Sonata (Butcher and Violinist 2)

“Everything,” Louis growled. He never enjoyed trips to Japan and always found a reason to get out of them.

“The French are the only civilized ones of the bunch.” Giorgio adjusted his jacket.

“Wait a minute,” Rafael said. “Jean-Pierre is telling me to behave, as if barging in on the Lion’s bath won’t piss him off.”

Giorgio nodded. “Yeah. I don’t think it’s wise to meet with the Lion right now.”

“I don’t think it’s wise to keep calling him the goddamn lion.” I rolled my eyes as we rounded the hall. “Maybe, if you stop calling him that, he’ll be less scary to you.”

Giorgio murmured, “I doubt it.”

How were we ever going to end Kazimir, if some of us were terrified of him.

You don’t scare me, Kazimir. Not at all.

I held in my growl, done talking to them and doing my best to focus on the moment ahead.

“Where do you think he is?” Rafael asked as we stepped down the hallway.

My attitude hadn’t decreased. “Kazimir will be in the room that’s surrounded by a bunch of Russians with guns.”

We passed grown men with their bellies spilling over their towels. Many of them were old. Rugged graying tattoos covered their ruddy flesh. A few wore bell-shaped hats on their heads.

What the fuck is wrong with this group?

A door was marked Gentlemen’s Treatment. We pushed through and passed more undressed men. Elderly and young. Fat and skinny. Russian and very fucking Russian—pale scared flesh with jail tattoos.

What do women see in these monsters?

We walked by one room. There, a man held a bundle of birch branches and violently thrashed another man on the ground’s back. It appeared to be some sort of treatment, verses a torture session. I didn’t know what being beat by branches was supposed to do for the body, but I would not be participating in that.

Rafael eyed some of the older men. “What’s up with the bell hats?”

“It’s the traditional steaming accessory. It keeps the head from heating up faster than the body’s core temperature.”

“Why the hell do you know that?” Rafael asked.

“Focus.”

I hadn’t dealt with Kazimir much. We’d done several arms deals together. A few times we aligned to go after the Yakuza for some territory in Tokyo. Still, we both kept our distance from the other.

Last time I’d seen him was in Rafael’s restaurant. Kazimir had stood in the doorway several feet in front of us, wearing a crisp suit. The outfit was something I might’ve picked up at the Paris Runway. He’d studied the space as if he’d been considering buying the property, and then completely insulted it in the next breath.

This visit won’t be the same.

We rounded another corner and spotted what I’d been talking about. At the far end of the hallway, several men dressed in black stood near one room. It must’ve been ten or more of them. They turned our way. The tallest whispered to the one next to him.

Hey, guys. We just happened to be in the neighborhood, and thought we’d drop by.

We approached and stopped in front of them.

I spoke, “I want to talk to Kazimir.”

The tall one gave me an evil grin. “Perhaps, you should contact his secretary and make an appointment.”

Perhaps, I should snap your neck, tear it off, and shit down your spine.

I curved my mouth into a smile. “Good idea. Next time I will contact his secretary. But for now, I’ll go inside.”

“You won’t.” The guard took out his gun but kept his arm at the side. “The Lion isn’t talking to his fans right now.”

Interesting. This one has personality. The Bratva must’ve had a self-improvement workshop this month.

Mr. Tall Guy tapped his gun at the side, letting me know how serious things were getting.

You’re an idiot.

“That’s a nice gun.” I checked it out and then gave him my attention. “I apologize. I didn’t want to shift this thoughtful exchange to an inappropriate level, but I must remind you that I have guns too.”

Louis and Giorgio took theirs out. Rafael too. My other men pointed back. And then the Russians pulled out their weapons.

Gun fight in the bathhouse? Is that what we want to do today?

Louis and Rafael had their guns pointed right at Mr. Tall Guy’s forehead.

He didn’t flinch. Protecting the Lion had probably given him much scarier moments. He appeared close to yawning. “I think you’re bad at counting, Jean-Pierre. We have more guns than you.”

“A smart player never shows all his cards at the table.” I gestured down the hall where’d we just come from. Ten more of our men marched our way.

“What do you think?” I leaned my head to the side. “Is that enough? Or should I have more men with guns come. This is my fucking city after all. Do you need a tank? Or how about we go ancient? I can get a canon in here, direct it straight to your fucking face.”