CHAPTER 7
“Okay Viktor,” Alexi Volkov said. “Very nice. Three, huh? You didn’t eat one on the way here, did you?”
Alexi smiled as he said it, but it was still a truth somewhat told in jest. Viktor Volkov stood, remaining silent anther moment, before realizing it was comedy. Finally, empty gaze gave way to smile. Easily six and a half feet tall, long, jet black hair descended to his shoulder blades and served the double duty of framing the thick black beard hanging from his face. Striking, ice blue eyes stared ahead absently, patiently, seeing nothing and everything simultaneously.
“Good boy Viktor,” Alexi continued, apparently unnoticing. “Excellent job. Now, take these three back to the cutting floor.”
Alexi knelt and felt the blazer of one of the corpses.
Like any big city, there had always been a criminal element present in some areas of Newark, New Jersey: Said to have more stolen vehicles than New York City and Los Angeles combined, at one time those exercising within that element, and their activities, remained hidden beneath an illusory veneer of cheerful diffidence.
“The Stolen Car Capital of the United States.”
That’s one the Chamber of Commerce doesn’t publish in their literature.
But eventually the uneasy coexistence between corruption, and those civilians who knew to look the other way and just keep walking, deteriorated. Police protection’s thin blue line became a thing of the past. Areas that were once integral components of thriving urbanity became easily mistaken for continuous war zone, places now so dangerous that the odds of first responders answering a call were slim in general, and nonexistent after dark.
“The way they’re dressed,” he spat, not without complete disdain. “These are terrible clothes. Very low quality. Do not donate these rags. Put these clothes of theirs in the incinerator.”
His eyes narrowed as he continued his exam of the lifeless bodies.
“These guys had nothing but very bad decision-making skills, continuing all the way through to their wardrobe.”
Alexi shook his head in disbelief.
“No matter,” he continued. “You know the process. Heads and hands go in the grinder. Tell the cutter I want minimal blood loss. Cauterize the cuts.
“Our customers like it better when there is still blood in their meat.”