A Deal.

December of 1992.

I had blood on my hands again.

It was one of the brothers who took over the business when Arin died. His name was Javier – or, his name used to be Javier. He was only the boss for three days before Larry sicced me on him.

I was his attack dog now.

Javier was dead only a few hours after the order was given, strewn across his apartment like decorations because he put up such an unholy fight. He gave me a few bruises, a cut on my thigh, a black eye – but only one of us walked away. Javier was quicker than Arin, smarter than Arin, but he died the same way, in the same room, surrounded by useless bodyguards.

Now it was Elias and David who took up the mantle, like Larry had intended, and all was well. We were on the way to a meeting that they had arranged with their puppet masters.

It had only been four hours since Javier died. My hands were still shaking.

Larry clapped a hand on my shoulder to steady me, guiding me to an abandoned shop a block away from the meeting place. He set up the surveillance equipment on his own, tapping into our short-range bugs and carefully setting booby traps on either door, in case someone found them here. I sat across from him, trying to wipe the blood onto my jeans again and again.

And again, and again.

"Ugandans, like I thought," Larry said, with the headphones up to his ears. He offered me a pair and I slipped them on, listening to muffled voices in a language I did not understand. "English is their only common language, thank god."

Elias was speaking. "Someone has been fucking with us. Our brothers… Arin and Javier… they killed them. They killed them!"

And the Ugandan spoke, in a heavy accent, "This is not my concern." Whatever the brothers said, his response was the same. I wondered if that was all he knew how to say in English, and then he said, "I give you the money already. I give you the money. You deliver the drugs."

"We can pay you back," Elias said.

"No, no paying back. I give you the money, you deliver the drugs. You do not want to do this. You will lose more brothers."

There was a long silence.

"Okay. But give us until February."

"No. January 24 is our deal."

Another silence, this time thoughtful.

"Fine."

"Got nowhere with this meeting," Larry commented, smiling to himself. "I was really hoping they would call the whole thing off. But I guess this gives us a chance to light up their world. Sometimes it's more fun that way." He reached over to turn off the recording device but stopped when they started talking again.

"FERMA will be pleased."

Larry's breath hitched and he was perfectly still as he listened. I watched him, concerned by his behavior. Nothing got to Larry like that.

"Thank you. Thank you for this opportunity," Elias said, his voice trembling slightly.

The meeting broke apart, and all they heard was chairs scratching and bodies moving around.

I reached over to turn off the recording, frowning at Larry, "What is it?"

"FERMA," Larry said quietly, shaking himself. "Old spies' tale." He cleared his throat and folded up their supplies while he spoke, "Used to be rumors floating around about a shadow organization within the Russian government – spooks in deep cover, infiltrating major civilizations and wreaking havoc. You know, all that spooky kids' stuff. It's all bullshit."

"But he said it?"

"It means farm in Russian."

"I know that."

"It could be nothing. I'll report it. But it is nothing. Don't get your panties bunched up about it." Larry stood, hugging the suitcase to his side. "You did good, kid. This was a flawless mission."

Do all his flawless missions end in the deaths of two men?

I just nodded.

"Deal is moving forward without Arin and Javier, which is… fun. Let's get back to the safehouse for the night, plan out our next move. If there is one."