101 People to Kill Before I Die Page 3

  Over the last few years, since I've been out, I've kept an eye on him. So maybe I was always going to do him. Just needed a nudge. He bought another store. Retired. Bought a new house in Fulton Street. He lives there with his wife. Not a bad life - quiet, peaceful, financially secure! All of which was about to end. Very badly.

  I arrived in Wagga Wagga around one in the afternoon. Tension had been slowly building all morning. Anger. Anticipation. As I said earlier I've never actually killed anyone. Or not directly. But I've never thought it would be a big deal. People die all the time. I drove off the main highway onto Sterling Street, drove along Grover's Drive for ten minutes or so and then finally turned into Fulton Street. They might not be home. But if not, I could always come back the next day or again the day after that. I had plenty of time. They didn’t.

  I pulled up outside their house. There was a car parked in the driveway - a BMW series nine. Nice car. Bought with my money. Fucking asshole. The house didn’t look empty - can’t tell you exactly why I thought that. I walked around to the boot of my car, opened it and pulled out the axe. It was a Trojan Type Two model. The handle was about three feet long. The head was fifteen pounds of hardened steel. With a highly sharpened edge. I held it close to my side. Not much point really. Any witness could easily have seen what it was. Not too many people that walk up to a front door holding an axe have anything good in mind. I knocked very loudly on the door with my free hand - shaped into a fist. There was no window from which they could check who was calling - no surveillance camera. Openness and trust! That wasn’t going to work out so well for them.

  The door opened and suddenly there he was - fucking Wesley Williamson, older, greyer, flabbier, looking at me, wondering who I was - eyes starting to widen as he saw the axe. I pushed forward violently, forcing the door open and pushing him backwards. I stormed into the room knocking him over onto his back. A blur of motion from the side caught me off guard - a woman attacking. I recognized her too, his wife Abigail. Instantly I swung the axe up at her - the back of it caught her on the side of the head knocking her senseless onto the ground just a few feet away. I turned my attention back to Wesley. He was swearing at me and starting to roll over in an attempt to get back up on his feet. He had no idea who I was. I couldn’t be bothered explaining it to him. What fucking difference would it make?

  I raised the axe up and then sliced it down into him, hitting him in the shoulder, cutting in deeply. Rivers of blood started gushing out of him. He howled out in pain and fury. Tried to move away. I repositioned myself and swung again. This time I managed a clean cut to the side of the skull. It seemed to split in two - with a loud snapping, cracking sound. Blood and brains splattering everywhere. His body still seemed to be twitching - but surely, he was dead. I executed a few more cuts swinging high and carving into him as deeply as I could. A couple into the chest. One more to the head. I have never seen so much blood. And of course, it was all over me too. I caught some movement from the side. His wife was stirring. She was just as guilty as him. I killed her with a single cut into the skull.

  I walked out of the house in a bit of a daze. I would have to clean myself up, burn all my clothes. Would forensics find anything of me back in there? Probably. But it would take time. I got into my car and just sat there, hands on the wheel. First kill! First blood! I was mostly steady, but my hands were shaking a bit. It really was something after all. Then I puked all over myself. Can you fucking believe that? It’s not easy taking a life - which is just as well because otherwise there would be a lot more dead people. I put the keys into the ignition, started the car and slowly pulled out into the street.

  I'd only gone down to the end of Fulton Street and turned back into Grover's Drive when another car drove up behind me, pulling in close, horn blaring, demanding to get past. Fucking tailgater. Un-fucking believable. I slammed on the breaks and braced myself as his car smashed into the back of mine. I got out, eyes burning with righteous fury, grabbed the axe and walked back towards him. He could not react quickly enough. The last thing he saw in this lifetime was an enraged demonic figure covered in blood and vomit, wielding an axe, storming towards him. I smashed his window, pulled him out onto the road and killed him with the axe. The second kill was much easier. Well, technically the third. I walked back to my car. Fucking tailgaters. It’s illegal, it’s dangerous and it’s just utterly fucking obnoxious.

  Chapter 4. Boris and Vadim.

