“So we don’t need to tie ‘em up?” asked the bearded man.
“Not any more. I can handle them from here,” said the blond man.
“Fine,” said the bearded man as he shuffled away. “I’ll be in the cabin.”
The blond man rubbed his chin, which evidently had not been in contact with a razor in a day or two. “Now we have some details to work out,” he said.
Vitus and Jenn sat on the plain wooden bench of a picnic table that had been bolted down on the boat’s deck. The settee stood beside them, still trapped within the wooden crate. They squeezed themselves together, unwilling to be separated under any circumstances, and had not yet realized that despite the fact that their actions stemmed from fear, they were fueled on by deeper feelings.
“My name is Philip Renard, Mister Bethel, and our good captain is Hayes. We both work for Aristotle Jacobi, whom you met the day before yesterday. I assure you, he’s a good man. He pays well for whatever he wants, and in addition to the price of the settee, he is willing to offer you a bonus for your suffering.”
“You mean for almost being shot, right?” Jenn asked.
“Not that we’re complaining,” Vitus added. “It’s a good thing you were there to rob us.”
“Technically, we meant to rob the Russians, but yes.”
“We’ll believe that when we see the check,” said Jenn. Vitus nodded.
“Until we get back to Anchorage, you’ll just have to trust me,” said Philip. “Remember, we did save your lives.”
“Fair enough.”
“Now, Mister Bethel, I need you to tell me the name of the original buyer,” said Philip.
Vitus swallowed hard. “His name is Rasputin.”
“Seriously?” Jenn asked.
“That could be a problem,” said Philip. “Hayes!” he yelled in the direction of the cabin.
“What?” replied a muffled voice.
“Rasputin!”
“Son of a bitch!” was the muted reply.
Jenn punched Vitus hard on the shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me his name was Rasputin?”
“I didn’t think it mattered,” shrugged Vitus. “Would you have changed your mind about coming with me?”
Jenn rolled her eyes. “No, probably not, but I’d at least liked to have known that there was a guy named Rasputin. That's the kind of thing you really need to tell somebody.” Then she paused for a moment. “We’re certain this isn’t the same Rasputin as the dead, evil one, right?”
“Fairly certain,” said Philip, standing in front of them with crossed arms.
Hayes reappeared on the deck. "So what do we do now?" he asked.
"We stick to the plan," Philip replied. "We'll dock in Anchorage and move the cargo. If we move fast, Rasputin won't be able to link this back to Mister Jacobi."
"Unless, that is, he comes looking for the antique-dealer," added Hayes. "Coincidentally, it was nice knowin' ya."
"Yeah, that's where things get problematic."
"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Vitus.
"How do you know Rasputin?" Philip asked, ignoring Vitus' question altogether.
"I don't. The whole thing was set up by another client of mine--Ivanovich, a private collector in Anchorage. He seemed a bit anxious about the whole thing, too. Maybe that should have tipped me off."
Meanwhile, Jenn was finally coming to grips with the fact that she and Vitus had just been saved from the brink of death, only to find themselves sliding back to the edge. The images that flashed through her mind were brutal and morbid. She suddenly wished she had brought her paint brush.
"Can we go back home?" she asked.
"I don't know," Philip replied. "It may not be safe for either of you there."
Vitus was on the verge of snapping. He stood up and paced across the deck. It made him rather dizzy, but still he opted for the rather dramatic overall effect. "That's ridiculous. There are laws in place to prevent that sort of thing from happening. That's it. We'll go home and we'll tell the police everything."
Philip and Hayes said nothing.
"What's wrong with that?" Jenn asked them.
"Nothing," said Philip, shaking his head. "I suppose you could try that."
"You don't sound very optimistic. You should try a little optimism now and then. I'm sure it's good for the soul."
Philip shrugged. "It's just that--see, people of Rasputin's caliber employ other people who, shall we say, are professional problem-solvers when they need to deal with something."
"Hit men? Oh god, he's going to kill us," groaned Jenn. She grabbed Vitus' shoulders. If by some small chance he had wished to peel her away, he would have found himself quite unable.
