"It's not the first time I've made a speedy conclusion," I said, wetting my lips when Vahlov stood up threateningly. "I've actually done that quite a lot lately. I'm ashamed of myself, but then you come along and decide to give my brain a boost. I really do thank you."

"I am not terminally ill," Vahlov sneered in English, probably in hopes that his Russian comrades wouldn't understand.

"But you are. All the signs are there," I said, tilting my head to the side. "Wouldn't you say it's odd for a big-time mafia lord like yourself to not be in charge of doing all the brutal beating? You carry a seriously grudge for me and you obviously like getting your hands dirty if we go by your line of work."

"You little--"

"And don't you think it's odd that a seemingly intelligent man like yourself who can come up with clever metaphors is still stupid enough to refuse medical aid when his leg is clearly in need of it?" I wondered rhetorically. "Unless of course there's something you wouldn't want a doctor to discover by a simple examination. Something like... cancer?"

Vahlov's eyes glinted with wrath. He didn't speak, just stared at me with the promise of a long sufferable death.

Well, if I was going to die, I might as well get my last words out. "Death is an expected but unfortunate part of life, yet when it comes before the senior age, it's considered a sign of weakness. You no doubt hid it from all within your little 'corporation' here, because nothing like illness makes people look at you with pity." I spoke from experience. "If your men knew you were dying or your enemies for that matter, your metaphorical throne would be theirs to easily take. My guess is that you wanted to ensure your noble linage to continue to sit on the throne before you died, so you made sure you had an heir. Sure, a girl might not have been the best option, but given the circumstances she would have to do. Am I getting close?"

Vahlov still didn't speak. I took it as a sign to continue.

"Then of course, all you had to do was capture the one person who could stand in the way of your plan succeeding. The one person who would eventually figure it out and bring you down," I said, meeting his eyes with a little smirk. "Me."

Vahlov's eyes glinted again but this time not from anger, but from excitement. He took two steps closer to me and then shoved his hands into his pants. "Very good, Detective. You should feel proud of yourself."

"I do, continue."

"But aren't you forgetting one thing?" He said and cocked a brow, growing a sly smirk on his lips. "Why do you think that it is that your precious police force haven't stormed this place yet? We know they are out there, waiting."

My mind crunched the various answers, but alas, I came up lacking. I hated that. For once, he had an answer that I didn't. "Alright, I'll bite, Vahlov. Tell me; Humiliate me if you must, my ego can handle it."

"I wouldn't be so sure," He chuckled. "How did you put it..? Ah yes; Don't you think it's odd," he said, mimicking me, "That I haven't put you and your little woman in the same room yet? That I haven't showed you what I've done to her? It must have crossed your mind by now. 'What has he done to her, is she still alive, where is she?'" Vahlov mused. "To answer your question; She's at home. We never took her from you. I told my men to speak offensively about your woman and I guess their imagination ran away with them. But truth be said, detective Crane, she is home in her happy little apartment, doing happy little things, while being happily unaware of your heroic gesture for her," He smirked. "You gave yourself up for nothing."

I closed my eyes and cursed silently in my head when Vahlov began chuckling maliciously. I should have known. No, I should've checked first. Should've called her, heard her voice. I didn't. I blindly took their crass words as truthful and went charging into the battlefield for her.

Fuck, I really was whipped, wasn't I?

"So you see, Detective, the only reason why they haven't stormed this place yet, is because I have threatened to kill you," He told, smirking. "You practically volunteered as a hostage and for that I must thank you."

Sonofabitch. I clenched my fists in rage and sneered at the floor. Vahlov had not only taken care of the only obstacle in his way, being me, he had also lured me into a trap which now held the police from storming this place and saving an innocent little girl. Leon cared too much about me to let my life go that easily and the damned Purple Heart they pinned on me probably kept some of the higher-ranked people from taking command and gunning this place down themselves. They were in a pickle.

"So let me guess," I snarled. "They pay you a handsome fee for me, maybe grant you passage out of the country somehow, in the agreement of getting me back when all is said and done?" I scoffed. "If that's the case, it won't hold. I'm not worth that much to them."

"True, but then again, aren't you?" Vahlov mused. "I know all about you, Detective Crane. I knew you worked for the military a few years back. You were involved in a few classified state secrets." Vahlov walked all the way up to me and leaned down to my face. "How much do you think that information is worth to them? You think they'll take the risk of you spilling it under a torture session?"

"I'll never rat."

"Probably not, but the government doesn't take risks," Vahlov scoffed and stood up. "All the cards are on the table, Detective. Each moment they spend arguing over what to do is a moment where I hypothetically could be extracting you for information. I don't think it will be long before I have what I want," He chuckled, glaring down at me.

I ground my molars. He really had it all figured out. All except one major flaw in his plan. Well, maybe not so major, considering I only just made up my mind. "You say you know everything about me..."

"I do, Detective. I was quite thorough in my investigation of you."

"Well then you must also know that I am an excellent lock-pick." With that, I yanked off the cuffs I had been silently working on picking ever since Gustav dumped me in here. The bed in the excluded cell had a loose spring and guess what? Springs made excellent lock-picks.

