Kasim (Kit) Tufek
Sunday Aug 1
My doorbell buzzes, I place my ham sandwich on the granite countertop, and grumble. It’s probably some nosy neighbor. Other than a select few, no one knows where I live, and I damn well like it that way.
Out in the hall, a dark-haired stranger in a cheap business suit flashes a badge at the peephole. “FBI. Can we talk?”
“Can I say no?” I promised a few kids a game of street hockey and they’re waiting for me.
“Sure. I’ll get a warrant. Sit tight. Be right back.” When he takes a few steps down the hall, I unbolt my door, and the arrogant bastard shoves past my stainless-steel appliances, and sizes me up and down.
I haven’t done anything illegal. Certainly not since arriving in the states. If he wants a fight, I’ll take him down. I got at least forty pounds on him and six inches.
“What da hell do you want?” I get my face up in his and he’s smart enough to take a step back.
“I understand you’re undergoing physical therapy?”
“Yeah. Some law against dat? Eh?”
“Sit down, Mr. Tufek.” The man turns, saunters into my goddamned living room, and sinks into my new leather couch.
Chewing slowly, I grab the rest of my sandwich and lean against the wall next to my hockey stick. “You said something about a warrant?”
“We think you might have witnessed a crime.” Beady dark eyes above a misshapen nose hone in on me.
I wouldn’t tell this guy squat, even if my life depended on it. “Haven’t seen a thing.”
The Fed’s eyes narrow as he unbuttons his jacket, slowly exposing a holstered revolver. Then he flashes a snake-like smile, his hand inside his jacket.
“How much do you like living in the US of A?” Fifteen years ago, there was a similar lowlife, a Croatian border guard, holding a gun to my father’s temple.
That’s why I grab my stick and picture the American bloodied, laid out on my floor.
“Are you fuckin’ d’reatening me?” I could break his fingers and he wouldn’t know what hit him.
Paling, he moves his hand away from his weapon. “Maybe you should calm down.”
“What, exactly, are you doing here?” I stand an inch in front of him and if he makes a move, he’s going down.
“It’s quite simple. I understand that you’re friends with Melanie Quinn?”
“None of your business.” No doubt, the moment I ram this stick up his ass, I’ll lose my visa but you don’t mess with people I care about.
My fists clamp around the familiar wood as the bâtard spreads his arms over the back of my couch. “If you play your cards right, Ms. Quinn won’t be involved. The FBI is simply asking for your cooperation.”
“Go on.”
“A Russian figure skater will hand you something, you’ll put it in your pocket, and I’ll come get it.” He reaches into his pocket, taps his cell phone a few times, and hands it to me.
Oh, fuck. My balls tighten at the sight of Sonia Dmitriyev. In four years, she’
I still got this reoccurring nightmare where I’m back in Sochi and agree to fuck her. That little piece of jail-bait almost cost me my job. Thank God that my mates warned me or my life would’ve ended after those Olympics.
“Let’s say I agree to do this one thing for you. After dat, we’re done?”
Nodding, his hand reaches out to shake on the deal. Instead, I squeeze so hard he falls onto his knees with eyes watering. After, with my left hand I unsnap his holster, take out his gun, and click off the safety.
With the muzzle to his head, I say, “You don’t want to fuck wid me. Understand?”
He glares and refuses to yield.
“Say it.” I push the metal into his thick skull and cock the trigger.
“Shit. Yes. I understand.”
Smiling, I help him to his feet and shove him out the door like trash. Then, after letting the gun clip bounce on the hallway carpet, I hand him his weapon.
“Fuck off.”
Somehow, Sonia has gotten herself into a pile of shit and I got a real ache in my gut about it. After putting a pod of Earl Gray into the coffee machine, I pull out my laptop, and find her on YouTube. Graceful as an angel, she glides across the ice in a costume showing a hell of lot more curves than I recall. Her sleek black hair is in a tight bun, her skin flawless but it’s those eyes that get to me. Those goddamned, almond-shaped fuck-me-now, doe-eyes. Even now, they make my blood run south creating a large, uncomfortable erection.
Obviously, it’s now time to do what she wanted when she was seventeen and purge her from my system. If I help her out of this jam, I’m betting she’ll be more than willing.