Incy Wincy Spider Page 7

  Chapter 6

  Sydney - Thursday: September 24

  Finally, the man we'd been waiting for was released from custody. Steve's mate had given us his description so we had no trouble recognising him when he stepped out of the Station and headed east along the footpath. We were just discussing whether we should both go on foot or one of us keep to the car in case we needed it, when the decision was made for us. A black Holden Commodore pulled up next to the footpath near him, he got in and the car took off. I followed it at a safe distance, as Doris is a very noticeable lady.

  After about 2K's of turns around Sydney's city streets, the Commodore entered the underground car park of a tall building. It was an obviously a private car park with entrance by swipe card only. I drove past and parked in the next street along. We walked back and entered the building through its front door. The legend behind the receptionist's desk read Tarasoff and Co. "Bingo!" I whispered to Steve and we walked to the front desk, where a pretty receptionist smiled a welcome at us as if we were the most important people on earth.

  "Good morning, gentlemen? how can I help you?" She said, still smiling

  "Hi there" I said, "Can you tell me if Mr. Tarasoff is in?" I asked.

  "I am sorry sir. Mr. Tarasoff is based in Melbourne; this is just a local subsidiary of the Parent Company. Could someone else help you?" She said, smiling a little less.

  "Maybe you can," I said.

  "Oh, me?" She said- no smile now. Now she was unsure whether she should be talking to me at all. Steve stepped up and showed her his Detective's ID. Alarm took over from the lost smile.

  "This is police business Miss," he said authoritatively.

  "Oh?" She repeated, and she was no longer uncertain, she was sure she did not want to talk to us at all. "Maybe I should ask Mr. Vasiliev to see you gentlemen?" She added.

  "And who would Mr. Vasiliev be?" I asked.

  "He is the Head of Security for this branch? just let me call him down, for you," she said quickly, starting to dial the internal phone system.

  "Hang on a minute, we would like to talk to you first," Steve said, sounding ominous, fixing her with his laser eyes.

  "Me?" She said, her voice betraying a slight tremor, her body physically moving away.

  "Yes, Miss, you," I said. Her eyes were shifting in her pretty head from me to Steve and back to me: as if, she was watching a tennis match.

  "Yes, you," Steve agreed," Do you know this a man?" And he proceeded to show her a shot of our man he had taken with his mobile phone.

  "Why, yes," relief thick in her voice, "that's him ? Mr. Vasiliev, the person I was just about to call down for you? I'll get him for you right now," and before we could object, she was already talking to someone on the phone.

  I looked at Steve and he nodded.

  "He will be with you in a few minutes, please take a seat," and the smile was back. All was well again; the Earth had returned to its normal axis of rotation, we were no longer her problem. She nodded in the direction of some very expensive looking lounge room furniture. We walked over and sat down, our backs to the window looking out onto the busy city street outside, but we sat facing the banks of elevators in foyer. I noticed that one of them was on its way up from the basement level. When its doors opened, our man stepped out of the elevator and looked at the receptionist, who nodded in our direction. He looked over and for a few seconds froze on the spot, recognition painted on his face. He definitely would not get a job as an actor. Then, getting a hold of himself, he continued toward us forcing a smile on his lips. He extended his hand toward Steve first, showing that he knew that Steve was the cop.

  "Hi, I am Alex Vasiliev, how can I help you?"

  Steve ignored his hand.

  "He is not very good is he?" I said to Steve.

  "Yeah, I have seen a lot better," Steve replied.

  "What do you want?" Vasiliev said in a strained voice, his lips tightening and losing the false smile, all politeness gone.

  "Vasiliev, you can tell us why you were following us last night," Steve asked, as if we were all seated in a police interrogation room, turning his lasers on.

  "I don't know what?" he started.

  "Look Vasiliev, cut the bull shit, I got no time for it," I said, standing up.

  Vasiliev seemed to consider his options for a few moments, then he nodded and said, "Okay, come with me ? somewhere we can talk privately."

  As Vasiliev turned around, I looked at Steve and mouthed, "See? That's how you do it, Grasshopper!"

  "Right, Master," he mouthed back.

  We followed Vasiliev into the lift. He used a special key to access a button marked with a B and the lift quickly descended to a floor below the car park. The doors opened and we stepped out directly into a short corridor with three or four doors leading from it. Vasiliev opened the first door on our left and we followed him into a large room.

  The room was almost empty except for a desk and a few chairs set up right in front of it. The floor was covered in spotless blue-flecked Linoleum, which curved smoothly up the wall about six inches. There drains dotted at regular intervals; a bit like a large bathroom, but with not bath, sink, shower or toilet.

  A strange thought came to me as we approached the desk, "this room would be easy to keep clean, and you just need to hose it down once in a while." I scanned the room and found the tap for just that purpose in a far corner. It gave me an uneasy feeling, and I wasn't quite sure why.

