The Bach Manuscript

Chapter 57

Ben turned sharply round to see Zarko Kožul stepping out of the doorway towards them. All five feet nothing of him, built like a miniature bull and almost as broadly muscular as he was tall, still clad from head to toe in bright crimson that made him blend into his surroundings. His face was flushed dark with pulsating fury and his eyes were bloodshot. The only thing about him that wasn’t red was the little gold-plated .380 Walther PPK automatic clenched in his muscular right hand. Gaudy but deadly, and pointed right at Ben’s heart.

Ben’s reflex was to reach for his own weapon, but he checked himself. Pure survival instinct, because the Colt was tucked in his belt with the safety on. The fastest quick-draw pistoleros in the world could clear the leather and hit two balloons eight feet apart in a tenth of a second. Ben wasn’t too much slower than that. But balloons don’t shoot back, and a .380 slug would travel the ten feet between Kožul’s gun and himself and Madison in a hundredth of a second.

The maths weren’t in Ben’s favour. He stilled his gun hand. Madison’s own weapon was still in her jeans pocket. She had probably come to the same conclusions Ben had.

Kožul was not alone. Dragan Vuković emerged from the doorway after him and stood at his mentor’s shoulder, which was barely higher than Dragan’s midriff. They looked like a comedy duo together, but Ben didn’t suppose that was the reason Dragan looked so amused.

‘You got them, boss,’ Dragan said in Serbian. He had a big black nine-millimetre in his own hand, loose at his side. ‘Blow them both away. Do it, boss, before the bastards cause you any more trouble.’

‘Dragan is impatient,’ Kožul said in English. ‘Young and dumb and impulsive, like I used to be.’

‘Maturity can bring such wisdom to the enlightened few,’ Ben said.

Kožul wagged the gold Walther. ‘Enough bull. Pistols on the floor. Finger and thumb, nice and slow. Any tricks and I’ll put one in your eye. I’m a real good shot with this.’

Ben hesitated, then slowly reached down to the butt of the Colt. Inched the weapon out of his belt between thumb and forefinger, dangled it in front of him and let it drop to the carpet with a soft thud. Madison did the same with hers.

‘Blades too,’ Kožul said. Next the matching pair of survival knives joined the pistols on the red carpet.

‘Now the case,’ Kožul said. ‘What’s inside it belongs to me.’

Madison paused, as though she might actually be considering bolting with the attaché case and its precious contents. Then she let out a sigh and set the case down at her feet and slid it towards Kožul.

Dragan Vuković stepped forward and gathered up all the hardware. He thrust the two pistols in his pockets and the knives through his belt, then grabbed up the case and went back to stand close to his boss.

‘That’s better,’ Kožul said. ‘Now how about we all go make ourselves comfortable in the other room. I got some calls to make.’

Now Dragan was pointing his nine-mil at them as well. Ben and Madison led the way at gunpoint as they all filed into the living room. Kožul directed them to a pair of red leather-upholstered chairs near the window, ordered them to sit, then took a seat himself in the centre of a broad red sofa opposite, making the leather creak under his squat bulk. His legs were so short that his feet didn’t touch the floor, making him look like an evil, steroid-filled, prematurely-aged child of twelve. Meanwhile Dragan walked to a glass-topped coffee table well out of the prisoners’ reach, and laid their guns and knives down on its surface. He set the case down next to the table, then pulled a small walkie-talkie radio handset from his pocket and thumbed the call button. There was a garbled crackling of static, nothing else. ‘I can’t raise anyone, boss,’ he said. ‘They’re all gone.’

‘What about Alek?’ Kožul asked. Dragan shook his head.

‘Alek’s taking a nap in the basement,’ Ben said. ‘A long one.’

Kožul studied Ben for a long moment as he played with the shiny gold pistol, then said, ‘So you’re Hope. The piece of shit who broke up my place of business and took out half my guys. And now you think you’re just gonna come strolling into my home and cost me more fuckin’ grief, hmm? For what? You think I owe you money or something?’

‘You’re not important to me, Kožul. I came here for him,’ Ben said. He pointed at Dragan. ‘It’s a personal thing between the two of us, nobody else. Hand him over to me, and I’ll let you live.’

Kožul laughed loudly and twisted round in the sofa to cast a grin back at Dragan, but not long enough for Ben to rush him and put his nose bone through his brain. ‘Check out the balls of steel on this motherfucker,’ he snorted, and Dragan shook his head in disbelief. Kožul turned back to face Ben, and the amused look turned serious again. ‘So tell me, what’s my man Dragan done to you that you came all the way out here to fix his business?’

‘He killed a friend of mine. I get kind of unreasonable when people do things like that.’

Kožul shrugged. ‘So get in line. You killed a bunch of my guys too.’

‘That’s what comes from mixing in bad company,’ Ben said.

‘We gotta finish this prick, Zarko,’ Dragan interjected in Serbian. ‘Just say the word. I’m itching to whack’m.’

‘Hear that? Dragan wants you dead nearly as much as I do. And you will be, pretty soon. But why rush things? Like I said, I’m going to make a call or two. Get some other guys over here. I got plenty more. Then we’re gonna take ourselves a drive back into town, to this junkyard I happen to own. Lot of problems get solved there.’ Kožul waved the gold pistol at Ben. ‘And we’re going to have ourselves a party getting rid of this one, right, Dragan?’

‘Flatten him good,’ Dragan said in English, eyes fixed on Ben.

‘You won’t be alone,’ Kožul said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘That bitch of a sister of Dragan’s is gonna be joining you. We’ll have her go first, so you can watch her pretty little body go into the crusher and split open like a fuckin’ tomato. People pay good cash for that kind of shit on video. Then it’ll be your turn. Won’t be such a wise-ass then.’

Dragan was smiling. Ben looked at him. This guy’s employer was talking about inflicting a slow and horrific death on his own sister and filming the event for entertainment, and he was smiling.

Ben looked back at Kožul. ‘What did Lena do to piss you off so badly, Zarko?’

‘None of your fuckin’ affair what she did,’ Kožul said. ‘She fucked up my business. People who fuck up my business pay the price. As you’ll find out.’

‘I thought maybe she laughed at you when you tried to make a pass at her, because you’re just a runt.’

Kožul’s eyes flashed dangerously. ‘Keep talking, smart guy. The more you wag that tongue of yours, the worse it gets for you. I just added another hour to your death. Believe me, we’ve had plenty of practice at making it last.’

‘The cops are on their way here, right now,’ Madison said. ‘They could be arriving here any minute, all ready to lock you up for a very long time.’

‘Is that a fact, lady?’

Madison said, ‘Yup. And if I were you, I’d be running away as fast as my fat, stumpy little runt legs could carry me. Pint-sized prisoners have a much worse time in jail.’

Kožul digested her words, then the corners of his mouth downturned in an inverted U and he replied, ‘That’s interesting. You want to see what a pint-sized stumpy little runt like me can do? Watch this.’

Before Ben could launch himself in the way to protect her, Kožul turned the muzzle of the .380 automatic towards Madison and fired once. The sharp crack stabbed the air. Madison went over backwards, toppling the chair with her. Her head hit the wall behind her and she slid to the floor with her eyes closed and lay in an immobile heap.

Ben rose to his feet. But the .380 was already pointing his way and the pistol in Dragan Vuković’s hand was aiming in the same direction.

Kožul said, ‘I would advise you to sit yourself the fuck down, Mr Hope.’