Tsarina the Just

By Catherine Grace

 

            Sezja swung the sniper rifle off of her shoulder and set it down on the roof of the building. “Can’t believe they sent me to train a rookie,” she mumbled as she began setting up the rifle and loading it.

            “I ain’t a rookie,” her companion said with a derisive snort. He was tall, gangly. Like a skelton. His red hair stuck out awkwardly. Poor guy, Sezja thought. Never had a date in his life, so he tries the Russian Mafia.

            “Compared to me, zasranec, you are one.”

            “What did you just call me?”

            “A Russian never reveals their insults.” Sezja chuckled. She loved heckling Steven, ever since he first walked into her boss’s house, looking for work. Steven needed to realize he couldn’t afford an ego, and that he couldn’t afford to act tough.

            The long and short of the matter was, a personal hit man had to be very careful. Tick off the wrong person, and you are screwed. Sometimes literally. And sezja knew how to be careful. After all, she was raised to be.

            “How long until we pop ‘em?”

            Sezja let out a another low chuckle. “We ‘pop ‘em’ in precisely,” she looked at her watch. “Seven minutes. Now, watch carefully.” She lined up the aim on the sniper rifle, and looked over the edge of the roof at the street below. “You screw this up for me, and I will not hesitate to kill you.”      

            Steven himself laughed. Sezja turned cold eyes in him, taking in his freckled face. Standing at 5’4”, she wasn’t particularly impressive, until you looked into her ice-like dark eyes. She had a pretty face that looked very Russian to any who knew what to look for. Her yellow-blond hair was pulled back in a pony tail. Wisps were tucked behind her ears. “You think I am jesting?”

            Steven raised his eyebrows in cocky challenge.        

            Quick as lightning, Sezja pulled a baretta from the holster at her waist and cocked it, pointing it straight at his forehead. Her hand never wavered.

            Steven wasn’t laughing anymore.

            “I’m a killer, Steven. Don’t think for one second that I’ll spare you because of long forgotten aversion to murder. You’re a rookie, always remember that.” She pushed the gun towards him a bit. “Your death matters not a hair to me or my employer. You are dispensible. We are all dispensible. You’d do very well to take this to heart.” She uncocked the gun and holstered it.

            Steven was shaking. She’d pulled a gun on him. She wasn’t supposed to pull a gun on him.

            Sezja didn’t care. She never liked him. But then again, she never liked anybody. She never trusted anyone either. The only person she had ever trusted, she’d stabbed in the back.

            Once again, literally.  

            She checked the sniper rifle again, with a calm detachment that was quite eerie. She was so used to it, she didn’t even really need to do secondary checks. Sezja never told anyone her age. It was one of her personal policies. She didn’t even lie about it. Any age she gave would be considered either too young or too old to do what she did. And as a plus, with her connections, she didn’t need Ids for any of the clubs in the area. At least the clubs she frequented. They either knew her, or knew of her. Sezja was far from anonymous in that city.

            Steven was looking ninety degrees to where Sezja was looking. “The parade’s coming. We should get ready.”

            “You wanna shoot, or shall I?”

            “You’re here to teach, aren’t you? And what a better way to teach than by example?”

            Sezja turned and studied Steven again. He was looking back at her with that cockiness again. He hadn’t said anything that would warrant her killing him. And though he was dispensible, the boss didn’t like it when she killed her new coworkers for sending her veield insults.

            “Fine then. Be a wuss.” She rolled her eyes and scoped the street through the crosshairs on the sniper rifle.

            Steven didn’t answer.

            The parade that was carrying the Mayor of the City was coming down the street. Sezja steeled herself, though it was more of a tradition than anything else.

            “I justify my actions before Ivanov and the Lord. I justify them as evil and sin. I do not ask for forgiveness, but understanding. Understanding for my need for survival.” She whispered her words so Steven wouldn’t hear. Ivanov was her boss. And the Lord was just thrown in to make whatever God WAS out there happy.

            Like there was a God…

            As she counted the seconds to squeezing the trigger, Steven moved closer and closer to her, quietly.

