"You don't have much of a choice. It's either that or continue paying him. Of course, using the police for something like that presents a whole different problem."
"Such as?"
"You'd be committing a crime. A serious one. If the policeman you approach decides to reject your offer, you might get locked up."
"And if I hire you?"
"Then I'll deal with this man on your behalf. But you need to accept that it will get violent. There is no other way to send a message across to such a man."
"You're not suggesting…I don't want to…you know."
I gave her a smile, though I wasn't sure what she might see in it. "I'm not a hired killer."
Rachel did not appear to notice that I did not deny having killed people.
She thought it over for a long while, alternately staring into her coffee cup and drinking from it. I let her think things through without interruption. Her hesitation was understandable. Initiating serious violence for the first time is never an easy decision for any law-abiding person. Finally, she nodded.
I told her I'd come to the restaurant the next time she was supposed to pay the man. And here I was.
I could tell Rachel was not enamored of my plan. I well understood why. Asking her to open the door to her tormentor meant that she would need to get close to him. This was not how she had envisioned this night. The way she'd pictured it, I was here so she would never have to be close to Yuri again.
"You can do this," I told her. "Just open the door and lead him to me. Don't let him see that anything is different tonight."
"How do I do that?"
Her voice was shaky and fear was written all over her face. Which was what Yuri would expect.
"Don't think about it. Just be as you are and you'll do fine. All right?"
She nodded. I glanced at my watch. We had less than ten minutes. I told Rachel to get behind the serving counter and make herself busy. Like any other normal day after closing. She did as I said and began folding napkins. I stationed myself in the dark entryway to the kitchen, alternating my gaze between the street door and her. With my right hand fondling the folded knife in my pocket, I found myself looking at her more and more. She seemed intent on her work, and there was something nice about it, something…pleasantly ordinary, something—
The rattling of the front door broke off my train of thought. My eyes veered toward it. A shadow behind the glass, but I could not make out its shape or size. I turned to Rachel. She stood frozen, unable to move.
"Go," I whispered at her, or maybe it came off as more of a hiss, because she gave a start, dropped the napkin she'd been holding, and walked with mincing steps toward the door.
I drew out the knife and pressed the release button. I could feel my pulse throbbing in my neck. My skin tingled. My fingers tightened around the knife handle. I hadn't always been this man, one who is excited by the prospect of battle and bloodshed. But I was such a man now. There was shame in that, I knew. My father, whom I had revered above all other men, would not have approved. But shame should not inspire false denial. I was who I was. And who I was relished the coming violence.
Rachel reached the door. I let out a slow, almost endless breath. I was ready.
I knew there was a problem the moment she opened the door. Rachel let out a noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a yelp. I quickly saw why. There were two men standing on the threshold, not one.
I cursed silently.
Now I wished I had brought the Luger along. Because taking one man by surprise is one thing. Doing the same with two is quite another.
Rachel took a few faltering steps back. The men strode in, one of them shutting the door. I heard the click of the lock being turned.
"Hello, Rachel," the first man said. His voice was high-pitched, and it fairly quavered when he spoke. From excitement, it seemed. "Miss me?"
He had to be Yuri. He fit Rachel's description perfectly—average height and unimposing build, pale complexion, forgettable features, short black hair receding at the temples. The only thing threatening about him was his grin. Wide, almost manic with excitement. That grin made me even angrier than I had been since Rachel Weiss first told me about him. He wore blue jeans and a white shirt with its three top buttons undone. His chest was pale and hairless. His armpits were stained with sweat.
If Yuri had come alone, I would have had no problem. At six foot three, I was taller than he was by about six inches. I also outweighed him by a good margin. And I had arranged things so I would have the element of surprise on my side. Yuri's companion was a different matter.
