Page 62 of Emerald

“Oh, shit is right,” I tell him. “Are you Zima?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, sheepishly. “I mean, it’s Afanasi, actually, but Zima is like my code name.”

Ivan makes a strangled noise that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.

“What in the holy fuck are you doing brokering hits?” I demand. “What are you, twelve years old?”

“I’m eighteen,” Zima says, as if that’s any better.

I seize him by the hair and drag him out of bed. Zima is wearing only a pair of old and sagging underpants. He yelps and slaps at my hand, but I pull him easily over to his computer station.

I throw him down in the chair.

“Did you tell Remizov where I live?” I demand.

“Well,” Zima says, eyeing Ivan nervously, “yeah. Kinda. I told his goons.”

I want to pop him right in the mouth for that. But I refrain. For the moment.

“That’s fine,” I say, through gritted teeth. “Now you can return the favor and tell me where he lives.”

“Uh, I don’t know if I should,” Zima says.

“You definitely should,” Ivan says, his voice lower and rougher than ever. “Because if you don’t, I’m going to break your fingers one by one. Which will make it difficult to type.”

I glance over at Ivan, mildly annoyed.

“I can threaten him myself,” I say.

Ivan raises one eyebrow.

“Alright,” he says. “Go ahead, then.”

“Listen, you little shit,” I say, grabbing Zima by the throat, “I got a grenade through my window because of you. I know if you figured out where I live, you did the same to Remizov. So spill it.”

“Alright, alright!” Zima says, holding up his hands. “Here.”

He picks up his phone off the desk and types something.

“There,” he says. “I just texted it to you.”

“You have my phone number too?” I shriek.

Zima shrugs.

“Yeah,” he says.

I check my phone and confirm that Zima sent the address.

It’s there alright.

But there’s one thing bothering me.

I have a strong inclination to kill this kid, so he doesn’t give out my information to anybody else. I’m not going to do it, but the temptation is there.

Which makes me wonder why Remizov let him live once he’d gotten my address.

“Hey,” I say to Zima. “How come Remizov didn’t kill you?”

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