            Sezja thought nothing of it, and kept the crosshairs on the Mayor’s head.

            She was about to squeeze the trigger when Steven jarred her arm, making the sniper shoot wide, missing the Mayor completely and scaring the hell out of the other parade goers.

            “DAMMIT!” Sezja dropped the sniper rifle, and turned on Steven, her gun out and cocked. She started spitting vulgar Russian words at Steven, but he didn’t understand them. He just looked confused.

            Sezja stopped talking suddenly. They would find out where the sniper had come from very quickly. She and Steven had to get off the roof. Well, she did. Steven could get shot and burn in hell for all she cared.

            She grabbed the sniper rifle, and rubbed it clean of her fingerprints, not that that would do much. Her fingerprints were on half a hundred murder weapons, and the police still didn’t realize they belonged to her.

            But that wasn’t important now. She ran towards the door to the stairs, and didn’t look back to see if Steven was following her. She raced down the steps, hoping no one would notice. She felt a strange feeling of being in the sixties… right after JFK was shot. And she was Lee Harvey Oswald. Or something.

            The building was very high. She got off on floor thirty three and ran towards an elevator, sideswiping some office workers, who spilled coffee all over their business suits.

            She caught the elevator just in time. There was no one else. It stopped on floor ten, and admitted four armed policemen.

            “Sorry miss, but we’ll have to take this all the way to the top.” One said to her.

            “But I have an important meeting to make,” She said, with a glare at the four.

            “Police business. You may get off here.”

            Sezja huffed, looking for all the world like a disgruntled employee in her black skirt and black blazer she had bought for jobs that required her to look like an average white collar worker. She stepped off the elevator, and watched as the four punched in the button for the top floor. She smirked as the doors closed, not caring if they saw her expression.      

            She turned, and walked calmly to another elevator, where it came, took her down the ten floors.

            Now was the time to run.

            The whole area was swarming with cops.

            “It’s the Rusky!” One of the more prevalent officers in the police force yelled.

            “Hel-lo,” She whispered as she took off at a dead run. “It’s pronounced roo-sky, Not Ruh-sky!”

            The officers ran after her. She was known only to very few of them as a suspected assassin. The fewer, the better. No pictures of her were on any file, as were no good descriptions. She made sure of that, with help from Ivanov. She may be dispensible, but she wasn’t easy to replace. Sezja was the perfect killer, and Ivanov was careful about who he let her take jobs from.

            Sezja ran for all she was worth. She knew she wouldn’t be able to out run them forever. She ran out into the traffic jammed streets, cops still on her tail. If she couldn’t get a taxi, she was screwed. And it looked as though all the taxis were full.

            “C’mon, c’mon….there has to be an empty taxi somehwere…” She stood on the very edge of the sidewalk, eyes scanning the taxis and other vehicles wizzing past.

            She was about to take off as more policemen came in sight when a blue car came to a stop, and the passenger door flew open.

            “Hurry up, or the line behind me will be pissed.” The driver called, stretching sideways to see her. “And the cops’ll see my liscense number.”

            Sezja was about to decline when she realized she had no other choice. No taxi would stop for her, at least the smart drivers. Realizing she very well maybe walking into a trap, she jumped in the car and shut the door. The driver sped off as she looked out her window, hoping the cops didn’t see her.

            “Why the hell did you-“ she turned to face the dirver, and he turned to face her. Her words caught in her throat. She knew this man. Knew him very well. His passive eyes looked into hers. He had only gotten one glimpse of her in the past, but Sezja was sure he knew every detail of her face, and the very color of her eyes and hair.

            The driver looked to the road, and didn’t say anything. Sezja studied him, stunned. His dark hair, with hints of red highlights, was falling into his eyes. It was growing too long, and badly needed cutting. His hair had been much shorter last time she’d seen him. But it suited him. The long hair did. His eyes were a calm hazel, changing colors by what colors he’d wear.

