Blind Eye

69

The gunshot echoed around the cavernous warehouse. Wiktorja stared down at the dot of black in the middle of her T-shirt as it spread out into a dark red stain. And then her legs gave way.

Kravchenko let go and she fell to the concrete floor, screaming behind the gag. Then he pointed his shiny gun at Logan. 'This is better?'

Pirie was swearing. 'Oh Jesus, oh fucking Jesus…'

Logan's mouth seemed to have stopped working. 'But… she… you…'

'Now we can get to business, yes?'

'You shot her!' Pirie pointed a shaky finger at the woman slowly bleeding out on the floor. 'SHE'S A POLICE OFFICER!'

'No. Detective Sergeant is right — she is not policja any more. She is interfering kurwa. She work for Ehrlichmann, try to find me for him.' Kravchenko smiled. 'But I find her first, no?'

The DS ran a hand through his ginger hair. 'You never said anything about killing her!'

Logan stared at Pirie. 'WHAT?'

'Why now you have conscience? You remember Luboslaw Frankowski?'

Pirie fidgeted. 'That was an accident. Didn't know the silly sod would take all the whisky and pills at once, did I?' He turned to Logan. 'I swear to God, I was only trying to keep him quiet — buy him a heap of booze, keep his mind off stuff. He was going to call the station and tell them everything… I didn't have any choice.'

Logan stared at him. 'You're in on it? Are you insane?'

'This wasn't supposed to happen, OK? It was just meant to be a chat, see if you were on the team or not. Nobody was meant to get hurt, it-'

'Hurt? He's been blinding people, you moron! Setting up a drugs war! Not some piddling little turf dispute — HE'S GOT FUCKING MACHINE GUNS!'

'What was I supposed to do? He's paying thousands. Thousands. Bloody city's rolling in oil money, why shouldn't we get a slice, eh? Why shouldn't we-'

'You knew about this from the start, didn't you? You knew

— you could have stopped it!' 'It's not like-' Logan jabbed the gun into Pirie's ear. 'I GOT BLOWN UP BECAUSE OF YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!'

Pirie backed away, hands up. 'I was just… It wasn't…' And then he turned and ran for it, bursting through the door and out into the office unit.

Kravchenko watched him go. 'Do not make worry, Grigor will catch him.'

Logan turned back. Wiktorja was lying on her side, knees curled up to her chest, dark red blood oozing out onto the concrete floor. She was shivering, moaning behind her gag. And it was all Logan's fault. 'She… wasn't working for you?'

Kravchenko leant back against the stack of I-beams, legs crossed at the ankle. 'This Pirie is weak man. Never have jajca to stand on own feet. Take money and do what is told. Man who can be bought is weak — I buy him from your Hamish Mowat, maybe someone will buy him from me too? But man like you…' Kravchenko clicked his fingers. 'What is word for "idealistyczny"?… Ah: idealistic.'

Logan couldn't take his eyes off the expanding pool of blood. Feeling sick. 'We need to get her an ambulance.'

'Why you care? She is liar, yes? Make you into fool.'

Logan could barely hold the gun still. 'Get your arse on the floor, or I will shoot you.'

'You think I am too rough with her?' He nudged Wiktorja with his toe and she groaned. Her face was unbelievably pale, the bags under her eyes standing out dark purple. Kravchenko reached down and tore the duct tape gag from her mouth.

'Aaghh, Jesus…' Her lips were turning blue. 'Kill him…' She gritted her teeth. 'Kill him… please…'

'Why would Detective Sergeant kill me? I am his friend, but you… You use him to find me, I am thinking he does not like this.' He smiled at Logan. 'She pay man in Warsaw Police to tell her if anyone ask question about me. Is clever, yes?'

'You… you blinded… my father. You carved out his eyes!'

Kravchenko shrugged. 'I make blind many men. Maybe I make you blind too, before you die?'

She recoiled, trying to squirm away from him, hands still tied behind her back, but every motion made her cry out in pain.

Logan tightened his grip on the trigger. 'Get away from her. Now!'

Kravchenko reached into his pocket and pulled out the Swiss Army knife. 'When I am finish.' The little tin of lighter fluid was next.

'I'm not telling you again!'

Wiktorja stared at the knife's curving blade. 'Please no… Please! Prosze! Prosze, nie zabijaj mnie!'

Kravchenko grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her face up. She screamed. Logan braced himself, aimed — and the door behind him flew open.

Something went BOOM and the old man ducked. Then the delicate pitter-patter of shot rained down on the concrete floor. 'Next one,' said a voice from the doorway, 'doesn't go into the ceiling.'

Thank God — the cavalry was here…

Only when Logan looked around, the guy standing in the doorway wasn't one of DI Steel's firearms team. He was massive, at least twenty stone, his face twisted with scar tissue — last seen working on an old Jaguar at Wee Hamish Mowat's place: Reuben. He'd ditched the overalls for a straining pink polo shirt, a pair of jumbo-sized jeans, and a sawn-off shotgun. Reuben lumbered into the room, forehead glistening with sweat. And right behind him came a spotty youth with green hair, dragging a blood-smeared DS Pirie into the room.

Green-Hair dumped Pirie in the middle of the floor, then pulled out an old-fashioned revolver.

Pirie looked as if his nose had exploded, leaving a flattened, bloody flap above a swollen mouth. Voice slurred and lisping, 'Please don't kill me!'

Green-Hair kicked him. 'Shut up.'

Reuben looked Logan up and down. 'We're here for the Polish guy.'

Kravchenko picked himself up from the floor. Wiktorja's blood had stained one knee of his linen trousers, turning the cream material a dark raspberry. 'I am not Polish. I am from Ukraine.' He pointed his gun at them. 'And I am going nowhere.'

The kid with the green hair grabbed Pirie by the back of the collar and hauled him to his knees. Then ground the revolver into the side of the Detective Sergeant's head. 'Put your fuckin' gun down or I kill the pig!'

Kravchenko sighed. 'We have already done the "who is make a bluff" talk.' The silvered automatic barked once. A small plume of blood burst from Pirie's stomach, a much bigger one spraying out of his back as the bullet tore straight through.

'SHIT!' Green-Hair let go and danced back, hands and feet high in the air. Pirie slumped back onto the concrete, screaming.

'Now is easier, yes? Now we-'

The fat man in the pink polo shirt said, 'Bugger this,' then shot Kravchenko in the chest with his shotgun.