“No. Should I?”
“Lucky you. Working mostly in America, I can understand why you haven’t heard of him. Every European company knows that knob. MCB probably wouldn’t let him within a hundred clicks of your border without calling in an airstrike.”
“He’s one of us?”
“Oh, no. No. No. I mean, he is dodgy as fuck but he’s technically a Monster Hunter…” When the subject of Krasnov came up, the gentlemanly Oxford airs went out the window. “Well, it’s complicated. I’d call him a rat bastard, but that would be an insult to rats. And bastards!” Rigby just shook his head, took out a note pad and began writing down contact information. He tore the page out and handed it to me. “Here. This is how you reach him. Good luck. You’ll need it.”
He hadn’t even said that about going into the Nightmare Realm.
* * *
A couple of days later Holly and I met two men at the Sheremetyevo airport in Moscow. Both of them were nearly my size, and of similar build, wearing suits which looked expensive yet which still didn’t conceal their shoulder holsters very well. Neither of them seemed to speak a word of English. I couldn’t tell if these guys were supposed to be Hunters or just scary thug types, but they’d been the ones holding up a sign with MHI written on it after we’d gotten through customs. So what the hell? Life is an adventure.
They led us out to a parked Mercedes limousine with dark tinted windows. One of them roughly tossed our bags in the trunk while the other lit a cigarette and got into the driver’s seat. Baggage guy came around and opened the rear door for us. He nodded for us to get in.
“So do we tip him?” Holly asked. The thug must have taken that as a compliment or thought she was flirting, because he gave her a smile. He had several gold teeth right in front. “Okay then,” she said as she got in the car.
I ducked my head and followed. The Russian slammed the door behind me. We ended up sitting facing backwards. The interior of the limo was cheesy rather than classy. It had a very Big Eighties vibe, real plush red seats and purple lights. There was a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice. The limo felt like a rolling disco. Sitting in the back, giving us a huge grin that was as cheesy as his car, was a gigantic, bald man with a bushy mustache. And when I say gigantic, I mean picture somebody who was once big and muscular as me, but then drape another twenty years and fifty pounds of flab on him. He was a big dude. And loud. And enthusiastic.
“Welcome to Russia, Monster Hunters International! I hope the flight was most excellent. You will now enjoy my hospitality.” He had a booming voice and an accent like a stereotype in a spy movie. “Owen Zastava Pitt and Holly Newcastle, I am your host, Krasnov!”
When I’d called and told Earl our next stop on our European research trip, he’d laughed at me like Rigby had. When it came to rival monster hunting organizations, Earl rated everyone on a scale of Asshole to All Right. Earl had never worked with the Hunters of KMCG personally, but by reputation alone, apparently Ivan Krasnov pegged Asshole so hard that he’d broken the meter. When I’d asked how bad this was going to be, Earl told me not to drink anything that might be drugged unless I wanted to wake up in a bath tub full of ice missing a kidney.
“It is an honor to meet you, Mr. Krasnov,” Holly said.
“Ah, you are even more beautiful than I was warned, Miss Holly. I have enjoyed the company of many beautiful women, but you are both the sexy and the deadly. With body of movie star, and brain of doctor, and you have killed all the things!”
That took her a second to digest. She actually seemed charmed by such refreshing honesty. “How sweet.”
“And Mr. Owen, who has exploded Old One, you as well are welcomed to the finest monster hunting company in all of Russia.” He spread his thick arms wide. “Krasnov’s Multinational Corporation of Greatness.”
He wasn’t joking either. That was actually what he’d named the thing.
We pulled out into traffic. Judging by the way it rode the Mercedes must have been armored like a tank. Since I’d learned about how the monster hunting business worked in this country, that made a lot of sense. It was so cutthroat and territorial they often had as much to fear from their competitors as the actual monsters.
