Authors Note: I had originally written this to be a short story, but now after thinking about I have decided to continue with what I have started. After I sketch out a story line and a plot I will be sure to start posting chapters up.

This story contains scenes of intense and graphic violence.

Death is my Work

Prologue

I remember when I used to play in the woods near the Caucasus Mountains as a child. I would go on many adventures, wherever my imagination lead me. There would be a lot of dead trees, old and dried up, scattered throughout the forest. I always liked to break those trees, you know, snap them, push them over, I would break them wherever I saw them. I also remember the distinct sound they made when broken in two. It was a hollow snap, it was always rather loud and would echo through the other trees.

I remember this because I find myself, once again, in the forests high in the Caucasus Mountains, now as an adult. I hear that hollow crunching sound made when a branch snaps, only this time, it is not coming from a tree.

The skies are grim, blanketed by the grey clouds that foretell of an early snowfall. I can see my breath steam into the cold late autumn air as I look on with my family. Our eyes are focused on the man tied to one of the many tall spruce trees that cover this area. The man wears nothing but his under garments, his flesh nipped at by the slow icy gusts of wind. He is barely conscious, his breaths come out in ragged gasps.

Did you know there is a similar noise to that of a dead branch snapping? That similar noise is the sound of bones breaking.

The other cartel members and I watch as that man, the traitor, is dealt with. One of the members, Oleg, swings a lead pipe in the unsympathetic way of a man with no remorse. Suddenly I hear it again, the loud hollow snap of a branch breaking. Except, I am no longer a child, and the sound I hear is actually the traitor’s shin break in two. I am familiar with this sound.

He tries to let out a scream of pain, of hate, of defeat, but he cannot. It is hard to scream when your ribs are broken. He succeeds only in coughing up more blood, the result of a punctured lung. The fresh red liquid dribbles down his already bloodied chin, and falls to the forest floor.

Dark red splotches decorate the colorful leaves that have fallen in autumns wake. I, Sergey, look at the traitors face. He shows nothing, he regrets not his double-crossing actions, only that he was caught.

Finished with his violent and sadistic work, Oleg walks over and stands next to me and the three other cartel members. Dimitry Elyashkevich steps forward, he is the eldest son of two. The eldest son to the leader of our Russian Cartel. Dimitry’s dark green eyes study the traitor for a moment, his narrow jaw tightens before he speaks.

“You are lucky we caught you before you leaked too much to the police.” Dimitry says in a voice as cold as the air.

“I'm lucky? I am LUCKY?” Traitor Pavolov responds incredulously. His voice is slow and hollow. I am surprised he can even speak at all.

“Yes Pavolov, you ARE lucky. Had you revealed too much, my father would have been forced to also go after your wife and child, for further example setting.” There is no emotion when Dimitry speaks of the harsh and brutal actions. I too share the lack of emotion when I am called upon to carry out such tasks. There is never emotion.

“You asshole. Fuck you.” Pavolov says quietly, hate and resentment in his eyes. There is a solid cushioned cracking sound as Dimitry casually, yet savagely, punches Pavolov in the side of the jaw. A thick spray of blood flies from Pavolov’s mouth upon impact, along with a couple teeth. Dimitry rubs his fist as he backs away, staring the traitor down with malice in his eyes.

“Do not be a hypocrite Pavolov, you yourself have partaken in such things as well. Back when you were a loyal member of our family, and not a backstabbing and traitorous coward. Tell me, what did the police offer you that we could not? What did they promise you that was not already provided by my father, by me, by my brother?” Dimitry asks with spiteful curiosity.

I knew many of the things that the police offered, for I too had been approached before. I, however, was not to be so easily bought, or threatened. Time in jail, even in Russia, was nothing compared to the punishment of betraying the family. Besides, Gregoriy Elyashkevich, our Cartel Boss, has been kind and generous to me through my years of service.

“They offered me a chance to get my revenge for the murder of my brother. The brother that you shot in cold blood, you fucking prick!” Pavolov screams the last part, ignoring the pain of his broken ribs, and of his punctured lung. Again there is the solid cushioned crack as Dimitry swings a clenched fist. Pavolov’s head snaps hard to his right as his jaw is once again met with a savage punch. I do not blink, I do not flinch, I am familiar with violence.

