Forty-Eight

Mikhail

I walk across the floor of the warehouse, and the hollow sound of my footsteps reverberates throughout the space. The walls were torn down during a renovation that was started years ago but never finished. Gunsyn claimed the space and decided not to put them back up except for where he built a private office in a far corner.

As I walk past, fresh recruits stand stiffly at attention, guarding boxes of forged invoices and receipts that could land all of us in jail. I don't like having dirt so concentrated in one place, but this arrangement is necessary.

I make my way to the office, ignoring the dried blood on the floor and the sickly smell of vomit. As I approach the open metal door, the stink of cigars camouflages the rude smell. If Alexander bought the damn things, they're probably expensive.

I hate it here. But it's necessary.

My eyes adjust to the sunlight as I enter the small cube built of sheetrock and studs. The three brigadiers sit around a steel desk with key locks on e