Death Echo

23

DAY THREE

ROSARIO

10:45 A.M.

Taras Demidov swallowed the last of three hamburgers, squeezed the final drops in the tenth packet of ketchup over a pile of fries, and took a sip of the surprisingly awful coffee. No amount of sugar smothered the bitterness.

But it did take the smell inside the van off his tongue.

Eating fries, Demidov listened through his ear bug while the two cousins continued arguing over possible replacements for the Indian who had been taken out of the game. Demidov didn’t bother to sort out the voices. Only the topic mattered to him.

“And I tell you, your wife’s nephew isn’t up to a boat that size.”

“Stupid shit deserves to die. He knocked up his own cousin.”

“Second cousin.”

“Still a cousin. I say we use Durand.”

“Too risky.”

“Who’d miss him? No family, no friends except maybe Tommy, not even a regular hump in town.”

“Tommy was stupid. Durand isn’t.”

“If Durand’s so smart, why ain’t he rich?”

Demidov laughed soundlessly as he stood and walked the few steps to the slops bucket. The cousins came from families that had lived in America so long they had absorbed the culture whether or not they wished to.

“Temuri wants Blackbird out of here by tomorrow at dawn, no later. None of the other captains we use are available right now. You want to drive that boat yourself?”

“Fine. Whatever. If no one else can take the job by this afternoon, I’ll call Durand. Temuri won’t like it. He didn’t take to Durand.”

“So let Temuri drive the boat.”

“He’d make us drive it. Better we get Durand. He doesn’t have kids.”

“You don’t know anyone’s going to die.”

“You want to bet your life on it?”

Listening to the cousins wrangle, Demidov shook off the last drops and zipped up. It was time to message his boss and make him smile.

Blackbird wouldn’t be going anywhere today.