  Two large thugs in thick grey suits sat on uncomfortable chairs in the outer office of Dmitri Alexandrovistch - waiting to be called in. They were both big men, heavily muscled, very intimidating. Vadim was slightly shorter than Boris. They had been sitting there for some time. Barely moving. Faces frozen. The outer office was bare, except for a few chairs and a single painting on the wall - a man in a small boat in a storm. Neither Boris nor Vadim had ever pondered on what if anything was intended by that. Their boss, Dmitri Alexandrovistch, ran all the organized crime in the Olansky district, which included most of central and eastern Russia. His operations extended into many countries internationally. He was a very powerful man, well connected politically and firmly entrenched. He had a naturally violent and threatening disposition. He was dangerous and not to be taken lightly by anyone who still had the basic desire to stay alive and not be killed. Dmitri had some nasty and widely known ways of disposing of those who displeased him. And it didn’t take much.

  Boris Ivanov and Vadim Smirnov were both highly trained and experienced killers. They'd always been partners. Over the last couple of decades, they had killed thousands of men and a handful of women. Originally, in the Soviet Era, they had trained and then worked together as KGB assassins. When the Soviet Union collapsed they drifted into private employment. In those chaotic times when the wealth and the power was being so slyly and artfully redistributed there was a great demand for their services. They had acquired quite a reputation. They were good at it and they kept their mouths shut. It was no surprise that they ended up working exclusively for Alexandrovistch. He had plenty of jobs for them and he paid them very well.

  They could hear a woman's voice coming from the inner office. She was yelling, practically screaming. Who would do that? There was only one woman it could possibly be. What was she doing here? They glanced at each other, vaguely wondering if she was connected to the next job. Could be a problem. They didn’t like to work with others. They hated the idea of working with her. That they had been summoned certainly meant that someone was going to get the chop. Would they have to shoot him, garrote him, cleave him with an axe, knife, spear, sword, throw him off a building, into a train, drown him, suffocate him with a plastic bag, poison him, or something else - something new and creative maybe? Would it be public or private? How much collateral would be acceptable - or required? Quick, slow? Mr. Alexandrovistch usually liked to specify the details with some precision. Sometimes he expected a video recording. He liked watching his opponents die and in those cases Boris and Vadim had clear instructions to make certain the victim knew who was having them killed. His assignments often served the dual purpose of making a statement to the deceased's associates - or other relevant parties. Boris and Vadim didn’t care about any of it so long as they got away cleanly. They were happy to do whatever they were told. They didn’t care who, how, where or why. Dead is dead, and the few recorded moments in between alive and dead - gasping, screaming, pleading, gushing blood, whatever - didn’t really matter much in the bigger scheme of things. Didn’t matter at all to them. Just another job.

  Vadim broke the silence. Turning slightly towards the other man he asked,

  "Boris?"

  Boris knew it was going to be another of those talks. He replied carefully,

  "Yes Vadim."

  Without much change in expression and speaking quietly Vadim asked,

  "How long has it been since you've had a woman?"

  Boris smiled - which didn’t happen often.

  "Three weeks."

  Vadim was astonished
by this answer. He was with Boris most of the time. They'd done seven jobs in the last month. There hadn't been much time for socializing. He almost gasped out,

  "Three weeks! Who? Where?"

  Boris smiled again, enjoying the moment.

  "Helena Alexandrovistch, at the country estate outside Moscow. You remember, we all met there last month."

  Vadim almost exploded, though not too loudly.

  "You're screwing the boss's wife?"

  Boris stared back at him.

  "Say it louder, moron. We'll both end up in the fucking meat grinder."

  Vadim didn’t reply at first. He was shocked. Then finally he asked,

  "How could you? Why? The risk is too much."

  Boris shrugged.

  "Well .... you know."

  Vadim thought about it for a bit. Contemplating the liaison. Imagining the moment. Gasping at and envying the extent of his partner’s victory. Helena Alexandrovistch was certainly very easy on the eyes. He asked,

  "So, what was she like?"

  Boris was once again enjoying his triumph.

  "She was exquisite. Perfect body. Very reactive. A bit too much so." He paused. Vadim looked puzzled. Boris explained, "She's very vocal, she's a screamer. I had to put a sock in her mouth at one point. Otherwise the guards might have heard. Burst in. Blown my head off." He grinned widely. "It added a certain something to the moment."

