Page 47 of Isaac

I pick up the same AR-15 Jeremy just inspected. The bracing bite of cold metal against warm flesh triggers dormant memories; murky shadows from my time in Afghanistan, the land of death and hopelessness.

I remind myself to stay focused, pushing away the insistent echoes of the past. Instead, I turn my attention to the grim reality of the present moment.

These are mint-conditioned, military-grade weapons, no doubt about it—deadly and efficient. As much as it pains me to admit it, Yuri's product is indeed top-notch.

"Looks good," I tell Isaac after I finish examining the piece. Isaac nods. He has chosen to use as little words as possible today and I wonder if the reason he’s mostly quiet is because he’s trying to calculate the pros and the cons of working with Solovey.

Jeremy's expression, on the contrary, is a mix of annoyance and frustration. Apparently, he doesn't appreciate having his judgment second-guessed, especially by someone new.

Isaac glances back at Yuri. "Your guns are impressive, but how can I trust you to deliver on time? My buyers don't tolerate delays."

Yuri smiles that slimy smile that was able to fool millions, but he’s not fooling me. "Mr. Thoreau, I assure you, I am always punctual. You can ask Mr. Avagyan. We’ve been doing business for thirty years."

The air between Isaac and the Russian crackles, a dangerous dance of egos and ambitions.

I watch them closely, knowing that one wrong move could bring everything crashing down.

Isaac's jaw tightens, his eyes never leaving Yuri's. He leans forward in his chair, resting both elbows on his knees. His pose is deceptively relaxed.

The sound of my own breathing seems a thousand times amplified in my head as I wait for him to make his move.

"Who’s to say you won’t stab me in the back?" Isaac hisses out, his voice a knife slicing through the tension.

Yuri sizes him up and after a long moment says, "Why don’t I meet you in the middle, Mr. Thoreau? First shipment is on us. Two hundred premium pieces. I’ll have my men deliver them to the location you name. You keep all the profits and if your client likes that product, feel free to reach out."

"We'll try it out," Isaac finally agrees. "But if there are any issues, this is one and done."

"There won't be any issues, Mr. Thoreau. You have my word."

I feel like a high school kid who’s gone through all four years courting one girl, hoping to get into her panties and tonight is prom night and he knows for a fact he’s finally getting some. And that feeling is great.

Now, I just need to get some solid intel to get these two busted once and for all.

"Shall we drink to our potential partnership?" Yuri suggests with a hand gesture to one of his men. The man quickly retrieves a bottle of expensive Russian vodka and a set of shots from a nearby crate.

The bottle is a beautiful work of art, its deep blue glass etched with intricate silver filigree that forms the shape of a fierce, two-headed eagle. The label bears an elegant Cyrillic script in gold, the glint almost as menacing as the men who surround us.

Shot glasses are distributed among the two groups, mostly the big shots and their right-hands. Alcohol is poured.

"Na zdorovie," Yuri says, raising his glass.

Isaac replies with a curt "cheers" before they both down their shots in one swift motion.

This alliance is like a dance with the devil himself—each step taking me further into darkness, yet closer to my ultimate goal, destroy Isaac’s organization and bring down the Russians with him.

The two groups slowly disperse, Yuri and his men disappearing back into the shadows first.

"If we can move it quickly, we could be swimming in green, boss," Jeremy says as he and Isaac walk side by side.

My task is to watch our back but I’m close enough to be able to make out their whispers. My senses are still on high alert, even though it seems like the Russians want to be friends.

"Product is good, no doubt about it," Ricky pitches in.

The warehouse door groans shut behind us as we file outside, the rusty metal screeching in protest.

"What do you think, boss?" Jeremy asks.

"Not sure," Isaac responds noncommittally. "We’ll have to talk to Toro first."

---