            His name, she knew, was Daniel Ballard. Husband of Amanda Ballard, who had witnessed a crime she was not supposed to see.

            “Well, if you’re going to kill me, get it over with.” Sezja couldn’t help it. Didn’t all these people she’d left bereft want revenge.

            “You far understimate me, Sezja the Killer.”

            Sezja winced at the nickname. “Torture, then?”

            “No.”

            Sezja felt a strange sense of guilt. It was strange, in that she’d never before felt guilt for assassinating someone. Not since her first kill, not ever. So why was she feeling guilty about killing Amanda Ballard, who wasn’t even a nice person (to her way of thinking), to begin with? After all, she was the one who caused the “crime” to be committed. And she was an iron clad witness. If she’d testified…
            Sezja pushed all those thoughts aside. No time to think about them now. “Then what?”

            “I’m helping you, can’t you see?”

            “I can’t believe that.”

            “Obviously.”

            She’d never heard Daniel speak before this. He had a nice voice, she supposed, but that wasn’t important. The important factor was that he was not speaking with undertones of hate. More like, annoyance at her reluctance to believe him.

            “Where are you taking me?” Sezja asked, looking out the window again. “I have things I need to get from my home, and then I need to get my ass out of the city.”

            “That’s exactly what they’ll expect. Where’s your, uh, ‘home’?”

            Sezja looked at him carefully. He was serious, wasn’t he? It didn’t matter to her if he knew where her home was. She never told Ivanov, but that was their agreement. She was going to go on the run, anyway. “They won’t expect where I’m going. Turn left on  Baker street, when you come to it.”

            Daniel was silent, not willing to start conversation. Sezja felt just as willing, but it was definitely an uncomfortable silence. A killer in a car alone with the husband of the woman she killed two years ago. Could it get any stranger?

            Sezja looked out the window, and noticed the car next to them. She swore briefly in Russian and ducked down under the dashboard.

            “What’s with that?” Daniel glanced down at her like she was crazy.

            “Ivanov’s right hand man is in the ‘vette next to us. If he sees me, I’m toast.”

            Daniel raised an eyebrow.

            Sezja sighed, and explained. “Ivanov will know by the speed of light that I failed. And that I was almost caught. And failure means death.”

            “Ivanov?”

            “Hello, the Russian Mob Boss of the city. Organized crime is very well and alive today.”

            Daniel’s eyes grew a little cold, but then normal again. He was probably realizing exactly why his wife was killed. No one had told him, Sezja knew. And with good reason. Going against an entire city’s mafia was not a smart idea.

            “And why exactly are you running from him?”

            Sezja shook her head. “Someone screwed up, and now I’m running for my life. Survival is key. The rest is just details.”

            “You’d prefer to simply survive than make something of your life.”

            Sezja looked up at him from where she was curled up on the floor of the car. “I have made something of my life. I get paid extremely well, and I was protected. Was being the important part here. Thanks to Steven, I am now going to be very much wanted by Ivanov. Depending on his mood, dead or alive.”

            “You sound like either one is hell itself.”

            “Alive, Ivanov will make me strictly work for him and no one else. This hit was for someone else, not Ivanov. I don’t particularly want to be that exclusive. And death speaks for itself.”

            Daniel rolled his eyes. “I have my reasons for saving your life, Sezja the Killer, and they have nothing to do with allowing you to go free.”

            “Ah, so Revenge is on your mind, Mr. Ballard.” She said the title and last name smoothly, almost suave. She could deal with revenge. She delt with it all the time in fact. It seemed as though one out of three hits involved some form of revenge.

            “Not exactly.” He turned suddenly, and Sezja had to brace herself against the seat. “We’re past that Corvette now. You can come back up. And put a seat belt on before I get a ticket.”

            Sezja made a face and slowly sat back up, keeping a sharp eye out for more of Ivanov’s cronies. She clicked her seat belt over her waist. “So, if you’re not out for revenge, then why aren’t you going to let me go free?”

            “I don’t necessarily mean that I’m going to hold you prisoner. You can’t leave the city.” Daniel didn’t even glance at her.