  Vadim replied sarcastically,

  "Which head?"

  Boris sighed. His partner was often quite juvenile. But then he shot back,

  "Does it matter?"

  There was silence for a few moments. Then Boris stared back at Vadim, challenging him,

  "So, what about you?"

  Vadim looked back blankly.

  "Nah. I just jerk off. It's much easier. No problems. There's a billion videos on the internet. Anything you could possibly imagine. Just last week there was this one where ..."

  Boris interrupted him,

  "That's OK Vadim. I really don’t want to know."

  Vadim replied,

  "Ah, yeah. All right."

  They reflected on this for a time. Then Boris said,

  "It’s so much better with an actual woman. You know that, don’t you?" He shrugged. "Of course, you can’t do it quite so frequently."

  Vadim nodded. Boris continued speaking.

  "You just have to let it build up. One or two months. No more than three, that's just fucking perverted. Then find or rent an accommodating vagina and go for it. Plough the road."

  Vadim shook his head.

  "I don't know if I could."

  Boris replied coldly,

  "What? Wait for it or find someone?"

  Vadim didn't answer. So Boris pressed on.

  "You could always buy a goat. You would have to beat her though, to teach her to be quiet. All that bleating, in your fucking shitty apartment. Paper walls. Neighbors complaining endlessly. We couldn’t kill all of them."

  Vadim looked back at him.

  "Fuck you."

  But Boris was on a roll. He smirked.

  "Well, that's another option. Not me though. Grigor Pushnikov might be interested. Remember him? He runs Saint Petersburg. You two would make a lovely couple. You would have to be the bitch though and I hear that Pushnikov can be very demanding."

  Before Vadim could begin to formulate a reply, the door burst open and an angry young woman stormed out. Sure enough, it was Svetlana Araknilova. The boss's top female assassin. She was as deadly as she was beautiful. She was wearing a deep blue top with plenty of cleavage and tight black jeans. The jeans highlighted her curves. Vadim found his eyes fixated on her gorgeous ass as she rushed past them. He knew he shouldn't. Not her. He had that lost forlorn aching look. He just couldn't avert his gaze. She turned on him, eyes burning.

  "What are you looking at asshole?"

  Then her tone suddenly changed from one of obvious anger and aggression to something sickly sweet, vastly more dangerous, reeking of death. She asked him quietly,

  "You like what you see?"

  Vadim replied, slowly and reluctantly,

  "Um. Yes."

  He knew it was the wrong answer. But he couldn’t help himself. Boris slapped his hand to his forehead, unable to believe that his partner could be so stupid. He moved back out of the way. Svetlana gripped Vadim by the throat and pushed him back onto the wall. She was just as strong as he was though far less bulky. She snarled at him,

  "You like my body? You want to fuck me?"

  This time Vadim shook his head frantically. He was overwhelmed by her sheer ferocity. He stammered,

  "No, No, No."

  Svetlana pouted, tilted her head.

  "So, you don't like me?"

  Vadim was frozen in place. He didn’t know how to respond. Svetlana with one hand free pulled out a switchblade knife from somewhere hidden and flicked it open. She looked at him coldly.

  "Maybe I just cut your balls off. Yes? No?"

  Vadim shook his head some more. He seemed uncertain.

  "Ah ... No."

  But just then the boss, Dmitri Alexandrovistch, appeared in the doorway. He barked,

  "Svetlana. Let him go."

  She did so. Then she walked off, almost sulking. The boss looked at Vadim and shook his head. Then to both of them he grunted,

  "OK. You two get in here. I've got a job for you. A special one."

  Boris and Vadim followed Dmitri Alexandrovistch back into his office. Boris went in last closing the door behind him. There was a young man already there waiting for them, seated beside the main desk. They recognized him. Constantine Alexandrovistch, Dimitri's nineteen-year-old son. Dimitri took his seat behind the desk. Boris and Vadim remained standing. They waited patiently. Of course, they wondered why Constantine was there. But they would find out shortly. They already knew that they wouldn’t like it much.

