Max Collins - Before the Dawn

Two burly Brood boys latched onto Tippett’s arms and hauled him to his feet. The big former linebacker had no fight left in him — his eyes were on the floor... the sight of the slaughtered kids, all ’round, appeared too much for him.

Slowly, Moody approached the Russian, planted himself a few feet away, folded his arms, the knife out of sight. He said, “You told them not to kill me. I’m not surprised.”

“And why is that, Moody?”

The Clan leader ignored the question, saying, “I always suspected you were a barbarian.” He glanced around the room at the dozens of dead kids, their blood streaming down the slope of the theater floor like spilled soft drinks. “You’ve confirmed it.”

The Brood leader let out a small chuckle. “Bravado to the last... I appreciate that, Moody. I’d almost say you’ve earned a quick death.”

A bitter smile etched itself on the well-grooved face. “You’re not about to kill me, Mikhail... not yet.”

An eyebrow arched, an amused half smile formed. “You’re right. After all... we have business.”

Looking around at his slaughtered family, Moody asked, “Really? And why would I bother doing business with a butcher?”

“Because you are at heart a man of self-interest, Moody... despite the the ‘loyalty’ drivel you fed your ‘family.’ And you have two things that interest me.”

“The necklace,” Moody said.

“Yes, and...”

“The girl. Max. I heard... why?” Moody’s eyes narrowed and he studied the Russian’s narrow, handsome face. “Revenge? Did she embarrass you on your home turf? How sad for you.”

Kafelnikov snapped his fingers. A circle of Broodsters formed around them — automatic weapons everywhere Moody looked. Not much he could do with the knife... perhaps slash the Russian’s throat, and maybe try to claim leadership...

Somehow he didn’t think that would play, even in a movie theater.

“Where,” the Russian asked, “is the necklace?”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you... but I’ve already sold it. That deal is done. And the money is not on the premises. It was a Swiss bank transfer, and—”

Kafelnikov nodded once and the two burly Broodsters holding on to Tippett released him, stepping away from the bodyguard. Moody frowned, wondering what that was about...

The Russian’s hand came up and an automatic was in it; he fired, to the left of Moody, where Tippett stood.

The bodyguard’s scream echoed even as the shot rang in the auditorium, as Tippett grabbed for his leg, a red flower blossoming between the fingers that clutched at his right knee.

Moody’s fingers tightened, now white around the handle of the hidden knife. He took a tentative step but froze when he heard several guns cock. Tippett was quiet now, his hands still holding his shattered joint.

“I’m okay, Moody,” the bodyguard managed. “Don’t you worry ’bout me.”

“You were saying?” the Russian said to Moody.

“I was saying... I already dealt the Heart of the Ocean... but I can lead you to the buyer. You can get it back from him... kill his ass, for all I care.”

Again Kafelnikov raised the gun, fired, and Tippett screamed as another report reverberated in the auditorium and crimson petals bloomed from the other knee. Tippett went down hard on the cement, and he whimpered there, like a whipped dog.

“Moody,” the Russian sighed, “I don’t underestimate your intelligence... why do you do me the disservice of insulting mine? I know who your potential buyer was... he negotiated a better price with me, at the same time he was negotiating more time from you, supposedly to raise sufficient funds to meet your outrageous fee. So... I need to deliver the Heart of the Ocean to him... where is the diamond, Moody?”

“Tell me, Mikhail,” Moody asked. “Don’t your men find that yellow shirt a bit... effeminate?”

The Russian frowned and fired, bullets stitching across Tippett’s groin and thighs and the bodyguard now rolled around in agony, screaming for them to kill him, go ahead, kill him; but no one moved.

“Where is the necklace? ” Kafelnikov asked over the screams, his voice more brittle now.

By way of an answer, Moody spun and hurled the knife...

... into his bodyguard’s chest.

Tippett whispered, “Got some moves, Moody,” closed his eyes, and slipped away.

Kafelnikov leapt forward, and slapped Moody with the automatic.

A gash ripped in his cheek, Moody went down on one knee, as if about to be knighted by the Russian, who instead grabbed Moody’s silver ponytail and yanked him down, smashing the older man’s face into the concrete floor. Moody made only a tiny moan as he pushed himself up, his nose broken, blood streaming down the front of his black shirt.

“If you won’t tell me where the necklace is,” Kafelnikov said, “at least tell me where the girl is.”

“Who... who the fuck ... is helping you?”

“ I ask the questions. Tell me, and I’ll let you live, and we’ll go partners on the necklace. You can be my second-in-command, Moody...”

Moody’s mind, clouded by pain, tried to parse that: what made Max suddenly more valuable than the Heart of the Ocean?

“Where is she, Moody? Or do you start losing kneecaps?”

Moody swallowed blood, then sputtered, “Gone. The girl’s... gone.”

“Don’t lie to me, goddamn it!”

“Do you... see her? She’s gone, I tell you...”

“Where?”

“She... she didn’t say. Quiet, that one...”

Kafelnikov again slammed the man’s head into the floor. Blood exploded in an arc around Moody’s face.

That was when Moody, barely hanging on to consciousness heard footsteps — hard soles on the cement floor. Someone new had entered; someone was on the periphery... watching...

“Your last chance, Moody — where is she? ”

Through broken teeth and bleeding lips, Moody managed to say, “Don’t worry, Kafelnikov... once she finds out what you’ve done to her family... you won’t have to look very hard... She’ll turn up.”

The boot-heel footsteps started up again... moving closer.

Moody turned his head sideways and saw a man in black combat gear approach — blond, late forties, with a face that might have seemed boyish if the slitted eyes weren’t those of a snake.

And Moody knew, just knew: he could smell the black-ops military on the man; no doubt at all — this was the devil Kafelnikov had made his deal with.

“This is the leader?” the blond man asked. “This is Moody?”

Kafelnikov rose, leaving Moody in his bloody sprawl.

“Yes, Colonel Lydecker,” Kafelnikov whispered. “What’s left of him, anyway. But he says—”

The blonde and the Russian stood near Moody; no one else heard the sotto voce conversation...

Lydecker’s mouth twitched in an otherwise impassive face. “I heard what he had to say, Mikhail.”

Looking up sideways, Moody saw the blond in black. smiling innocuously down on him. “If you know where the girl is, and tell us... I’ll see that you live, and even let you keep your necklace.”

Moody felt unconsciousness trying to move in and take him. He managed, “If I knew... I’d tell you...”

Lydecker studied him like a lab specimen. “But you don’t?”

Moody shook his head, and flecks of blood spattered the cement. “No... much as I’d... love to see her... kick all your sorry asses...”

Holding out an open palm, Lydecker knelt over Moody, and said to the Russian, “Your gun, please.”

Kafelnikov filled the colonel’s palm with the automatic.

Lydecker asked Moody, “Are you a religious man?”

“No.”

“Then you won’t need time for a prayer.”