Late to the Party

After Grozny pulls me from the truck, he orders one of his goons to pull me into a car. The road is surprisingly empty and idly I think about how maybe some traffic management plans I signed off on might have made this possible. The body is thrown in besides me, its stench wet, hot and bloody. The door slammed shut and as we pull away I see Grozny's boys hurling gas all over the car, paying special attention to the inside, then turning it into a pyre for the poor officers laying dead inside.

I'm driven along a crazy, twisting and turning route until we end up somewhere in the industrial district. I'm taken out of the car, wet from the blood soaked into my expensive suit, and herded into a building, another warehouse, a Grozny staple if ever there was one. Inside is two chairs either side of a table. I'm made to sit on one side will Grozny comes in and sits on the other. I'm too shocked to say anything, so I just stare at him.

"Perhaps you think I am stupid Thomas?"

I don't like where this conversation is going.

"Quite the contrary, I think you're a very... capable... man, Mr. Grozny. However, do you even realise what you have done? You've put us both in a very awkward position with this little stunt."

Grozny leans back in his chair, a smile on his lips. "That's nonsense Thomas. You yourself appreciate the value of a good story, no? I am merely writing one of my own and taking care of our mutual problem at the same time. Besides, it is time for our little game to come to an end."

I raise an eyebrow in response and cross my arms.

"You didn't think you could try and hold anything over me did you Thomas, try and get out of our agreement? You didn't think I hadn't noticed your obvious games at cat and mouse, putting me in situation you deemed unfavourable to my continued ability to make you do what I want?"

It seems Victor is a lot sharper than I gave him credit for, and I shift uncomfortably in my chair as he leans forwards.

"The subtle hints at my guilt, the inferences you made, putting yourself in the limelight and out of my reach. You like telling stories, don't you Thomas? Well allow me to tell you a story." Grozny says, pulling out a short, sharp knife. "It starts with a letter to your private luncheon, a terrorist threat and a finger."

The two heavies behind me lean heavily on my shoulders and I scream.

The End

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