‘No,’ I said, ‘fuck you.’ I swept my left leg around, catching him on the left ear with my foot. He fell sideways, and looked up at me.

‘Do you know who the fuck I am?’

Right foot thrust kick to the ribcage.

I felt bone crack under the force of the blow. Old-school punishment beating: underrated and surprisingly effective. PIRA had taught us a trick or two. Avi balled up on his side, the remains of his bloodied hand clamped over his shattered ribs, knees drawn up to his chest. Saliva pooled on the floor beneath his cheek. I kicked him again in the same spot and felt more bones snap. He was in trouble now. Blood bubbled around his mouth; his breathing had become shallow and fast. In all likelihood I’d punctured his lung. I squatted down and pushed the tip of the Jericho into the back of his left knee.

‘Tell me about the money.’

‘I swear I …’

I shot out his kneecap.

Avi roared a deep, tearing scream. He writhed and begged and brought both his hands down to the wound. The knee had imploded; lead, bone and shredded clothing blown out through the joint. I kicked his hands away and put the muzzle of the pistol against the back of his right knee. Sveta stopped screaming. I took out the hundred-dollar bill and held it in front of his face.

‘What,’ I said, ‘does this money buy?’

‘Please God, no. Please. Please.’

‘What did it buy Rachel?’ I pushed the barrel of the Jericho deep into the soft flesh below his thigh.

‘Arkhangel,’ he hissed through gritted teeth.

‘What the fuck is Arkhangel?’

‘Her work, man. Her project. The money paid for everything. Understand? Everything. Please, help me now. Please.’

‘Who sends it?’

He was crying wildly now, the pain crushing the sense out of him. The main door to the office swung open. The doorman from downstairs had replaced his metal detector with a Mossberg pump-action. As he raised the barrel, I put two rounds in his chest. He collapsed backwards into the corridor. I walked over to him. There was no one else in sight – just the illuminated emergency exit sign at the far end of the corridor. And then the music stopped.

Screaming. Heels clicking on stone.

Motorcycle cops would arrive within seconds of the barman’s body being dialled in. I dragged the bouncer into the office by his ankle and closed the door. Breath rattled in his chest. I shot him again, and then turned the pistol on Avi.

‘This is it, Avi. This is what all their money gets you. Shit paintings and a bullet to the head.’ He crossed himself right to left, the Orthodox way. ‘Who sends it?’ I asked again.

‘Moskva,’ he gurgled through the blood and pain. ‘The Akvarium.’

29

‘You killed Landau, didn’t you?’