Russia had always had a monster problem. Nobody really knew why. Maybe it was because it was just such a vast area, with so many wild places with low population densities, monsters thought it was a good place to hide. According to the old myths, this part of the world had once been lousy with Fey, and lots of them had stuck around. More recently, the Soviets had dabbled in experiments which made Decision Week look like a Cub Scout Jamboree, and let a lot of nasty things loose into the world in the process. Hell, maybe they just liked the weather, but whatever the reason, Russia had a ton of monsters in it.
Before the Soviet Union fell, monsters were handled strictly by the government. They weren’t fast or efficient about it, but they took care of outbreaks with an extra helping of overkill. Earl had described them as absolutely brutal, and that meant a lot coming from a man who’d once driven a snow cutter through a town full of zombie werewolves. When the Soviet Union went away, so did most of their secret monster eradication programs. For the decade following, monster hunting remained the government’s job, but it wasn’t getting done very well. The only thing they were still good at was silencing witnesses, and apparently they were far less merciful about it than our MCB. However, with very few people actively hunting them, the monster populations exploded.
But such is the glorious nature of capitalism, that if there is a service in need of doing, and a way to make a ruble at it, somebody will step up and do the job. Unfortunately, since monster hunting was illegal, and the population weren’t well armed enough to do it anyway, that meant the only people willing to do what needed to be done, who could get their hands on the hardware necessary, were the kind of people who simply did not give a crap about the rules. For example, a young Siberian Spetsnaz officer who looted his armory, deserted, and then got rich getting paid by oligarchs and the Russian mafia to blast any critter that was cutting into their profits.
I was told that criminals only thrive in Russia if the Kremlin allows them to, which means that when necessary they are at the government’s disposal. Fast forward a generation, the Russians had their own contract based version of PUFF, and men like Ivan Krasnov were legitimate businessman.
“I have heard much of legendary MHI. I always hoped to meet. I wished to attend this Conference in your Last Vegas but could not.”
Since everything in Krasnov’s orbit seemed to be simultaneously expensive yet tacky, he’d probably love Vegas. “You should have come. It was great. Until the part with all the horror and dying.”
“Yes, yes. I was invited. But your Department of Homeland Security was upset at me so I could not go to your country. Eh. You misplace one truck load of missiles and they put you on terrorist watch list like common criminal. What are you gonna do?”
That was the other problem with hunters here. They were a little more diversified in their income streams than the rest of us. When you’ve got a perfectly good private army of heavily armed professional killers—who get bored easily—you might as well keep them busy somehow.
Krasnov reached for the limo’s snack bin. “Caviar? It’s very expensive.”
“No thanks.”
“Ha! More for me!”
* * *
After a three hour long, ten course dinner at a ridiculously nice restaurant, Krasnov’s limo had dropped us off at our hotel. It seemed old, but nice. He’d pronounced it a dump unfit for such illustrious guests, and had offered to take us to a place which was so much classier, but I was keeping my word and trying not to spend too much. Tonight we had been wined and dined, and given a tour as we were driven around the city, being told a lot of loud and boisterous stories the whole time, but as far as actual business conducted…It wasn’t going too well.
As we were dragging our suitcases down the hall, Holly was complaining. “That was a lot
of flash, but not a lot of substance.”
“Can’t think. I’m in meat shock.”
“Well duh, you ate like a whole wild boar, Z. Did you actually have to eat its face?”
“Snout’s the best part of the boar.” Not that I was an expert, but that’s what Krasnov had loudly declared to the entire restaurant. I switched to my bad impersonation of our host. “Honored guest must eat all the pig nose!”
“I’m pretty sure he was just messing with you to see if you’d actually do it, you freak.”
“I had to eat all the snout, Holly. For America.”
“Whatever. I mean we got a lot of platitudes about working together, building a bridge to a better tomorrow, and all that nonsense, but you can’t pin him down. You’d think somebody that large wouldn’t be that slippery.”
