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Back Dishonorable Intentions Save as PDF
Chapters (65)
  1. Cover
  2. Books by Stuart Woods
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. Author’s Note
  65. About the Author

“If you look him in the eye, he’ll duck or run or fight you. A pro doesn’t look the mark in the eye—he walks up behind him and shoots the guy before he knows anybody’s there.”

“That may not be easy,” Tirov said.

“This is why so few people are professional hit men for a living,” Sergei explained. “It’s hard. People don’t want hard, they want easy. This is why they hire hit men. Handing over cash to a pro is easy. Do-it-yourself is hard.”

Tirov handed the .22 to Sergei. “Reload this. I want to see how far away I can hit him.”

Sergei popped in a loaded magazine and stood back.

Tirov began firing, getting closer and closer. He was at five feet before he hit a melon, and he missed the next two. “Okay, it looks like three feet,” he said, half to himself.

“Good,” Sergei said. “Now where do you see this happening?”

“Where do you suggest?” Tirov asked.

“I like parking garages,” Sergei replied. “My favorite is a parking garage outside a movie theater, because everybody arrives and leaves at the same time.”

“But I have to wait for him to go to the movies,” Tirov complained.

“There is that. Okay, a parking garage anywhere except at a shopping mall. People are coming and going all the time in a shopping mall. A parking garage at an office building is good—people come to work, later they go home. And the acoustics are good—you can hear somebody coming fifty yards away.”

“Forget about fucking parking garages, Sergei, I’m not going to sit around waiting for him to go to a parking garage.”

“In that case, you gotta catch him going somewhere. You drive up beside him, shoot him through the window and scram. You need a good driver for that one.”

“I can’t wait for him to drive somewhere.”

“Okay, then you invite him. Ask him to lunch, and shoot him when he’s on the way.”

“He’s not going to accept an invitation to lunch from me.”

“Because you haven’t been nice to him?”

“Exactly.”

“Then get somebody who’s been nice to him to give him the invite.”

“I’ll think about it,” Tirov said.

45

Gala was sitting at a desk in the study of Stone’s Arrington house, her laptop on the desk. It was going well: she had her conclusion in mind now, and the dialogue in the final scenes was going well. Her cell phone rang. Without looking at it, she picked it up. “Hello?”

“Gala, it’s Boris. Please don’t hang up, I have something important to say.”

“What is it, Boris, and make it quick—I’m working.”

“First of all, I want to apologize to you for the trouble I’ve made. I’m very sorry, and I won’t do it again.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that.”