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Diabolical IV

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Written by Carter Pierce

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Dmitri Molchalin was growing frightened. He’d been more than a little ticked off before, perhaps indignant. This thug was interrupting his night, and he was in a hurry.

But when the gunshot failed to scare off the attacker, he grew unsettled. “What do you want from me? I don’t have any money.”

Guy Harmon growled in his ear, barely above a whisper. His scruffy beard scratched against Dmitri’s cheek. “Oh yes you do. Remember Russia? You have my money, and I want it back.”

“I haven’t been in Russia since I was four years old! I don’t even speak Russian. What are you talking about?”

“At the casino. Three million. Don’t tell me you don’t remember, you pasty-faced slacker!”

“I don’t gamble,” Dmitri retorted indignantly. “And for the record, I’m not a slacker, and my face isn’t pasty.”

“Yes it is.”

“No it’s not!”

“We aren’t arguing about this. Give me my money.”

“I told you, I don’t have it.”

Guy ripped the revolver from Dmitri’s hand, and hit him over the head with the butt, hard. Dmitri gave a cry of pain, stumbling backward. “You’ll regret this eventually, you know!”

“I never regret hurting people. Where’s the money? In the briefcase?”

Dmitri practically threw the case at him. “Go ahead: look inside. There’s nothing.”

Guy rattled the fastenings with one hand. “It’s locked.”

Dmitri was already pulling a key card out of his pocket. He handed it to him.

Guy stuffed the key into his pocket.

“I’ll need that back,” Dmitri said. “It’s my only form of identification.”

“All the better. The police will have a harder time figuring out who you are after you’re dead.”

Dmitri paled.

Guy smirked. “Hey look. You’re pasty, my boy. I win all the arguments. Remember that.” He drew a long, wicked-looking knife and stabbed him. Not in the heart: that would have been too fast.

Dmitri gasped, his mouth wide open, his eyes staring. He sank slowly to the ground.

Guy smiled benevolently, following his movements with the still-embedded blade. “Don’t worry. It’ll only take a few minutes for you to bleed out. I’ll stay here with you. I will make you a deal: if you’ll tell me where I can find my three million, I’ll patch you up and let you live.” He dangled a long piece of cloth in front of Dmitri’s nose. “How’s that?” He wrenched the knife free. A dark stain grew in the middle of Dmitri’s white shirt.

Dmitri sagged further toward the ground, trying to support himself on one elbow while his other hand pressed into the wound to staunch the bleeding.

Suddenly Guy’s attention was drawn to the main road. There was a figure standing in the entrance to the alley. Dmitri saw him, too. Guy snatched up the briefcase and the revolver, and raced off into the dark.

There was a shout from the unidentified figure as he moved forward. “Stop, thief! What’s going on here?”

“Could I get some help?” Dmitri asked, sounding as brave as he could. Inside, he knew he wasn’t going to make it. But it was worth a shot.

The stranger moved quickly, covering the distance in a few long strides. He knelt at Dmitri’s side. “What happened?”

Dmitri tried to explain, but his brain was growing foggy from loss of blood. His heart was racing to compensate, pumping it out through his chest all the more quickly. “I . . . ” he panted, “I . . . was attacked . . . I need help . . . he stabbed me.”

“Oh dear.” The man seemed flummoxed. “I, I uh, I’m terrible with blood. I’ll get help.” He stood, turned, then turned back. “What’s the name I should give them?”

“Dmitri,” Dmitri whispered. His vision was going black. He felt very cold. “And who are you?”

“Jack Raummi. I’ll be right back.”

“Pleasure . . . to make your acquaintance . . . Jack,” he said. Then he coughed. Blood spilled over his bottom lip, making another stain on his white shirt.

Jack’s footsteps were already racing away.

Hopefully to get help.

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Copyright by Carter Pierce 2022 All Rights Reserved

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~Reflectionsofrenaissance.com

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