            “And why not? I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.”

            “I have my reasons.”

            “You know what? Screw you. I don’t have time to play your guessing games.” She unclasped the seat belt and opened the door. “See ya, Mr. Ballard,” and she threw herself from the car into the street. Daniel reached for her, one hand haphazardly on the wheel. He caught the edge of her blazer, but it slipped out of his fingers. Sezja hit the ground in a roll, and picked herself up. She watched the blue car drive off in the flow of traffic for but a moment before running off into the alley between a sandwich shop and a clothing/hippie store.

            As Sezja ran to her apartment, bits and pieces of memory floated to her from two years earlier. The feel of the cold gun in her hand as she held it to Amanda Ballard’s forehead, the anguished yell of Daniel Ballard cursing her to hell for eternity…

            And the memory that it wasn’t Ivanov that had wanted Amanda dead. Ivanov never even know about the Ballards, and he wouldn’t care if he did. Sezja didn’t know much about this man that Amanda supposedly saw, but she did know he asked specifically for her on his hits. Ivanov was more than happy to comply. This man asked for much, but gave even more in return. Amanda was an easy kill, and for a very, very large price.

            Sezja had taken the job quite happily. It was the only time she’d ever felt anything for a person she’d killed. It was a split second feeling, watching Amanda’s dead body in Daniel’s arms.

            She’d run away from that. Run away from seeing that man’s pain etched deeply into his face. She’d known immense sorrow, but she fought back in a way that would cause others to feel exactly what she’d felt.

            And soon, she didn’t care about the sorrow anymore. Killing was her job, and she’d gotten used to it.

            Perhaps that wasn’t a good thing?      

            Sezja shook her head, and slipped into her apartment. She couldn’t afford to regain her conscience so long. Just because a victim’s survivor helped her for unknown reasons, didn’t mean she could go become something she wasn’t.

            She bustled around her apartment, packing as quickly as she dared. Her tenants and neighbors had long learned to look the other way when it came to the Russian. She wouldn’t explain, and to ask questions meant to ask for death in her world.

            After she packed clothes, she tore off the blazer in disgust. And the skirt as well. She took a quick shower. It would take a while for those who were after her to find the apartment. But better to be safe…she’d leave that very night.

            She wrapped a towel around her body, and was working on the tangles in her yellow hair when a knock came on the door.

            She set down her brush, and wished fervently she was wearing clothes, so she could at least hide a gun in her waistband. Sezja tiptoed to the door, and looked out the hole into the hallway. She let out a sigh when she saw who it was.

            “I’m happy you knock,” Sezja said as she opened the door. Standing there, wearing all black, with black plastic framed glasses and spiky black hair, was a man she knew well.

            “Otherwise, you’d shoot me before you saw the glasses, huh?” The man laughed jovially. He had spoken in a rich Irish accent. His eyes were also dark, but that was an effect aided by the glasses. His eyes swept down her form. “Did I interrupt something?”

            “I was just taking a shower, Deegan. I was currently brushing my hair. Now I’m going to go put some clothes on so you can stop leering.”

            Deegan laughed again as she went into the bathroom. She ran the brush through her hair a few more times, and pulled on a pair of dark blue jeans and a white tank top. When she emerged, Deegan had made himself at home on her couch, looking questioningly at her suitcase.

            “Didn’t have time to pack my guns before the shower.” Sezja picked up the suitcase and set it by the door. “You no doubt heard about the stunning display at the parade today?”

            “The attempt on the Mayor’s life? Oh yes. I knew you were going after him today. I just didn’t expect you to screw up.” Deegan looked at her seriously. He was playing with a silver lighter. Deegan didn’t smoke. The lighter was a great intimidation factor. “The O’Connor’s were quite amused. You know they never liked Ivanov.”

            “It wasn’t Ivanov’s hit.”

            Deegan’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “What are you talking about? Ivanov came in last night, telling everybody to watch the news. He was finally going to top all the other mobs in town. This would make us realize that the Russians own this town. He was downright pissed.”

