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200 STEPS DOWN.
CHAPTER 1. MONDAY OCTOBER 5, 20:30.
If Nicolae Caramarin was nervous, he didn't show it. Not when he was
holding six tits he wasn't. And two nine spots in his hand. Drank from the vodka
bottle and slid it back over. Opposite him, Nedelcho Videnov took a longer pull.
Videnov glanced at his bodyguard standing just behind the players. The guard was
leaning against the office wall with his hands in his pockets, next to a hastily wiped
whiteboard.
Caramarin took a longer look at the woman in the corner. She was worth
another look. Tied to a chair with a piece of duct tape gagging her is not the best
look for any woman. As an image, it will never make the front cover of Vogue
magazine. But you could see that she was beautiful.
“Your boss is branching out, then?” Videnov said. Money always
interested the accountant. He liked being around it and if he could cut himself into
a slice of any deal then he wanted his piece.
There was a disreputable air about the man. Only young, late twenties, but
already balding. Pale blue eyes behind gold framed designer glasses. His silk tie
was loosened and rode half way down his chest. He'd chosen his short cut to
wealth by advising on tax evasion and money laundering for the underworld.
“Yeah,” grunted Caramarin.
“Hear he got stiffed by the Georgian. Lost a lot of money?”
“Abkhazian, actually, comrade. But he's dealing with the matter,”
“Bit of a step up from money lending and protection to people trafficking?”
Videnov took another pull from the bottle and slid it back again. The man's eyes
Caramarin took another slug, saw Videnov trying to stare him down and
took a deeper drink. The vodka burned its way down his throat. Only a cheap brand
poured into an expensive bottle. Fooled no-one.
