played a few games of pool with some of the locals. He knew how to be the 'nice guy' to get people to like him. Finally he left, heading back to the hotel in the guise of a tourist who'd overindulged. The cops weren't in evidence when he got there, but he knew he had to disappear. Once they contacted the US authorities it'd only be a matter of time before his record for felony-theft would get his face and prints plastered everywhere. He changed clothes, stuffing what little he'd brought with him into a sports-duffel. The suitcase he left behind- it'd only been a prop to make the tourist-act more believable. He retrieved the box, checking- the knife was still there. It went into the duffel as well. He'd steal a car later, and with luck be out of the area less than an hour after the drop.
He called down to the desk, and requested a cab before going down to the lobby; if he was to be caught it'd be in the next few minutes. There was a cop in the lobby, but he was talking to the hotel security guard. Vince loved the fact that most hotels now went with rent-a-cops rather than trained in-house detectives. Everyone else in the lobby ignored him. The cab was waiting, and Vince had it take him to the local small airport.
The hotel was the obvious place to watch for his prey so Vasily went there, sitting in the lobby. Pavel had suggested that if the thief saw the confiscation of the rental, that would be when he moved to escape. It wasn't someone going out that Vas spotted, but someone coming in. A plain-looking man, brown-haired walked right past where Vasily was sitting, skillfully acting as if he'd had a few beers too many. His scent said otherwise, though alcohol was present. It also told Vasily that he'd located his target.
He looked outside after the man went up the elevator; no confederates, no replacement vehicle. It wasn't long before a cab pulled up, the man reappearing carrying a duffel with easy nonchalance as if headed to a gym or health club. The cab left, and Vasily soon followed in Pavel's sedan.
The man wasn't looking about, but Vas had smelled the fear pouring off of him- he was continually amazed that people missed such things, as it seemed to be so obvious now. His quarry was very skilled if he could control his reactions as well as he was. In the dark, Vas knew he'd be hard to spot as a tail anyway. He took the time to consider what he was going to do. Capture the man and turn him over to the police, or kill him. When he considered what had happened to Miss Kanlon, red edged his vision in a way that terrified him- far too like what he'd been before. No, he'd catch the bastard and leave him to the police.
But it'd be him that caught the villain. He'd have that much satisfaction.
The man was dropped off at the airport; that was bad. If he was flying out, he'd get away- Vasily couldn't make a scene in such a public place. He'd just about decided to act when his prey re-emerged from the terminal, and got into another cab.
Once again he followed. The cab pulled up to an empty-looking house, Vas just driving by. The killer paid and got out, the cab driving off as the man went to the door, fumbling as if with keys. Vas pulled into a driveway with a 'for sale' sign and got out. He knew in the dark his quarry wouldn't be able to see much, especially if he stuck to shadows. On foot he made his way back to the house, then followed the man's scent.
The man's route was strangely direct, and rapid. He wasn't just running, he had a goal in mind. Now curious, Vasily hung back a little more just to see where he was going. He got into a lit area, and went to a trash bin- one of the decorative cement ones. He looked around, then pulled the lid off. He reached down inside, pulling a small packet out, then took a small box out and placed it within. The lid was replaced, and he started to jog out of the area.
Despite his curiosity about what had been deposited, Vas went after his quarry instead. He increased his pace, giving up any semblance of stealth in all-out charge. He hit like a linebacker, slamming the man hard to the ground. He flipped him over and cocked a massive fist, but the man wasn't fighting back.
"Who are you?" Vas snarled; his eyes were changed, but so far he was fighting off the need to rip the man to wet chunks.
"V-vince! Vince Agar!" Vince sucked air, the hit having knocked the wind out of him.
"Why did you kill her?" The memory of her body, beaten and bloody was making it hard for Vasily to stay in control.
"S-she cut me with the fucking knife! I-lost control; I don't know why! God, don't hit me, I think you broke my ribs!" Vince blinked up at Vas. "Fuck, your eyes... What the hell..."
There was a zinging sound, and Vas gasped as what felt like lightning went through him and into Vince; the man's face caved in with an ugly wet sound as the bullet ended his life. Vasily gagged, having the presence of mind to plug the hole in his chest one handed and run, but not to resist the change any longer. He tore loose of his clothes and fled, the shock and pain causing his wolf to go to flight.
It was more than an hour later when he finally came back. The wound had healed almost as he shifted, but he'd been on the edge of change already. Vince was gone; Vasily's shredded clothes remained, but there was no evidence of where the villain's corpse had gone. The stink of quicklime lay where his head had been, what little evidence there had been thoroughly destroyed. Vasily gathered the tatters of his clothes, then searched for the shooter; he found nothing.
"So he was gone?" Pavel asked.
Vas rubbed at his chest where the round had come through; the skin was reddened in a starburst pattern, but the wound was thoroughly closed A much smaller mark was on his back where the bullet had entered.. "Da. Whatever he put in the trash can was taken, too. I didn't find any scents; they dumped buck scent in the can." He wrinkled his nose at the thought of the stink.
Pavel raised an eyebrow, watching his friend; he remembered what Vasily had been like back in Russia, and hoped that he'd never revert to the infamous 'Villany'. "Are you alright?"
Vasily sighed. "No, not really. I could not protect an innocent woman, and I couldn't protect the beast who killed her." He tipped back the tumbler of Jack Daniels in a single gulp. "Would that I could get drunk; this would be a good time for it."
Pavel quirked a smile. "You never, ever got drunk, even before."
Vasily stopped and stared, then laughed out loud. "You were not there when Igor held Court! He said 'drink' and you drank! If the Black Sea had been vodka, that man would have drained it in one go. Of COURSE I got drunk. He wasn't human!" He paused, and odd expression on his face. "Then again, neither am I, now." He poured another tumbler of whiskey. "We know something, though, that we didn't before."
"Oh? What?" Pavel nursed his own beer.
"That Vince was hired. Someone wanted some kind of knife that Miss Kanlon had. They are also local, and didn't want Vince alive after things went bad for him in the theft." Vasily rubbed his head. "What we don't know is who has it now, and why they wanted it."
"Shit." Pavel held the half empty bottle up to the light before finishing it. "We should find out what the knife was, then."
Vasily nodded, agreeing. "Thank you for helping me."
Pavel grinned. "What are friends for?"