“You mean the brother that was stealing money from us? It seems treachery and deceit runs in your family. I’ll be sure to remember that in the case of your son.” Dimitry says as he walks away from Pavolov toward the other four cartel members and I.

“Pizd’uk!” Pavolov growls. I do not know how Dimitry responds to being called a bastard, no one has ever dared to do so. There is no violent response, Dimitry simply looks back at Pavolov and begins to laugh softly to himself. He is a dead man anyway.

“The task is finished, take note of what has taken place here today, remember it, learn from it, and never speak of it again.” Dimitry lays out his words coldly with an air of finality. “Let us return to our homes. Sergey, come here.” I hear my name called and the gentle command that followed. I step over to Dimitry and stand in front of him. I do not say anything, merely wait in silence.

Reaching into his thick leather coat, Dimitry eventually produces a black pistol and places it in my gloved hand. I briefly look at the weapon, it is a Stechkin, a handgun capable of automatic and semi-automatic fire. I am familiar with this gun. I am familiar with many guns.

“Shoot him, or leave him for dead. Either way, the wolves will not go hungry tonight.” He says to me before patting my shoulder and walking back down the mountain with the other cartel members. Back to their waiting vehicles. I watch them go, in silence. Wait for them to disappear from sight before I turn to face Pavolov. He is already on the verge of death, I am here to seal that fate.

“So, you will shoot me, yes comrade?” Pavolov asks in the casual way of a man who knows his fate and accepts it. I am not your comrade. That is what I want to say to him, but there is no point to do so. If he wishes to think I am his comrade before I end his already withering life, if it will help him die peacefully, then let him think that. I am a killer, yes, but a sadist, never.

“I will make it quick.” That is all I say as I walk forward and stand next to him.

“That is enough for me. End it.” Pavolov whispers as he closes his eyes. I raise the barrel to his temple and pull the trigger without a second thought. The quiet mountain side echoes loudly the sound of a small explosion. The sky is suddenly awash with hundreds of birds as they take flight in response to the booming crack of man-made thunder.

Blood pours from two large holes that the bullet bore into Pavolov’s head. It pours like a fountain of thick red water. A man of my word, he dies the moment the bullet exits, an amount of time measured in thousandths of a second. He is another dead body added to the list of many that I am responsible for. I do not waiver as I look at his corpse, I am familiar with death.

Turning around I too make my way down the mountain to my own vehicle. I look up at the grey clouds that cover the sky. It begins to lightly snow, the cold air is synonymous with death. Twigs and dried leaves crunch under the fall of my steps, it is the only sound that can be heard in this lonely forest.

It doesn’t take long before I see my vehicle, a BMW with tinted windows that match the black paint that covers its metal body. Upon opening the door I get in and settle in to the drivers seat. Reaching over I place the still warm Stechkin into the glove compartment and forget about it the moment I shut and lock the panel.

I sit in silence for a few moments before I look at my face in the review mirror. My blue eyes are hard and set, they have seen many things over the course of my life. My short black hair is combed towards my forehead. A cut jaw is made more so through the constant clenching of a serious and unfaltering demeanor. I look away as I turn the ignition and fire the motor back to life. It is time to head home. To my family.

My family, my wife, my daughter. I have been gone most of the day, and Natalya, my wife, will ask her usual questions when I arrive. How was work? Fine. What did you do today? Paperwork. Anything new? Not really.

The mountain road is empty and long, winding its path through what little space is provided. The snow falls harder, causing me to turn on my headlights and drive with more care. I do not listen to the radio, I choose instead to sit in the silent noise of my own thoughts.

I love my wife. I love my daughter. I could never ask them to be involved, or even aware of what I do. What I do to provide for them. How would she react? How would the question process be then?

How was work? Violent. What did you do today? I shot a man in the head. Anything new? We have one less member to our cartel.

How do you discuss your work when your job is murdering for a crime lord? How do you tell people you’re a hit man? How do explain that your unique job entails killing other people with guns, knives, car bombs, poison, among many other ways? How do you do that?

You don’t. You lie. You live a separate life, you build an ever growing facade and make people think that you are no different than they are.

It does not bother me to lie, I am familiar with lying. I am a killer, I am a liar, yet I am honest, I am a father, I am a husband, I am a sinner, I am a member of a Russian Cartel, and I am quite familiar with all of these things.

How was work today? It was just another hard day at the office.