Spider's Web: A Collection of All-Action Short Stories Read Free

know what they call the cops in Russia? Trash. Garbage. That’s what you are. Garbage.’
    ‘I thought you were a professional,’ said Shepherd.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Professionals kill for money. Who’s going to pay you for killing me?’
    ‘You I will kill for free.’
    ‘But killing me is pointless. I’m doing my job, that’s all. If you kill me someone else will take over. And if you kill him someone will take over from him. This isn’t personal, Tankov. You’re just a job for me.’
    ‘A job that will be the death of you.’
    Shepherd shook his head. ‘We’re the same, you and me,’ he said. ‘You do what you do for money. So do I. We’re two professionals. Your job is to kill people. My job is to stop you. You’re going to kill me because I’m doing my job.’
    ‘And you think that’s unfair?’ said the Russian.
    ‘I’m long past the stage of worrying about what’s fair and what’s not fair. Life isn’t fair, I know that. Good people get hurt and people get away with doing bad things. I’m just saying, there’s zero profit in you killing me.’
    ‘It would shut you up, for a start,’ growled the Scotsman.
    ‘I’m just saying. You killed this Grabosky character. You killed him for money. But if you kill me, you get nothing.’
    ‘Think of it as …Rkilt as 17; Tankov frowned and looked over at the Scotsman. ‘What’s that phrase I heard? Latin or something. Means you do something for free.’
    ‘Pro bono,’ said the Scotsman.
    Tankov nodded. ‘That’s it. Pro bono. I’ll kill you for pro bono.’
    ‘Then you’re no different from any other gangbanger with a gun,’ said Shepherd. ‘Professionals don’t kill for anything other than cold, hard cash.’
    Tankov waved the knife under Shepherd’s chin. ‘You talk too much.’
    ‘And what about the guy who paid you to kill Grabosky? How much did he pay you?’
    ‘I told you. A quarter of a million dollars.’
    ‘So how’s he going to feel when he hears you’ve done the same thing for free?’
    ‘He won’t know. No one will. No one’s ever going to find your body.’ He pressed the knife against Shepherd’s throat. ‘But first you need to tell me how much you know.’
    ‘That could take some time,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ve got an eidetic memory.’
    ‘A what?’
    ‘An eidetic. I remember everything I’ve seen or heard.’
    The Russian grinned. ‘Then you won’t have any problems telling me what you know about me, will you?’ He pressed the knife harder against Shepherd’s throat and it punctured the skin. Blood dribbled down the blade.
    ‘Your name is Viktor Tankov, you served in the Russian military in Afghanistan in the late eighties, just before they pulled out. You made a bit of a name for yourself in Chechnya in the late nineties and you went freelance in 2001, just after 9/11.’
    Tankov nodded. ‘I should have gone independent sooner, but I did not know how,’ he said. ‘I was a soldier, I was used to following orders.’ He pulled the blade of the knife out and Shepherd felt blood trickle down his neck. ‘How did you know I was in the UK?’
    ‘The Border Agency was watching for you.’
    ‘I did not travel under my own name.’
    ‘The face recognition system spotted you,’ said Shepherd.
    ‘But I flew in through Dublin and came over on the ferry.’
    ‘Yes, I know.’
    ‘So why wasn’t I arrested?’
    ‘We’ve nothing on you,’ said Shepherd. ‘You never leave forensic evidence, there are no witnesses, and like you said, most of the time there isn’t even a body.’
    ‘So the British cops have nothing? No evidence against me?’
    ‘That’s why I was put on the case.’
    The Russian laughed harshly. ‘That didn’t work out so well for you, did it?’
    Shepherd said nothing. He could still feel blood trickling down his neck.
    ‘If you have no evidence against me, how did you know who I was?’
    ‘We cooperate more with the Russians these days. The SVR notified us.’
    Tankov