The imitation marble tiles of the corridor clacked rhythmically under his expensive black leather shoes as Chief Inspector Vincent Sable walked down the corridor to his office. A determined grimace was plastered onto his face as he neared the red oak doorway.
He glanced at the bronze plaque below the tinted glass of the door stenciled Chief Inspector V. Sable and turned the knob and pushed the door open.
Stepping inside the room he was greeted by his aide. "He just got here, sir." The short man said to him; his aid was red faced, and judging by his slightly shaken appearance, it seemed the rumors about their guest's mannerisms were rather accurate.
He sighed and looked at the second door leading to his private work area, "Thank you Rogers; make sure I am not interrupted." Rogers acknowledged and he stepped over to the other door.
Putting on his best impassive-government-official's face he placed a hand on the door handle. He had earned this office of power in the INTERPOL headquarters by one simple virtue: being and doing better than everybody else. This was just another chance to prove that. He turned the handle and entered.
Inside, his private office was dark. All of the lamps had been switched off and the large window on the far wall was shuttered. Stepping over to his desk, he flipped the switch on a table light. The new illumination allowed him to see the many decorations on the walls and floor of his spacious office, and the dark shape sitting across from him.
Vincent had known he was there, but the sudden materialization of the man from the dark still made him jump slightly. The figure in the chair across from the desk straightened and he took a good look at him.
The man was very tall, even slouching in a large padded chair, he was imposing. Beneath a horribly worn wide brim felt hat, a grizzled and scarred face with a short, unkempt beard with a pair of dull green eyes glared at him with some variation of contempt and interest; the blemished skin was a tan brown color. He was wearing an impossibly dusty travel coat and a pair of old trousers. Beneath the coat Vincent could see two distinct bulging shapes; he had a fair guess that this man was currently armed.
His thin, dry lips were twisted into a sardonic grin. "Did I scare you, Inspector? Most sincere apologies." Vincent ignored the jibe, studying the voice; it was deep and bitter sounding, heavily accented, Far eastern European or Russian perhaps?
Instead, he decided to open with small talk. "So, Mr. Russo, I hear you arrived just recently; was your flight comfortable?"
Russo's grin widened further. "I see covert operations plane designs haven't changed in the last fifty years; cramped, dark, and absolutely fucking filthy." He laughed, "I slept like a damn baby." He crossed his arms and watched as Vincent shifted slightly at the man's language.
It seemed that being packed into a secret operation task force plane and being transported cross-continentally to a government office was nothing new to this man.
He recalled the data files that he had received for briefing. Seyrei Russo, Age: Unknown, Birth date: Unknown, Country of origin: Unknown. Earliest records date from pre-cold war era, highly skilled tracker and assassin, freelance mercenary bounty hunter, awful manners. That was the story everybody knew, and there wasn't much else anybody knew about him. Though there were some highly interesting facts that were less commonly discussed.
Apparently there was more to the story than most bureaucrats were aware. At some point in his very long lifespan, Russo came across a nearly fatal accident. In a mysterious series of events, he was, if data was reliable, caught in the middle of an arms plant explosion; though he survived, his heart was damaged beyond repair. By more mysterious circumstances, Russo came across a prototype of a very sophisticated artificial heart, which the few chances to study it suggest technology decades ahead of even today's artificial heart models. Whether through high technological innovation or some bizarre sorcery, Russo's aging had been extremely slowed, making it impossible to determine his true age.
But what interested Vincent, and the higher ups of INTERPOL, was that in his superhumanly increased lifespan, Russo had become an unparalleled master of assassination and bounty hunting. It was a well known fact that many governments had called this man to track down wanted criminals, or make rebellious thorns in their side, "disappear." Even his own government, Vincent thought, had probably hired his services in the past.
But now it was time to get to business. "Your reputation precedes you Mr. Russo, very impressive. You're also a very hard man to find." That was an understatement; trying to contact him had kept his entire department busy for weeks on end.
He stood from his seat and walked to a cabinet situated against the wall. From it he pulled a fine crystal decanter filled with expensive cognac and a pair of glasses. Returning to his desk, he filled both glasses and offered one to the mercenary and sat down.
Vincent looked across the desk at Russo as he sniffed the alcohol and then knocked it back in one gulp. To Vincent's consternation, the man's face soured and he began to rifle through his coat's pockets while muttering to himself; he wasn't certain, but Vincent thought he heard Russo say under his breath "…I've pissed stronger stuff than this." As he watched, he pulled out a heavily scuffed silver drinking flask from a pocket and unscrewed the cap.
A powerful odor of what Vincent assumed was Vodka-or may have once been- assaulted him. His sensitive nose wrinkled and burned, and it took all of his self control to keep from sneezing; whatever was in that flask was downright caustic. Through his watering eyes he saw Russo take a generous swig and messily wipe his lips with the cracked leather gloves he was wearing.
Russo offered the silver flask and its acidic contents to him. He hastily declined, settling back into his chair and sipping his own glass of cognac. Russo shrugged and tucked the flask back into a pocket.
Time to get to the point, Vincent thought. "I believe you already should have an inkling of why we have brought you here, yes?" Russo gave a slight nod of his head. "And I assume you have some idea who Sylvester James Cooper is as well?"
