AS THE LIGHT FADED, two figures in black jumpsuits crawled to the top of a hill overlooking the farm.
“This better be the last one,” said Duke Nichego. “I am starving to death. It is also possible I am allergic to face paint.”
Vassily offered a silver-wrapped bar. “Another food stick?”
“No, you fool! Those are five hundred calories and will go straight to my hips. Also, it creates very bad toilet explosion.”
“Taste is good.”
“You will see, trust me,” said Nichego. “Great taste, fills toilet.”
He squinted through the scope of a high-powered rifle and scanned the farm.
“No movement in buildings,” he murmured. “No dog on farm. Moving to house. Windows have lights, but not very strong. Many people in kitchen of house dressed strange like Kamchatkan street cleaner, but they are not eating.”
“Maybe dinner is finished,” said Vassily.
“It is my luck,” said Nichego. “In top of house are windows with light. Bozhe moi!”
“What is wrong?”
Duke Nichego thumbed off the safety of his rifle.
“Angelika is alone with a man. The bastard is rubbing against her!”