This is part 4 of Vile, a novel in progress. Would you like to read from the beginning?
An old friend of our villain has been waiting on a couch, and he stands up now and looks at Mortimer. “Who was that at the door?”
The man’s name is Yuri Valmotter, and the two have known each other for over twenty years. They met during a bank heist. Mortimer planned the heist, and Yuri was the getaway driver. Halfway through the scheme, the two agreed to kill the four other men involved and split their shares of the money. Both Mortimer and Yuri were eleven years old at the time.
“A boring policeman named Barnes,” explains Mortimer, motioning for his friend to sit back down. “He’s having marital trouble.”
“Is that why he was here? Are you a consulting marriage counselor now?”
“No.” Mortimer knows that Yuri is kidding, but feels obligated to explain. “He mentioned something about arresting me.” They both sit on the couch, and their conversation seems a bit awkward, because our villain can’t decide whether he should sit facing his Yuri or simply sit staring at the blank television screen.
“Arresting you? You’d better do something about that.” Yuri has chosen an elegant angling of his body toward Mortimer, not too close, but not too distant.
Mortimer does his best to emulate this position. “Oh, yeah. I might have forgotten.” He pulls out his cell phone, hits a couple buttons, and puts it to his ear. “Hello? Yes. Could you threaten to kill the mayor’s wife and children again. Yes, the normal amount. Thanks. Bye.” He presses the end button and focuses his attention on Yuri again. “I hate making those phone calls.”
“What?” This idea is ridiculous. Mortimer had driven his conscience to suicide at the age of eight, when he burned down a homeless shelter, ran a very successful fund raiser to rebuild the place, then embezzled all the money. He spent the bulk of funds on matches, oil drums, and C4. “I just hate talking to hit men; they always sound so depressed.”
Can you take part five?