            Sezja gave Deegan a steady glance, trying to gauge if he was telling the truth.

            Deegan never lied. At least to her.

            “Are you serious?”

            Deegan nodded, his lighter burning steadily. He flipped it so it went out.

            “I got the hit from the same man who called in Amanda Ballard’s hit two years ago.”

            “How odd. There’s something going on here, Sezja.”

            “I’ll say. And guess who just so happened to save my tail as the police were chasing me down Park Avenue?”

            “Who?”

            She smirked for effect. “Daniel Ballard, husband of aformentioned late Amanda Ballard.”

            Deegan’s jaw dropped. “You’re not serious.”

            “Oh, but I am, Deegan McCormick.” Sezja smiled, a bit maliciously. “My day just keeps getting better and better, no?”

            “You never were one to have good or bad days, Sezja. You just took them as they came.”

            “Now you’re analyzing my life. Perfect.” Sezja strolled back into a room and flicked on the light. Weapons of various kinds gleamed at her. Knives, guns…even a sword was mounted on the wall. Deegan followed her.

            “Hey, Sezja, you’re skippin’ town, aren’t you?”

            “How wonderfully observant of you, Deegan.” Sezja pulled down  a small handgun, and tested its weight. “I can’t take all of these. Darn, I knew I should have sprung for extra hiding space in the Crown Vic.”

            “What are you going to do with the ones you don’t take?” Deegan looked curious.

            “I dunno, you can have them.” Sezja placed the handgun where it belonged. “I certainly won’t need them.”

            “You plan on giving up the profession?”

            “Hell, no. I just don’t want to be as obvious as before. I had protection. Now, I don’t.” She quickly packed up several seemingly random weapons, but Deegan knew her better. There were weapons she could part with, and others she wouldn’t. He knew she’d die before giving up her Desert Eagle, and she knew better than to leave behind her derringers. Those four tiny guns saved her life more times than she cared to recall. She also was rather partial to her dual Barettas and her little used AK 47. Dammit, the girl had more guns than a gun show.

            Sezja also made sure to pack a few knives, which had also saved her life on more than one occasion. The girl was smart.

            “What aren’t you going to pack, Sezja?” Deegan smirked.

            “Perhaps just the normal firearms that anyone could get. Not anything too exotic. The others,” she gazed down at the guns, almost lovingly. “The others have their uses and their stories.” She closed the cases of her guns and shut off the light in the room. Not too many guns had been left, and she was right. The only guns she wasn’t taking were either simple handguns, her rifle, and her sniper rifle, since she’d left it behind that morning.

            “Where are you going, then?” Deegan asked as they left the room.

            “Away. Like I’d tell you.”

            “Sure you would. I’m your friend, am I not?” He grinned, his accent all the heavier.

            Sezja rolled her eyes. She never understood how Deegan’s accent remained so prevalent, even after all these years. She supposed he just didn’t want to let go of it. She never had an accent. She lived in the USA for her entire life. She just was raised in a very Russian evironment.

            “I’m still not telling, and assassins don’t have close friends.” She set the cases of guns and knives next to her suitcase. “I find it amusing I have more bags of guns than clothes.”

            “But then again, you never cared about your appearance.”

            “Why would I need make up, you tell me. The last thing I want to do is attract attention to myself. Same reason I don’t wear unique clothing.” She walked into her tiny kitchen, and rummaged around looking for food she could take. “You can have anything I leave here, Deegan, as can Nikita and Tatyana and Kathleen and Sean.” She grabbed a small bag from the freezer and tucked it into her jeans pocket. She moved to  a cupboard and pulled a wad of bills, both in Russian Rubles and American dollars, out of a coffee mug.

            “Why do you have rubles, might I ask?” Deegan raised his eyebrow.

            “My father sent them to me in his last letter. It was all the money he had in the world, and he was about to die. He didn’t trust the legal systems in either Russia or America, so he thought it would be safer.” She counted the money with a sigh. It wasn’t much in comparison to what even poverty stricken peoplep had now, but it was a good chunk to put in savings. “And I never had a clean enough record to put it in a bank. Until now.”