This brought a much more visible reaction. Russo's formerly impassively mocking grin was replaced by a ferocious scowl, his downturned lips and green eyes burned with an all consuming dislike. He sat up straighter in his chair. "A God-damned thief," As if in punctuation of that statement, he spat on the short blue carpet, as though talking about such things were as foul tasting as the subjects were morally dubious. Vincent blanched slightly and had to restrain himself from reprimanding the mercenary.
"And of the worst fucking kind, one who treats his bare-faced robbery as though it were a game, a damn pastime! And he actually has the gall to consider himself honorable!" Now this was interesting, Vincent thought, it seemed that Mr. Russo had a fierce dislike of the aforementioned Cooper; this might make his job so much easier.
It seemed Russo was going to continue with his angry rant, but appeared to catch hold of his tangent. "Yeah, I know the bastard. What does this have to do with me?" Now it was time to work his government angle.
Vincent leaned forward on the desk, interlocking his fingers. "As I'm sure you know, Mr. Cooper is a highly wanted criminal. And I'm also sure you are aware that all attempts within INTERPOL and other national authorities have proved rather…Fruitless." Inwardly Vincent frowned to himself and wondered how so much time and resources could be directed at this one, seemingly simple task, yet all prove for naught. "So, my superiors have decided perhaps the course to take, is one that is more, Independent."
Russo seemed to be getting the implications, but asked "I thought Cooper was the job for that harpy fox with the attitude issue?" Eesh, Inspector Carmelita Fox; that was a person he could go without seeing again for a long time.
"Yes, apprehension of Cooper has for quite some time been under the jurisdiction of Ms. Fox, however, she is no longer on the case and has been reassigned."
That made it sound so easy; when he and Inspector Fox had stood before their boss, she had been told that her lack of results was no longer tolerable, and she was being removed from the case; instead, he had been placed on the mission, with orders to use every means necessary to finally apprehend Cooper. To say Inspector Fox didn't take it well would be an understatement; the screaming rage she had flown into had been quite awe inspiring, and the vigor in which she had tried to strangle him had been more than impressive. It had taken three other officers to drag her off him.
While Fox was dedicated, maybe even obsessive, she simply didn't get results. If Vincent had to use one word to describe Russo, it would likely be Insane. But if his record was trustworthy, he would get results.
"Ah." It was a relatively simple word, yet the manner in which it was uttered was oddly chilling. "So you have brought me here, so that I can finally blast that son of a bitch to kingdom come eh?" The nonchalant tone he used when discussing killing…
"No, no, I have been ordered to apprehend Cooper alive, and I think you know by now where you fit into all of this. What do you think?" If he was lucky, Russo's predilection for a dislike of thieves would sway him to accept without excessive negotiation.
The old bounty hunter leaned forward over Vincent's desk; he slowly removed his felt hat and set it onto his lap, exposing his short salt-and-pepper hair. He looked at Vincent. "Oh, I have no doubt about what you want from me, that's the simple bit. What I'm interested in, is what you are willing to do for me." Russo's smug grin returned and the ancient leather of his glove creaked and groaned as he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.
Classic hunter behavior; Vincent sighed inwardly and spoke. "INTERPOL offers a sum of fifty thousand for the capture of-"
He was interrupted by a strange sound. Russo had his head thrown back, and his jaws were wide open and his chest was heaving; an unpleasant rough choking sound was spilling from his throat. It took a moment for Vincent to realize that he was laughing.
"Heh, heh, heh-Boy, I've killed men for asking me to do less for more than you are right now." For a moment Vincent's face betrayed fear. "But… Since you're giving me a chance to legally kick that son of a bitch's ass, I'll do it for Sixty-five. And, I'll also need full sanctioning to use the methods I'll require; within legal limits of course."
Vincent gave an internal sigh of relief; he had expected the foul mannered mercenary to demand as much as one hundred thousand. Pulling on his best bullshit government agent's grin, he queried "So, we've come to an agreement?"
The Bounty Hunter said nothing, and simply stuck out a thick, scarred leather gloved hand. Smiling, Vincent took the proffered hand and shook it.
Standing out of his seat, he reached into his suit pocket and withdrew a thin, hard plastic tablet card. He placed it on the desk and slid it across; Russo picked it up between two of his fingers and gazed at it, studying the item.
And suddenly the old man's lips split into a wide predatory grin, his flat white teeth standing out against his dark face. Vincent also began to grin excitedly; this was the start of the hunt, and though he wasn't a direct part of it, the allure was slightly intoxicating.
But the experience was much more refined for the Bounty Hunter, and his green eyes flashed with glee as he looked at the Warrant Slate for Sylvester James Cooper.
Standing from his chair, Seyrei Russo tucked the slate into a pocket; and grabbing his hat and replacing it on his head he gave an approving nod to the INTERPOL agent. "I think this will prove to be a very profitable venture for the both of us." He said.
Vincent nodded, "Indeed, Mr. Russo; and of course, we will provide the means for your transportation back to St. Petersburg."
Russo laughed again, and leaned over Vincent's desk. He plucked several silver plated pens and a highly valuable solid gold cigarette case and stuffed them into his coat. He turned and walked to the exit way and opened the door. Turning back to the Agent still behind his desk he waved one of the silver pens in the air in front of him.
"Screw that shit; this time I'm flying first class!"