I jumped up before Vahlov had a chance to react and throttled my skull into his. Punching him across his jaw and kicking his gut with my knee, he fell to the ground with a groan and a thump. There was no fight at all. Vahlov was weaker than he let on, weakened by his terminal disease. The infected gunshot wound and syphilis was just adding misery to more misery.

I grabbed the Glock from his belt and checked the clip before arming it. Stalking up to the door, I knew I now only had one mission; Find the little girl, get out and let the Feds do the rest. But I wasn't leaving without that girl.

I made sure to handcuff and gag Vahlov properly with the same cuffs he used on me and with the handkerchief in his breast pocket. After that, I knew I'd have to shoot my way out. With no armor or Kevlar, I was most likely to get shot myself. But as long as I could make it to the little girl, I would take as many bullets as my body could swallow.

~~~

I'd only ever been shot five times in my whole life; Once in my my shoulder, once in my back, once in my arm and once side in my side and my leg.

- All of them were today.

As I strapped in another clip that I had taken from one of the dead guard's belts, I fired it at the struggling guard on the floor across from me. He had been crawling for his gun, but now... well, the only place he'd be crawling to now was Hell if there even was such a place.

I groaned on the floor and clutched the wound in my side, deciding that that was the one that bled the most. It was the wound in my back that hurt the most, though, but I couldn't quite reach that.

Forcing myself to get up, I stumbled further down the hall, supporting most of my weight by leaning against the wall. One hand on my wound and one hand holding the gun, I let my unwounded shoulder be my wall-support as I soldiered on. Just a few more steps and I'd be at the end of the guarded hallway I had gunned down. Don't ask me how.

Finally standing in front of the locked door, I shot the padlock off and then opened it. What met me was a tiny little girl sitting on a soiled mattress. Pee, from what I could tell and smell. She was clutching on to her teddybear, a bunny plushie of some sort. Her black hair was tousled and looked uncombed, just like the rest of her stained attire did. What the hell had they been doing with this girl? Hadn't the whole idea been to take care of her?

"Hello sweetheart," I said, trying to force as much softness into my voice as possible. Truth was, getting shot hurt, but moving around with open bleeding wounds with bullets inside you hurt more. Soft was a voice that took a lot to muster when you felt like collapsing on the floor from pain. "My name is Russell. I'm from the police. I'm here to help you."

She just begun sobbing, her cries growing louder. That wasn't good.

"Shh, darling," I whispered, kneeling down to her. I carefully picked her up, stroked her hair and placed a kiss on top of her head. "It's okay. Don't be scared. We're going to get you out of here, yeah? Don't worry."

I was speaking to a five-year-old. Telling her not to worry was about as productive, as telling a rock not to sink in water. She kept on crying, but nonetheless found some comfort with me. When I felt comfortable with her trusting me enough to remove her from the environment, I stepped out of the room and begun my march back down the hall.

Step. Pain. Step. Pain. Step.

Her legs were curled around my waist, her right knee digging into the gunshot wound on my right side. Her arms were cinched around my neck, the weight of her head against my shoulder pressing on the wound located there. So much pain. Too much blood lost.

I groaned and nearly collapsed to my knees. Just a little further.

I finally spotted the same door I'd walked in through. The same that would lead me out. I sped up the pace, groaning as the wound in my leg spiked up and made me clench my jaw so hard I swore I cracked a tooth.

A gunshot went off behind me and the next thing I felt was a blinding pain that went through my back to my stomach. I let out a holler and collapsed onto my knees, clutching the little girl. She screamed and clutched me, too. I wouldn't make it. But she could.

"Rose," I whispered, hearing rustling behind me. My deductive senses told me there was one guard I had failed to kill and he was now coming for me, but slowly. He was wounded like me. "Rose, I need you to listen to me; I need you to run out that door and keep running, okay? Ask for someone named Leon. No one else, okay? He's dark, has a big funny nose and there's a small ketchup stain shaped like a heart on his tie. Can you find him for me? Tell him he can come in here now and clean this place up?"

Rose was scared to her tiny bones, but she still nodded. Letting her go, she got to the floor and begun running towards the door with shaky legs, still clutching her teddy. She made it out the door and kept running.

Another gunshot went off, and this time I didn't feel it hit. Then again, I'd lost so much blood, my limbs were going numb.

I fell onto the floor, my chin hitting the dirty concrete. My eyelids slid close on their own accord which saved me or anyone else who found me the trouble of doing it. Opened-eyed corpses were the least attractive ones if you asked me. The least I could do was close my eyes for Leon's benefit, especially since I brought up Vegas to his wife.

I faintly heard footsteps, but they were too far away. The world darkened and I couldn't wait to see what mysteries lied ahead.

After all, I was about figure out the biggest mystery known to mankind; What came next after the darkness?

• • •

I just shot a man down. In my book. I can't remember what the Bible says about that. Should I Hail Mary or just kiss my girl goodnight?