"No," said Vitus. "I swear to God, I won't let anyone hurt you." Though his words were tender (if a bit cliche), Vitus could not immediately think of an action to convey his feelings, so he patted her head the way one might pet a dog. He would later realize that a more affectionate gesture--a squeeze of the hand, for example--would have been more appropriate.
Philip sighed. "Don't worry too much about it. I'll speak with Mister Jacobi. He'll know exactly what to do."
Mister Jacobi, in fact, did know exactly what to do. He became concerned with the wellbeing of the antique-dealer and his partner and offered to take them away, anywhere they wanted for a chance to start over. It was an opportunity that usually came around only once in a lifetime, often accompanied by a winning lottery ticket or a voucher from a witness relocation program. Jacobi was a very wealthy man, and, thanks to finding the settee, he was in a much better mood than usual. Philip relayed the offer to Vitus and Jenn, and they stared at one another without saying much of anything.
"So what do you say?" Vitus finally asked her after scrounging up the nerve from bits and pieces of braver thoughts. "Want to run away with me?"
"Yes," she replied.
They were both secretly relieved, and although they had to face death to reach this point, they believed it was worth it. They would both leave their small town, with its dream-stifling skies and toast-soaking rain, behind. Neither had family there or any reason to stay but each other. Vitus had been thrust into the adventure he had wanted ever since he was a boy, when he might as well have been glued to the middle seat in the middle row of the movie theater he frequented, and Jenn--well, Jenn certainly was no longer bored.
"We'll do it," said Vitus to Philip, "but we'll need to go home first to make arrangements. It won't take long."
Philip agreed. "We'll have someone take you in from Anchorage. We can only spare a few hours, though, so do what you need and get out."
Vitus nodded.
"Dammit," Jenn exclaimed. "I just realized that my suitcase--my one suitcase--is still in the Russians' car."
"What about them?" Vitus asked Philip. "The Russians, I mean. I'm sure they didn't just call it quits and go home when we made our getaway. They may be expecting us."
"Don't worry about them," said Philip. He reached behind his back and drew the pistol lodged in his belt. "We can handle them."
Vitus trembled. "I thought you weren't planning on killing anyone."
"That's when we were stealing," Philip explained. "But now that we're on the run, it's us or them. I choose us."
"Me too," Vitus added.
“Not any more. I can handle them from here,” said the blond man.
“Fine,” said the bearded man as he shuffled away. “I’ll be in the cabin.”
The blond man rubbed his chin, which evidently had not been in contact with a razor in a day or two. “Now we have some details to work out,” he said.
Vitus and Jenn sat on the plain wooden bench of a picnic table that had been bolted down on the boat’s deck. The settee stood beside them, still trapped within the wooden crate. They squeezed themselves together, unwilling to be separated under any circumstances, and had not yet realized that despite the fact that their actions stemmed from fear, they were fueled on by deeper feelings.
“My name is Philip Renard, Mister Bethel, and our good captain is Hayes. We both work for Aristotle Jacobi, whom you met the day before yesterday. I assure you, he’s a good man. He pays well for whatever he wants, and in addition to the price of the settee, he is willing to offer you a bonus for your suffering.”
“You mean for almost being shot, right?” Jenn asked.
“Not that we’re complaining,” Vitus added. “It’s a good thing you were there to rob us.”
“Technically, we meant to rob the Russians, but yes.”
“We’ll believe that when we see the check,” said Jenn. Vitus nodded.
“Until we get back to Anchorage, you’ll just have to trust me,” said Philip. “Remember, we did save your lives.”
“Fair enough.”
“Now, Mister Bethel, I need you to tell me the name of the original buyer,” said Philip.
Vitus swallowed hard. “His name is Rasputin.”
“Seriously?” Jenn asked.
“That could be a problem,” said Philip. “Hayes!” he yelled in the direction of the cabin.
“What?” replied a muffled voice.
“Rasputin!”
“Son of a bitch!” was the muted reply.
Jenn punched Vitus hard on the shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me his name was Rasputin?”
“I didn’t think it mattered,” shrugged Vitus. “Would you have changed your mind about coming with me?”
Jenn rolled her eyes. “No, probably not, but I’d at least liked to have known that there was a guy named Rasputin. That's the kind of thing you really need to tell somebody.” Then she paused for a moment. “We’re certain this isn’t the same Rasputin as the dead, evil one, right?”