  As Vasiliev walked behind the desk, he pointed to the chairs and said, "Please, sit down."

  "We'll just remain standing, Vasiliev. Now listen here, we want?" I started on him, but he put his hand up and quickly interrupted me.

  "I wasn't asking, I was telling you to sit the fuck down!" He said raising his voice. At the same time, six or seven other men came into the room. They were all holding big guns and they were aimed straight at us.

  Steve looked at me and mouthed "So, is that how YOU do it ? Master?" I just shrugged my shoulders and sat down. As soon as we were seated, the men with the guns came over. As one of them held a gun to each one of our temples, another quickly and expertly tied our arms to the sturdy chairs using electrical ties, nice and tight. Then they searched us expertly and removed our guns, phones and wallets. There were a few unintelligible comments in Russian when they found my KGB gun in my ankle holster. Vasiliev took the gun and looked at it speculatively, then smiled and pocketed it. He placed the rest of our stuff in the drawer of his desk. The others moved behind Vasiliev and kept their guns trained on both of us. Two of the goons remained beside Steve and me.

  Vasiliev did not waste any time. "Where is she?" he asked, leaning on the desk, facing us with what I gathered was his version of a threatening expression. I looked at Steve and we both raised our shoulders in mock puzzlement.

  "Where's who?" I asked.

  Vasiliev raised his eyebrows at one of his men. He gun-butted me hard on the side of the head. The pain was numbing for a moment. I shook my head and managed to splatter some blood all around me, including on the goon's lower trousers and shoes, but I did manage a crooked smile and looked up at him.

  "Hit me again and I will kill you," I promised.

  He said nothing.

  "Where is she?" Vasiliev shouted, again.

  "Go fuck yourself," I said, and the goon hit me again, without needing to be told.

  "You are now a dead man," Steve assured him.

  He said nothing, and smirked. I must have lost consciousness for a brief period, because the next thing I remember is staring at my blood on the clean ceramic tiles and thinking, "That's why this room is so easy to clean; they can hose all the blood down the drain."

  "Where is she?" Vasiliev shouted once more, I slowly looked up at him, but I noticed that this time his question was directed at Steve.

  "What he said," Steve said nodding in my direction. The goon next to Steve hit him as mine had hit me. Steve turned around and spat some bloody saliva right onto the man's nice c
lean white shirt.

  "You are fuckin' dead you prick," Steve gurgled, spraying more blood over him. The man looked at his shirt and then hit Steve again, this time a lot harder.

  "Slowly?I'll do you? slowly." Steve added just before he passed out.

  Vasiliev seemed to hesitate for an instant and then he opened one of the draws in his desk and handed a set of jumper cables to one of the goons behind him.

  For a stupid moment, I wondered why he needed to jump-start his car right now, at this moment. Then I worked it out - it was one of us that was going to be jump-started.

  As the goon with the jumper cables came over to our side of the desk, I could see a big smirk on his face, this prick liked his job. For the first time, I noticed that the desktop was not smooth, but had two big terminals sticking up from it, like those of a car's battery. This was looking worse by the minute. The goon connected one set of the jumper leads ends to these terminals and nodded at Vasiliev, who opened a compartment on top of the desk to reveal a set of dials, knobs and a switch, which he turned on. Immediately an ominous whirring sound started at low pitch and seemed to increase to a steady hum. The goon brought the two free ends of the jumper leads close together and a sizable spark jumped across with a vicious crack!

  Yep, the next few minutes were going to suck. Vasiliev turned a dial and the goon touched the ends again - no spark, he smiled showing us that he thought gold teeth were an attractive adjunct to his ugly face. The goon next to me uttered something in a guttural language and they both laughed.

  "Fuck you too," I said.

  "Where is she?" Vasiliev repeated.

  "I am going to enjoy killing you, Vasiliev" I spat the words out. Vasiliev nodded, and my goon, smiling broadly, ripped my t-shirt in one quick, brutal motion. The other goon attached the jumper leads to my nipples.

  Fuck! It hurt like hell, I thought that my nipples were about to be sheared off by the weight of the clamps alone. The arsehole that had put them on me made a show of checking that he had a good connection but pulling on them a few times, increasing the pain tenfold. I spat in his face.

  He reeled back with some version of "fuck" in Russian and was about to smack me a hard one, but a shout in Russian from Vasiliev stopped him short.

  "I kill you soon, very slow very painful," the guard said, smiling. My nipples were throbbing in pain and I wondered how bad it was going to get once the juice was turned on.

  I never found out, because just then Vasiliev's mobile phone rang. He answered it, stiffened as if he was about to salute a general and then nodded. He said into it something in Russian, probably something like "Right Sir, yes right away Sir. How high Sir?" He hung up, looked at us for a few seconds and then to his men.

