The Russian

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
The Russian works in a small, cold town and still manages to get by. How? Well, that is a mystery in itself. *Made to be small and without adult content for a contest.

Submitted: June 28, 2013

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Submitted: June 28, 2013

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The Russian

 

Parker Ford

 

 

The man looked around. Due to its location at the coast of the Arctic Ocean, Tiksi was a very cold place. “The coldest place I’ve ever been,” was what the man had said many times before. He was Russian with a bit of a slur, wore a huge coat to block out most of the cold, and carried a rifle, partially concealed inside the coat.

He walked across the street to the bar and ordered a drink. It was called “The Sailor’s Demise”. After he had finished, he flashed a police badge and went into the back and up the steps to the roof. This was where his job began.

He leaned down and carefully pulled a suppressor from his coat. After quietly attaching it to his rifle, he looked through the scope. There was a man on the street with a suitcase, and another with an umbrella. He searched some more, and found the man with the suit and gun, in front of the club, “The Persian”. He shot. The bullet found its mark, and the man slumped to the ground, a bloody wound in his heart that no one would notice at first glance. He leaned his rifle upwards to pack it up, and then realized that he was being watched.

It was a man on the roof of the Persian, a cop. The cop reached for his phone. The Russian, quick as light, pulled his rifle back up, aimed, and fired. The bullet hit the cop as he opened his mouth to speak, and it blew a hole through the back of his head. The man disassembled his rifle, got up, and walked back out the front door of “The Sailor’s Demise.”

He would’ve walked into the club, it having no security, but he had some other matters to take care of first. He walked behind the club and took the ladder to the roof. There, he found the cop’s body, stole the cop’s badge, and took his hat. Just like the last one, he thought sadly. He always wanted to complete the mission, and only the mission, but someone always had to take it upon themselves to try and stop him. They were only getting in his way. It made him think about the stupidity of most people, how they think so highly of themselves and yet can be shot down in an instant.

They should know by now, he thought to himself. I am the best. And yet, they didn’t know, and that was why he was so good. He never left a trace that could lead back to him. He put on the hat and left.

He walked into the club, the hat covering his face. He had set his rifle down behind the club by the ladder and now used his handgun, which could be hidden in his coat easier. He walked into the back room, showing his police badge whenever it was needed. He stopped by a door and put the suppressor onto his gun again. He waited patiently, and then proceeded to kick the door open savagely.

The room was bigger than expected. He shot three men across the room, and then two more. There were now five men around the room and the man he was to kill, who sat in the chair at the center of the room. One of the men grabbed for a shotgun under the desk and shot at him. The Russian quickly went behind the door as the bullets whizzed past. Suddenly, a man ran past him to the other side of the doorframe. He reached into his coat and pulled out an AK-47, wheeled around, and mowed down three of the attackers. "Looks like you're having fun, Dmitri," the man roared with a thick Russian accent. Dmitri, the Russian, yelled over the gunfire, "You're a bit late, Vik!" They both grinned and fired ahead. Vik nodded, telling Dmitri to do his job already, and Dmitri pulled out his pistol, aimed, and shot the man in the center through the head.

Vik shot the two other guys, and they left. Vik went through the back window, and Dmitri pulled his cap over his face and went out the door. Everyone but one man had run out. He held a gun up to Dmitri's face and asked him what he was doing.

Dmitri pulled his cap up, took out the badge, and recited, "Police business. I'd like you to put the gun down now." The man looked uncertain, but he did it. Dmitri walked past him, and then turned, pulled his gun, and shot him. He had seen his face, and that wouldn't do.

Dmitri walked through the cold. He walked about eight miles back to his hotel and sat on the bed when he got to his room. He had retrieved his rifle, and he sighed as he put it and his pistol into a long briefcase.  This was the twenty-seventh job he'd done without an incident. It was getting too risky for him. I'll probably retire, he thought to himself. He packed up and readied himself for the morning drive. He and Vik would catch the first plane back to Moscow in the morning.

 


© Copyright 2020 parkerford99. All rights reserved.

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