  Dmitri Alexandrovistch held up a folder and pushed it towards Boris. He cleared his throat before speaking.

  "Wayne Cummings, some asshole hacker in Melbourne, Australia. He penetrated our network earlier today. Copied some very important files. Details are all in the folder."

  Boris picked it up, opened it. Glanced at it briefly. Dimitri continued speaking.

  "So, go to Australia. Find him. Kill him. Kill anyone else involved. And make sure there are no copies of the files anywhere."

  Boris and Vadim nodded. Boris shrugged and then said,

  "Sure Boss. How do you want him killed?"

  Dimitri pointed towards his son Constantine.

  "I want you to take Constantine with you. It’s time he started getting involved. I want him to be the one that shoots the hacker. Right between the eyes. Once you've got everything."

  Constantine smiled at them. He was keen to get into the family business, prove his manhood. He hadn’t even killed anyone yet. Boris was sizing up the young man. No real toughness there yet. But there was time. Dimitri was still speaking.

  "Pick him up at my villa on your way to the airport this evening." He smiled wickedly, "Keep him safe. Don’t come back without him."

  They both replied,

  "Of course boss. Absolutely."

  And then they turned to go. But Dimitri Alexandrovistch called out,

  "Oh, and drop in on our man down there. Jack Williams. He's a police inspector. He's been skimming off the top. It's all in the folder. Just smack him around a bit. Threaten his family. Don’t kill him ... this time. I’ve just been working on his next promotion."

  They both said,

  "Sure boss."

  Then they walked on out the door. They were nervous about having the kid along. They knew that if anything happened to him they were both totally screwed.

  As they walked out through the outer-office Boris was wondering if he might run into Helena Alexandrovistch when they got to the villa later. He hadn't seen her since their last tryst. It would be awkward. Vadim caught a whiff of the scent of the recently departed Svetlana Araknilova and g
ot an instant erection. Oh man, what a woman!

  Chapter 5. The Men's Club.

  When I arrived in Melbourne on Saturday night I checked in at the Crown Metropol Hotel - next to the Crown Casino. I had already ditched my car, left it on the side of the street in North Melbourne and rented a new one. They didn’t have a Mazda MX-6 so I had to settle for an MX-5. Nowhere near as good. I got lost coming out of the car park basement. It took me a while to find the hotel lobby. The Crown Centre is a vast sprawling complex, spread out over several large city blocks, on the south side of the Yarra River. There were two other hotels, numerous plazas, cinemas, shops, restaurants, the casino - all three levels of it - and wide walkways and corridors and escalators veering off in all directions. I got to my suite on the seventh floor, Suite 725, facing north with a nice enough view over the Yarra River and the Central Business District. Tall buildings. City lights. The Suite consisted of three rooms: a quite spacious living room, a separate bedroom, and a bathroom. It wasn’t too bad at all.

  I called Uncle Charlie once I’d settled in. I mentioned that I was interested in purchasing some of his merchandise. He wasn’t surprised. He didn’t ask me anything more about it – not over a mobile phone. He told me he was out of town for a few days. He’d be back Wednesday night. He suggested we get together at the Men’s Club around 9:00 PM. I agreed. He suggested, in jest, that while I was waiting I should go see Wendy in their new house in St Kilda. I laughed. We both knew that was never going to happen. I was eager to catch up with Charlie. Wendy, not so much. And of course, I needed a few things from Charlie. Another couple of fake IDs and credit cards, some tools and above all weapons and ammunition. I didn’t have a huge amount of cash but I was hoping he'd give me a family discount - or employees discount. I wanted a couple of handguns, something reliable, Glocks would be good, a shotgun - pump action, doubled-barreled, it’s a nice type of weapon, with the added advantage that up close and personal it scares the shit out of people, and it’s very satisfying to use - an automatic rifle, preferably a Kalashnikov, a light hand-held machine gun, preferably an Uzi, and finally a shoulder held rocket launcher, an RPG8 or maybe an SMH9. And of course, lots of ammunition. There's no way I could afford the rocket launcher but I was confident that Uncle Charlie would throw that one in for free once he knew who the intended target was. He hated that asshole even more than I did. I waited, as patiently as I could. I was keen to get on with it.