We couldn’t bring up the real reason for our visit until we trusted him not to leak it. And he wasn’t going to trust us enough to tell us anything until he knew the real reason for why we were here. Plus there had been a dozen other people at dinner, half of whom I had no idea who they were, or why they were there, and none of them spoke English. Not counting the two bodyguards, some guests seemed to be other hunters, a couple I think were expensive prostitutes, and one guy was apparently a famous hockey player. So it had been more of a dinner party for Krasnov to shout look at my new American friends than a clandestine meeting to discuss going to war with a demon.
“Yeah, and then it got really awkward when the hockey jock assumed since you were on vacation without your wife I must be your mistress,” Holly said, grimacing. “As if. No offense, Z.”
“None taken.” Holly was like my sister, we both knew I was utterly devoted to Julie, and that was before taking into account that my wife could snipe me from a mile away if I ever cheated on her. “On the bright side them thinking I was your date kept the number of drunk dudes hitting on you to a minimum. We’ll figure out our next step in the morning.”
“Krasnov thinks of himself as a lady’s man. I bet I could get him to trust us.”
“That’s really taking one for the team.”
“Not like that. I mean I can charm him. You’ve just got to make eye contact, smile a lot, and pretend to listen. Trust me, there’s a science to flirting. I made bank as a dancer. I’ve known a lot of Krasnovs…I bet he owns a closet full of track suits.”
“Not that I doubt your skills, but let’s not underestimate him. You don’t end up top dog in a system like this by being stupid or easily manipulated.” I found my room number. Holly’s room was across the hall.
“Night, Z. I really need a shower.”
Once I had some privacy I called home. Eleven at night here was like two in the afternoon there if I remembered right. Julie picked up immediately.
“How’s Moscow?”
“Prettier than I expected, but the trips not exactly been fruitful.” Stricken’s replacement was supposedly not evil, so I didn’t know if our calls were still being monitored or not, but we were still going to play it safe and keep everything nice and vague. As far as the rest of the world knew this was just MHI on a good will visit looking for new business opportunities with other companies. “We had a nice dinner party. I ate the whole wild boar.”
“That’s nice, hon. Listen, I did some more checking with some of the central European Hunters. Tadeusz at White Eagle and Libor at Phantom have both worked with Krasnov before.” Those companies were from Poland and the Czech Republic respectively. After their performance in Vegas, Earl rated both of those companies as All Right. “The verdict’s not good.”
“Let me guess. He’s basically a mob boss.”
“Pretty much. They don’t think he’s insane or anything like that, just criminal.”
“He’s actually kind of jolly in person.”
“He’ll lie, cheat, steal, and probably worse. He’s fundamentally dishonest but really gleeful about it. White Eagle got ripped off so badly on a bounty once that if Krasnov ever shows his face in Poland they’ll probably just murder him. But that doesn’t stop his guys from poaching in other hunters’ turf.”
“Lovely.”
“He’s supposedly devout Russian Orthodox, but I was told a lot of mobsters there are, so I don’t know if he’s devout or that’s just politically expedient. Be careful. Anything you tell him might just get sold to the highest bidder.”
“I was afraid of that.” That meant we were going to have to find another way to learn about the island without alerting Asag.
We spoke for a while, about how she was feeling—tired and nauseous—if there was anything new with my dad—there wasn’t—and the general innocuous stuff married couples talk about when one of us is far away so we could pretend they were near. When I got tired enough to maybe sleep I told her I loved her and said my goodbyes.
After we hung up, I shut off the light and got into bed. Normally I’d have a gun on the nightstand, but I had no legal way of bringing a firearm into this country. I’m sure I could have gotten some easy enough. Heck, I could have just asked Krasnov for one. I’d thought about it, but he was the type of man where I wouldn’t put it past him to sic the cops on me, so I could get a weapons charge, so he could bail me out and I’d have to owe him a favor. No thanks.
Sure, a gun is just a tool, my mind is the weapon, and all that, but not having a gun made me nervous. So after a few minutes of staring at the darkened ceiling, I got up, dragged a couch in front of the door, and then went back to bed.
