One of my men pointed to the room. “This way, sir.”
I stepped over the dildos. Many of them were two to three feet long. I couldn’t imagine any women enjoying them.
Did you like them, Rumi?
Sasha and I entered the room. A large tube of lube sat on his office desk. A leather suit rested on the chair.
Sasha grinned. “A man after my own heart.”
That’s the other reason why I’m doing this myself. You have no discipline.
I walked to the other side of the desk.
Sasha remained where he was, studying the leather.
“The killer had no control.” I looked up at one of my men and asked in Russian, “Did you find anything?”
“Just a wig under the desk,” he replied. “Everything was wiped pretty clean, but we’ll keep looking. We’ll find something.”
“Where’s the guy who should have answers?” I asked.
“In the game room.” They led the way.
I followed. “Good. I’ve always been a fan of games.”
I walked into the room and stood in front of a crumbled man—beat up by life, beat up by my men. Brown skin. Bald head. Lots of muscle. Probably could’ve been a boxer or a football player had anyone cared about him.
With some people, childhood pain raged within the eyes, settling at the core of angry pupils. He had those eyes. He’d probably been unlucky since the day he was born.
The fact that I stood in front of him meant his luck wouldn’t improve.
I took off my jacket, unbuttoned my shirt, and shed that too. One of my men grabbed them. Although I wasn’t a fashion person like my sister Valentina—always needing to buy this designer or that—I hated blood on my suit.
I gestured to my men. “Lift his head.”
They did.
Blood streamed down his face as he coughed and spat out murky saliva. He blinked his bruised eyes and squinted at me, probably taking in the tattoo on my bare arm.
It was a lion climbing up a rocky cliff. The huge creature’s mane waved in the air. His eyes roared fiercely violent. His claws looked so sharp against my skin, many women told me they feared they’d be cut from caressing the bicep.
My brother walked in, spotted the beaten guy, and frowned. “Next time, clean this up before you call us.”
My men nodded.
Sasha hated blood—the scent, the feel, the sight. Even when he killed, he did so in clean ways—ropes, needles, drowning, etc. Our other brothers joked that he murdered like an old woman. Always hanging this person or that.
“It’s messy.” Sasha looked away and probably would continue to avoid the scene.
I took off my watch, pocketed it, and turned to the beaten guy. “What’s your name?”
“Darryl.” Blood dripped from the corner of his lip. “I told them I-I don’t know who did it. I don’t know how to do what he did. I can’t—”
I shrugged. “Then, are you ready to die, Darryl?”
“No! Please, God no.”
“I need a solution.” I walked over to him.
“I don’t know who did it! I don’t!” Darryl scrambled back, struggling to get out of my men’s hold.
Fifty million dollars is missing. You’re lucky your heart is still beating and none of your legs are broken.
In a calm voice, I asked, “Where’s my money?”
“I-I don’t know. I—”
“Relax.” I stopped in front of him and kneeled to face him. “Do you know who I am?”
Darryl shivered and nodded his head. “You’re the Russian Lion.”
“You silly Americans.” I smiled. “I am not the Russian lion.” I leaned in closer. “I am the Lion, and there are no others above or on my level.”
“Y-yes, s-sir.”
“It’s always important to know who you’re having a conversation with. Don’t you agree?”
“Y-yes.” Darryl’s chest rose and fell like he’d been running.
“Let’s begin.” I gestured at my men.
They let Darryl go. He dropped to the floor.
One of my men brought over a chair. I rose and sat in it. Darryl stared at me, trembling with my every movement.
A man pushed over a tray full of beautiful things—fire torch, several different hand saws, a trusty hammer, pliers, a cheese grater, and nail gun. I studied the tray wondering what I would start with first.
“Do not use the cheese grater.” Sasha glanced at the tray. “I hate when you do it.”
I shrugged at Darryl. “My brother doesn’t have the stomach for certain things.”
Darryl pissed his pants, staining his jeans. Urine spilled out on the carpet under him.
“Fine. No cheese grater this evening.” I grabbed the nail gun, leaned back in my chair, crossed my legs, and rested the gun on my lap. “Do you know a lot about lions, Darryl?”
He stared at the nail gun, his lip quivering with each second. “N-no.”
“Although they are the largest animals, lions are not the best hunters.” I trailed the length of the nail gun with my thumb. “Lions survive because they hunt in groups. Loyalty is important. And their hunting methods are ruthless and scientific.”
I gestured for him to come closer. Darryl crawled my way, reeking of urine. When he got a few inches from me, he placed his hands into a praying position.
“P-please—”
“Do you know why they call me the Lion?”
“N-no, sir.”
“A lion’s favorite way to kill is suffocation.” I rushed for him, wrapped one hand around his throat, and placed the tip of the nail gun to his temple.
My movement caught everyone by surprise. Darryl screamed before finding himself choked. My men grabbed their guns not knowing what was going on and then quickly put them away.
I stared into Darryl’s eyes as he struggled against choking. “They call me the Lion because I’m fast when I attack. At times, I surprise myself.”
Sasha turned our way and took out a cigarette. “Really, Kazimir? There’s no need for you to get dirty.”
Darryl struggled, clawing at my hands and fighting to breathe.
I tightened my hold on his windpipe and turned to Sasha. “Come on, brother. I never get blood on my hands anymore.”
“Respectfully, I believe we don’t have the time. If Rumi was meant to hurt our money, then there will be a war to deal with. You’ll have plenty of time for blood.” Sasha lit his cigarette, inhaled, and blew out a circle. “Maybe we should ask him questions. Instead of choke him.”
“I’m getting to that. This is foreplay.” I let go of Darryl’s throat and slung him to the floor. “Ignore my brother. He’s always in a bad mood when he comes to America. You can’t get a good vodka here.”
Darryl coughed into his hands as he lay on the floor.
“But enough about my brother.” I kneeled by Darryl. “Here’s an interesting fact. A single lion will often get a good bite on its victim's throat and crush the windpipe.” I brought the nail gun to his face and pressed the tip on his temple.
“P-please, I don’t know anything.”
“While that lion is suffocating the prey, it is not odd for the other lions to open the abdomen.” I moved the nail gun to his stomach. “And then the lions will begin eating while the animal is still being suffocated.”