Unallocated Space: A Thriller (Sam Flatt Book 1) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Jerry Hatchett
expectation for me to tell them."
"You cannot mention this to your client in any way."
"And why exactly do you want these updates from me?"
"I'm not at liberty to discuss that."
"Then we're done."
"No, Mr. Flatt. We're not done."
I laughed out loud. "Good-night, Special Agent Meyer, M-E-Y-E-R." I reached toward the phone, aiming for the END CALL icon.
"Hang up on me and you will regret it, Mr. Flatt."
This bitch was starting to piss me off. I pulled my finger back from the phone. "Are you threatening me, ma'am?"
"I'm warning you, sir."
"You know one of the things I hate most on this earth?" I said.
"I know virtually all there is to know about you."
That was worth another laugh, but I held back. "Arrogance. You call me in the middle of the night with something this ridiculous and think I'm just gonna fall in line? In addition to the legality and ethics, you know how many cases I'd get once it got out that I divulged client information to law enforcement? Do you have any idea how freaking crazy you sound?"
"You would be better served to think about how 'crazy' it is to antagonize the Federal Bureau of Investigation."
Enough. "And you'd be better served to put the crackpipe down and back slowly away. Stuff'll kill you in the end, you know."
This time I touched END CALL.
Chapter 6
K IEV , UKRAINE
T he man was old , his face a leathery map of a hundred creases, but his step was lively and his eyes bright as he strolled generally south along the tree-lined street, keeping to the shade amid the dazzling sunny day. Though he had been but a child, he remembered when Khreshchatyk Street looked very different, more in keeping with traditional Ukrainian architecture, even though it had been heavily influenced by the Russian bastards, first the czarists and later the Bolsheviks. He remembered it becoming a cratered strip of rubble at the hands of the Soviet bastards who planted mines all along it and detonated them by radio control once the Nazi bastards arrived in 1941. He remembered the rebuilding after the Great Patriotic War that eventually transformed it into the beautiful kilometer it almost still was. Almost, because once the Soviet Union fell apart and Ukraine declared its independence in 1991, the influence of the West had been a slow but steady rot. Where proud old businesses once stood, today's storefronts on the grand street showed names like Gucci and DKNY and Chanel. And TGIF. What the fuck was that? Italian. American. French. Bastards all.
At the end of the street, he made his way inside the sprawl of Bessarabska Market, where he took his time and eventually filled a small basket with fruits and vegetables from the various stalls. He paid for some of the goods. He offered to pay for all, but many merchants recognized him and refused his grivna. To these he nodded his appreciation instead.
Basket in hand, he left the market and headed back the way he had come. Halfway up Khreshchatyk, he came to his apartment building on the left side of the street. Many of his colleagues and competitors, especially the young snots, had made their way to the suburbs of Kiev where they built ridiculous houses. He had no need to prove himself. No need to scream to the world, "Look at me!" No, he had grown up in the Center, and it was there that he would live until he breathed his last. He turned into a small alley, punched his code into the gate, then walked around the back of the building. There he keyed in another code to enter the building, and stepped inside.
Outside, the building was an old, beautifully maintained example of architecture that inspired the soul. Once through the door, the building had enjoyed the most basic of maintenance and no renovation since its construction in 1949. This was Kiev. This was Ukraine. Who wanted to spend money on things few would ever see and nobody gave a shit about? He had installed an elevator in the 1990s so he wouldn't have to listen to the whining from the paying tenants, but
"You cannot mention this to your client in any way."
"And why exactly do you want these updates from me?"
"I'm not at liberty to discuss that."
"Then we're done."
"No, Mr. Flatt. We're not done."
I laughed out loud. "Good-night, Special Agent Meyer, M-E-Y-E-R." I reached toward the phone, aiming for the END CALL icon.
"Hang up on me and you will regret it, Mr. Flatt."
This bitch was starting to piss me off. I pulled my finger back from the phone. "Are you threatening me, ma'am?"
"I'm warning you, sir."
"You know one of the things I hate most on this earth?" I said.
"I know virtually all there is to know about you."
That was worth another laugh, but I held back. "Arrogance. You call me in the middle of the night with something this ridiculous and think I'm just gonna fall in line? In addition to the legality and ethics, you know how many cases I'd get once it got out that I divulged client information to law enforcement? Do you have any idea how freaking crazy you sound?"
"You would be better served to think about how 'crazy' it is to antagonize the Federal Bureau of Investigation."
Enough. "And you'd be better served to put the crackpipe down and back slowly away. Stuff'll kill you in the end, you know."
This time I touched END CALL.
Chapter 6
K IEV , UKRAINE
T he man was old , his face a leathery map of a hundred creases, but his step was lively and his eyes bright as he strolled generally south along the tree-lined street, keeping to the shade amid the dazzling sunny day. Though he had been but a child, he remembered when Khreshchatyk Street looked very different, more in keeping with traditional Ukrainian architecture, even though it had been heavily influenced by the Russian bastards, first the czarists and later the Bolsheviks. He remembered it becoming a cratered strip of rubble at the hands of the Soviet bastards who planted mines all along it and detonated them by radio control once the Nazi bastards arrived in 1941. He remembered the rebuilding after the Great Patriotic War that eventually transformed it into the beautiful kilometer it almost still was. Almost, because once the Soviet Union fell apart and Ukraine declared its independence in 1991, the influence of the West had been a slow but steady rot. Where proud old businesses once stood, today's storefronts on the grand street showed names like Gucci and DKNY and Chanel. And TGIF. What the fuck was that? Italian. American. French. Bastards all.
At the end of the street, he made his way inside the sprawl of Bessarabska Market, where he took his time and eventually filled a small basket with fruits and vegetables from the various stalls. He paid for some of the goods. He offered to pay for all, but many merchants recognized him and refused his grivna. To these he nodded his appreciation instead.
Basket in hand, he left the market and headed back the way he had come. Halfway up Khreshchatyk, he came to his apartment building on the left side of the street. Many of his colleagues and competitors, especially the young snots, had made their way to the suburbs of Kiev where they built ridiculous houses. He had no need to prove himself. No need to scream to the world, "Look at me!" No, he had grown up in the Center, and it was there that he would live until he breathed his last. He turned into a small alley, punched his code into the gate, then walked around the back of the building. There he keyed in another code to enter the building, and stepped inside.
Outside, the building was an old, beautifully maintained example of architecture that inspired the soul. Once through the door, the building had enjoyed the most basic of maintenance and no renovation since its construction in 1949. This was Kiev. This was Ukraine. Who wanted to spend money on things few would ever see and nobody gave a shit about? He had installed an elevator in the 1990s so he wouldn't have to listen to the whining from the paying tenants, but
Readers choose
Sasha Livingston
Tim Lebbon
H.M. Ward
Nancy M. Armstrong
Daniel Ducrou
Ophelia Bell
Jessica Gadziala
Eva Gray
Tawny Stokes
Amy Sparling