* * *
Just after two in the morning somebody knocked on my door.
I must not have been sleeping well, because I leapt out of bed, ready to fight to the death, in my underwear. I went to the door and rudely shouted, “Who is it!” In my defense, random late night hotel room knocks were how I’d first met Martin Hood, and he’d ended up throwing a toilet at me.
“It is I, Krasnov.”
I had to climb over the couch to look through the peep hole. Sure enough there was his enormous round face looking back. Because of the fish eye effect of the glass, I realized he had a mustache that would have made Stalin proud. He’d probably gotten bored and wanted to hit a strip club or something. I pushed the couch out of the way and opened the door.
He’d ditched his flashy suit and was wearing some extra, extra large, camouflage fatigues and a blue beret. He had a pistol in a flap holster on his belt, and was even wearing a sword. Unless Moscow strip clubs were surprisingly rowdy, there went my initial theory as to the nature of his visit. “What’re you doing here?” I asked, still unsure if this was all a bad dream brought on by an overdose of boar snout. “What’s going on?”
It was weird, but he actually looked a little bashful. “I could not sleep. I got thinking. The two of us must get to know each other better before we can conduct proper business. Are we friends?”
“Yeah?”
“Some, but I think not yet really. There is not real trust between us. I can tell you do not speak freely about why you have come here.”
“To be fair—”
“Yes! Yes! I as well hesitate to speak truth. You do not trust me. Do not worry. My feelings are not hurt…Much. So I think to myself, what is best way for monster hunters to become like family? It is to hunt monsters of course!”
“Okay, I get what you’re saying but—”
“Wait.” It was hard to tell, but I think he was trying to be sincere. “To get the measure of a hunter, you must hunt together. Then my company received tip of monster here in town. This is fate! So now we hunt monster. I have left my men home. You will leave Miss Holly. Only the two of us will do this. We will fight evil together, Krasnov and Pitt! And then we will know if we wish to conduct real business or not. No more wasting time.”
Holly had heard the commotion and opened her door a crack. She’d thrown on a bath robe, and I wasn’t surprised to see that she’d unscrewed a table leg to use as an improvised club. I wasn’t the only one who had a hard time sleeping without weapons. Krasnov turned to her
and theatrically tipped his beret. “Good morning, Miss Holly.”
“Morning?” she grumbled. “It’s kick-you-in-the-face o’clock.”
“I did not mean to wake you, Miss Holly. I am taking Owen out for a rampage.”
“Rampage?”
“This is the right word, no?”
“You’re not going on a rampage without me,” Holly said.
“Nyet. I insist. Do not worry for your friend. It is only small monster. Not too dangerous. This is man business only. Do not offend your host. Come, Comrade! Why are you still in your underpants? There are monsters to be killed!” He hurried down the hall. It wasn’t particularly graceful. “We will meet downstairs!”
Holly watched him go, then turned to me. “Did he just call you comrade? Is that still a thing?”
CHAPTER 6
Krasnov drove us across the city to a part of town that was darker and more run down than what we’d seen so far. This time he’d ditched the gaudy limo for a plain sedan, and true to his word, he’d left his entourage behind. The neighborhood we were in now was mostly concrete apartment buildings with a lot of graffiti sprayed on them.
“So what’s the monster?”
“It is surprise. I do not think you have these in America.”
Great. I loved surprises, especially the kind that could murder you. I still wasn’t sure if this was a monster hunt, or if I was about to be kidnapped and held for ransom. “Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”
“It is old public pool. Broken down, not used for years. We got tip he is hiding there tonight. We have looked for this monster for many weeks.” He pulled the sedan into a parking lot in front of a squat, square, really ugly building. Judging by the broken windows and weeds growing around it, this place had been abandoned for years. The only other car in the lot was a police car. Krasnov drove up so the driver side windows were right next to each other.