  "We have job that needs doing right now? we'll continue this later. Take that off for now." He said to my goon, who was very disappointed. But followed orders and removed the nipple clamps and placed the leads on the desk. Vasiliev switched off the machine and it wound down with a low lament. My nipples were now numb and would soon become even more painful as the throbbing and swelling was already making a comeback.

  "You two stay here, the rest come with me" Vasiliev added and then left taking most of the men with him, the two goons that had hit us and had blood all over them, remained behind and started chattering in some foreign language, Russian, I guessed.

  "Fine shit you landed us into." I heard Steve whisper from his apparently non-comatose stance. "Did you enjoy the nipple clamps?" He added with a crooked smirk.

  "Yeah, they were just great. I'm definitely going to get a set. You should not have come," I said, spitting more blood on the floor.

  "Who would have kept you safe then?" he said, grinning with a bloody smile.

  "You call this? keeping me safe?" I scorned.

  "You're still alive, aren't you?" he said.

  "Well, there is that," I agreed.

  "HEY! You two, shut the fucking UP!" My goon shouted at us in his thick accented voice.

  "Why don't you make me? You mother fucking son of a syphilitic whore," I answered. I am not sure how much of it he understood, but he got the general gist of the insult. I could see his colour changing to red as he approached me, veins in his neck pulsating, his jaw clenched, murder and mayhem in his eyes.

  "That'll do it." Steve said.

  But the goon was just a goon after all. He came and stood right in front of me and just as he was about to swing his gun at my face, I straightened my leg very quickly and very hard, it hit him right in the balls. His expression changed from anger to incredulity and then just as fast to unbearable pain and he doubled up. As his face moved toward the floor, I took the opportunity to give his face the same treatment. He fell back and did not move.

  "Fuck! I think you broke his neck." Steve exclaimed.

  "Warned him, didn't I?" I said.

  "That you did, I heard you," he nodded in total agreement.

  All this had happened so fast that, for a few moments, the event did not fully penetrate the two-inch skull of the other goon. But he soon stood up from his position behind the boss's desk, at which he had been 'reading' a Playboy magazine.

  "Vhat the fucking?" he said, in an even heavier accent.

  "Your friend saw the size of my dick and fainted, but he did say that it was bigger than your brain. Come take a look, moron," I invited him.

  He got up and quickly came around the desk and stood looking at his mate for about ten nanoseconds too long. Steve propelled himself, chair and all into the small of his back. Steve's head hit his kidney region with a mushy kind of sound. As the goon naturally fell downward, my foot was there waiting for his face. He did not get up either.

  "I hope you did not kill him," Steve said from the floor.

  "What do you care? He was a dickhead," I said.

  "I promised I would kill him slowly, that was much too quick," Steve said in a hurt tone, and then continued. "What now, Master?"

  "Grasshopper, see if you can find a knife on one of these idiots then cut us loose."

  "I am a bit tied up myself, Master," he pointed out.

  "Grasshopper, I have faith in you. You will find the way. But do it before the rest of the goon squad returns ? there's a good boy," I preached.

  "Gee thanks," he said. He then struggled, chair and all, with grunts and heavy breathing to get nearer to the two lying on the floor. It took him a while to inch his way there, turn the chair and slowly search a pocket at a time, with the limited mobility of his hands.

  "Sometime today would be good," I commented.

  "Fuck you, why don't you help?" he grunted.

  "I don't need to, I'm not tied up ? you are," I told him.

  "What?" He looked up and saw that my hands were now free. My watch has a little spring action thingy that flicks out a tiny but very sharp blade. I had been issued it by Robyn's mob, during that ill-fated job, and had not bothered to return it.

  "You prick!" he said.

  "Hey, watch your mouth, I'm the Master, and you are just a lil' grasshopper!" I warned him in a stern voice.

  "You are a master prick!" he added while I cut his bonds. Just then, his goon stirred. Bad timing, Steve, already somewhat unhappy with life in general, vented off his anger on the guy's head. With a moan, he went right back to sleep, maybe even permanently.

  "OK, I guess we better go? but maybe, while we are here?" I said

  "? We might as well take a look around," Steve finished.

  The desk was pretty much empty, except for more instruments of unpleasantness and for our things, which we returned to our various holsters. I did take a quick peek at the Playboy ? just to check out the articles that I would not be reading, of course. The goons had nothing of interest on them, except for a few hundred dollars in cash and a pair of .44 Remington Magnum revolvers, the arse holes must watch too much TV. I confiscated the lot; no doubt, I did not make their day.

  "You are not going to rob them are you?" Steve said in disgusted tone, ever the policeman.


  "Hey, I'm and entrepreneur! I see an opportunity, I grab it! Besides, they probably stole the money, it's my duty to reclaim stolen property," I answered.

  "You are hopeless," he said shaking his head.

  "You want some of it?" I asked.

