The Immortality Game

Clutching the small package in her pocket, Zoya wondered again what was so important about it. Too small to be drugs or money.

She checked the number on the side of the nearest building and counted ahead. Only two more. Should be the courtyard entrance, according to the map he’d shown her. She could see it now across the road, though an old ground car, rusted and burned, blocked the way. Zoya nervously hummed Goodbye Blue Sky as she circled around the car.

Georgy blinked sweat out of his eyes and stared at the carpet, noticing for the first time the delicate pink lines of the rose patterns in the thin matting. He knew he was going to die. He wondered how painful they would make it and whether his sister might somehow survive.

“Tell us where it is and we’ll make this quick for you.”

A strong hand grasped Georgy by his hair and twisted his head around until the salami breath of his inquisitor washed over his face. Georgy winced and glared at the man who, until today, he had thought of as a brother. “I don’t know, Tavik. Don’t know where it is. I swear.”

Tavik clasped Georgy’s face gently with both hands and smiled. He bent close and kissed Georgy hard, first on the left cheek and then on the right. The kind expression didn’t extend to his pale blue eyes. “Come now, my friend,” he whispered. “How long have we known each other? What? Four years? What made you think you could get away with this?”

Out of the corner of one eye Georgy took in the rest of the participants in this little charade. Sitting next to him on the worn tan couch was Ilya, barely out of school, a gang member for less than two months, and naive enough to have trusted Georgy. Now I’ve killed him, as sure as if I put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. Ilya sat ramrod straight, panting and pale. Standing behind the couch nearby was one of the two goons Tavik had brought with him. The other stood a few paces back, holding an old .45 in one hand and looking disinterested, a sim-cig dangling from the corner of his mouth.

Georgy rubbed the kisses from his cheeks with his shoulders. “You’re such a cliché, have I ever told you that?”

“Ha! Thank you!” Tavik said, throwing his arms wide. “Capone, Corleone, Azad the Impaler…‌my heroes. Why be anything else?”

Georgy met Tavik’s gaze again. “It should’ve been me. Lev should have promoted me, and you know it.”

Tavik raised one eyebrow and slowly stroked his thumbs over Georgy’s cheekbones. “You did this for revenge? Something this stupid because you were passed over?” Tavik dropped his hands and straightened up. “That’s not like you, Georg. You were always smarter than that.”

Georgy turned his head away from Tavik, glancing around the apartment as he did so, searching for any means of escape. The door was not an option—it was too far away and one of the goons had thrown both of the locks. The balcony door stood open, a gauzy white curtain blowing gently in the cool summer breeze. That wouldn’t do either; the apartment was four floors up and the courtyard below was concrete.

“So many places I could have gone; how did you know I’d choose this one?” he said.

Tavik just smirked.

Georgy puffed out his breath. “Let us live and I’ll find it for you.” He knew this would never happen yet felt a strange compulsion to play out the scene, as if he were an actor in a bad movie. He heard the strain in his own voice, and more salty sweat trickled into his eyes.

Tears streaming down his face, Ilya said, “I knew nothing—”

The goon behind Ilya smacked the boy hard with an open palm. “Shut up.”

Tavik leaned down onto the back of the couch and draped an arm over Georgy’s shoulder. “You know we can’t let you live. You know that.” Georgy felt Tavik’s head nodding near his ear. Then Tavik grabbed Georgy’s hair again and forced his head up and down, mimicking his nod. “You know that, right?”

Georgy said nothing.

Tavik let go of his hair and squeezed Georgy’s shoulder again. “I can let your family live, though. I can promise you that. You know you can trust me.”

Georgy had known this was coming, but still a blade of panic thrust into his gut. His mother and sister were all he had left in this shitty world. He shook his head. “I’ve seen you make these promises before. You always kill anyway.”

Tavik leapt up and clutched his hands to his heart. “Ah! Ah! You wound me. You know how much I like Zoya. And your mother—she always kisses me and makes me tea with those little sugar cubes. I have no desire to harm them, I swear to you. They’re family.”

Doubt crept into Georgy’s mind, a tremulous thread of hope. Would Tavik truly let them live? He knew Tavik lusted for Zoya. He pursed his lips and shook his head again. It would never happen. Never. Tavik always took care of business.

“No?” Tavik said.

The silence dragged out and Georgy tried to make his mind blank; tried not to think about what was coming.