“Fairly certain,” said Philip, standing in front of them with crossed arms.
Hayes reappeared on the deck. "So what do we do now?" he asked.
"We stick to the plan," Philip replied. "We'll dock in Anchorage and move the cargo. If we move fast, Rasputin won't be able to link this back to Mister Jacobi."
"Unless, that is, he comes looking for the antique-dealer," added Hayes. "Coincidentally, it was nice knowin' ya."
"Yeah, that's where things get problematic."
"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Vitus.
"How do you know Rasputin?" Philip asked, ignoring Vitus' question altogether.
"I don't. The whole thing was set up by another client of mine--Ivanovich, a private collector in Anchorage. He seemed a bit anxious about the whole thing, too. Maybe that should have tipped me off."
Meanwhile, Jenn was finally coming to grips with the fact that she and Vitus had just been saved from the brink of death, only to find themselves sliding back to the edge. The images that flashed through her mind were brutal and morbid. She suddenly wished she had brought her paint brush.
"Can we go back home?" she asked.
"I don't know," Philip replied. "It may not be safe for either of you there."
Vitus was on the verge of snapping. He stood up and paced across the deck. It made him rather dizzy, but still he opted for the rather dramatic overall effect. "That's ridiculous. There are laws in place to prevent that sort of thing from happening. That's it. We'll go home and we'll tell the police everything."
Philip and Hayes said nothing.
"What's wrong with that?" Jenn asked them.
"Nothing," said Philip, shaking his head. "I suppose you could try that."
"You don't sound very optimistic. You should try a little optimism now and then. I'm sure it's good for the soul."
Philip shrugged. "It's just that--see, people of Rasputin's caliber employ other people who, shall we say, are professional problem-solvers when they need to deal with something."
"Hit men? Oh god, he's going to kill us," groaned Jenn. She grabbed Vitus' shoulders. If by some small chance he had wished to peel her away, he would have found himself quite unable.
"No," said Vitus. "I swear to God, I won't let anyone hurt you." Though his words were tender (if a bit cliche), Vitus could not immediately think of an action to convey his feelings, so he patted her head the way one might pet a dog. He would later realize that a more affectionate gesture--a squeeze of the hand, for example--would have been more appropriate.
Philip sighed. "Don't worry too much about it. I'll speak with Mister Jacobi. He'll know exactly what to do."
***
Mister Jacobi, in fact, did know exactly what to do. He became concerned with the wellbeing of the antique-dealer and his partner and offered to take them away, anywhere they wanted for a chance to start over. It was an opportunity that usually came around only once in a lifetime, often accompanied by a winning lottery ticket or a voucher from a witness relocation program. Jacobi was a very wealthy man, and, thanks to finding the settee, he was in a much better mood than usual. Philip relayed the offer to Vitus and Jenn, and they stared at one another without saying much of anything.
"So what do you say?" Vitus finally asked her after scrounging up the nerve from bits and pieces of braver thoughts. "Want to run away with me?"
"Yes," she replied.
They were both secretly relieved, and although they had to face death to reach this point, they believed it was worth it. They would both leave their small town, with its dream-stifling skies and toast-soaking rain, behind. Neither had family there or any reason to stay but each other. Vitus had been thrust into the adventure he had wanted ever since he was a boy, when he might as well have been glued to the middle seat in the middle row of the movie theater he frequented, and Jenn--well, Jenn certainly was no longer bored.
"We'll do it," said Vitus to Philip, "but we'll need to go home first to make arrangements. It won't take long."
Philip agreed. "We'll have someone take you in from Anchorage. We can only spare a few hours, though, so do what you need and get out."
Vitus nodded.
"Dammit," Jenn exclaimed. "I just realized that my suitcase--my one suitcase--is still in the Russians' car."
"What about them?" Vitus asked Philip. "The Russians, I mean. I'm sure they didn't just call it quits and go home when we made our getaway. They may be expecting us."
"Don't worry about them," said Philip. He reached behind his back and drew the pistol lodged in his belt. "We can handle them."
Vitus trembled. "I thought you weren't planning on killing anyone."
"That's when we were stealing," Philip explained. "But now that we're on the run, it's us or them. I choose us."
"Me too," Vitus added.
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