  "Well, yeah! Now that it's coming from you, I didn't steal it, did I? It's now a present, right?" he rationalized.

  "Yeah right," I said, handing him one of the .44's and some of the cash.

  "Well ? let's get out of here." Steve said.

  But of course the door was locked and the goons on the floor had no keys at all. So I shot one of those enormous .44 bullets at the lock on the door and it punched it right through into the corridor - lock and all. The door swung open all by itself.

  Luckily, we were standing on each side of the door, because as it opened, a hail of bullets followed.

  "I guess Vasiliev did not trust those two idiots," Steve said, nodding to the two on the floor, whose bodies twitched as the hail of bullets hit them.

  "Would you?" I asked.

  "Are you kidding?" he answered.

  "How many are out here, do you reckon?" I asked.

  "At least two," he answered.

  "Yeah, that's what I figure." I said.

  "How do we do it?" he asked.

  "Only one way," I said.

  "I was afraid you were going to say that," he said, after pumping a few shots through the doorway, aiming at nothing, just for the effect. The sound was deafening, and must have given the goons outside pause, as the big .44 bullets ricochet down the corridor. On the count of a silent three, we dove through the doorway, as if we were about to score a try, rolled, turned and shoot the two extra goons, who were waiting for us. Each had been standing exactly where we thought two goons would be: on either side of the doorway.

  "I hate doing that. One day it's not going to work," Steve said, breathing heavily. His heart must have been going at least as fast as mine was, and mine was just about to fibrillate.

  "Yeah, I know that. But when that day comes we won't worry, because we'll be dead, right?" I said, breathing hard too. We sat there on the floor for a few minutes more and then I searched the two new goons and found a set of car keys in one of their pockets and more cash.

  "It's really true that you can't take it with you" I admonished one of the bodies.

  We dropped the .44's next to them, after wiping them clean of prints. Using one of the keys on the key ring, we were able to take the elevator up to the car park. When Steve pressed the door lock/open gismo, a red Ford Falcon V8 obediently answered the call. I got into the passenger seat and Steve had the powerful motor going in no time. We headed toward the entrance, which was blocked by the card activated roller door. I looked in the car's glove box for a swipe-card to open it, but there was none. He stopped the car a few metres from it.

  "What do you reckon?" he asked.

  "Go for it, it's not my car, "I said.

  "Hold on," he said

  "I always hold on when you drive," I said.

  He reversed the car as far as it would go, it was easy to tell when that happened - it hit the back wall with a loud crunch. He gunned the engine, dropped the clutch, the tires squealed and we approached the roller door at the speed of light. The heavy Ford powered right through the roller door like it was butter. The windscreen blew in; the hood popped open and flew off hitting the roof and denting it in. The bright red Falcon entered the main street roaring like a tank and enveloped in the roller door. It was steaming from its crushed radiator like an insane locomotive and its fan was making a noise like a machine gun on speed. It suddenly stopped and with a final BANG, it died right there in the middle of the busy city street.

  "That went pretty well," Steve said.

  "We better get out of here before we attract attention," I admonished.

  "Very funny," Steve said, kicking his door open. Mine would not open so I followed him right out. Traffic was backed up on both side of the Falcon, we brushed our clothes clean from the fine glass that had showered all over us, and without looking back strolled toward the street, where we'd parked Doris. Apart from his bloody face, Steve looked pretty good, I must have been a sight: bloody faced, T-shirt torn to my waist and big bruises around my now puffy nipples. I guess about a hundred people stood still, staring at us as we walked calmly all the way around the corner and then, unseen, to my car.

  "I should stay here ? you know what the book says: 'never leave the site of an accident'," he quoted.

  "That was no accident, you did it on purpose," I pointed out.

  "True," he agreed.

  "Think of the paperwork ? especially with all the bodies we left behind," I added.

  "Yeah! Fuck the paperwork, and fuck the book too, let's go," he agreed and I eased us out of the area as only a car like mine could do: with aplomb!

  But it was our lucky day - just as we rounded the far corner of the street, the black Commodore with Vasiliev and the rest of his goon squad returned. They hesitated at the sight of the red Ford and then on seeing Doris they gunned their car right onto the footpath to get to us, not minding the near misses they had with startled pedestrian. They came straight after us, gun-full hands waving out their windows; these guys had nothing on the Keystone Cops. One of the idiots actually discharged his gun in the middle of the city ? I heard a dull clung.

  "Did someone shoot Doris?" I asked incredulously.

  "Oh boy, now they are fucked!" Steve said ominously.

  "You better believe it! The fucking assholes! No one shoots at Doris!" I said, my voice trembling with emotion. "Right! I am heading for the pit," I informed Steve.

  "Oh no, not the pit," Steve grimaced.

  "The pit, they fucking asked for it," I confirmed.

  "Oh shit!" Steve murmured.