            “What are you talking about?” Deegan watched her, amazed, as she stuffed that money into another bag and into her suitcase. She had abandoned her search for food.

            “I’m changing my identity. Perhaps moving somewhere quiet, and not as fast paced. A place where no one will ask questions if you like to go on… long or short vacations.”

            “You astound me, Sezja.”

            Sezja just smiled. “Be a dear, and grab a bag, will you? I wanna hit the road and put some space between me and the city.”

            “Hey, if you want to cover a lot of miles in one day, just stay at my place and leave tomorrow morning. Please?”

            Sezja dropped her bags , and turned to face Deegan. “What are you trying to do, Deegan? I can’t risk it, you fool!”

            “Where’s the risk, Sezja?” Deegan looked more innocent than he should have. “Ivanov doesn’t know where I live. Heck, they probably don’t even know who I am.”

            “That’s not the point. The point is, I have to leave tonight. Today. This afternoon.”

            Sezja looked at Deegan expectantly, and he picked up two of her bags. She left the apartment and din’t bother to lock it behind her. Deegan followed her down to the carport.

            “Maybe you’re blowing all of this out of proportion…”

            “Don’t even try that, Deegan.” Sezja unlocked her ancient Crown Victoria, and popped the trunk. She closed the trunk after she and Deegan stashed her bags in it, and she opened the door to the driver’s side. “I’m leaving now. I probably won’t see you again unless I happen to have an unlikely hankering to see the city again.”

            “That’s it? You’re just leaving forever, now, out of the blue?” Deegan looked hurt.

            “That’s it. That’s how I play the game. I certainly don’t feel remorse. We’re not supposed to make soulmate connections here, Deegan.” Sezja slid into the seat and looked up at the man. “Leaving means nothing, except that I have to find a place where I can work. We can’t afford to become attached. You know that as well as I do, Deegan.”

            Deegan nodded, and took off his glasses. He rubbed his eyes. Sezja was struck suddenly about how different the Irishman looked without his glasses. Sometimes she wished he wouldn’t dye his hair black. He probably looked even better with his natural Irish looks. But she wouldn’t say anything. Sezja didn’t like to “check out” guys. And she didn’t like guys to check out her. She didn’t like guys to notice her for obvious reasons. She didn’t date. At all. People would remember dates. Sezja couldn’t afford to be remembered. That’s why she was so angry when Daniel Ballard saw her after she killed Amanda.

            But Sezja didn’t want to look at men because she might find someone just like her. And that would be a tragedy in an of itself.

            “I’ll miss ya.”

            “I’m sure you will.” Sezja looked down at the wheel. Deegan put his glasses back on.

            “I guess hugging is out of the question.”

            Sezja’s cold glare said everything.

            “Forgot you weren’t a touchy feely person.”

            “I don’t do the touching thing, Deegan.” She played with her keychain. “And I don’t do goodbyes. I never have anyone I wanna say goodbye to.”

            “Goodbye, Sezja.”

            Sezja didn’t answer as she shut the door. She put the keys into the ignition, and started the car. She pulled out of the carport, and left Deegan standing there, watching her leave.

            She wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but Deegan was probably her closest friend. The others she had mentioned in the kitchen, Nikita and Tatyana, were acquaintences who could have been friends, who worked for Ivanov. And Kathleen and Sean were Deegan’s good friends in the O’Connor gang.

            As she drove through the city, one thought seemed to replay in her mind. The thought that Daniel Ballard had saved her life. If the cops had caught her, it would be instant death penalty. Even if she had got off some magical way, Ivanov would have no more use for her.

            But why had he saved her? And what did he want for her.

            She didn’t have time to think about that now. She had to get out of the city. She stopped at a newspaper stand, and parked the car by a sidewalk. She got out, and perused the Headlines. She hadn’t expected anything to hit the stands yet, as it was still early afternoon. Mostly just articles about the parade that day. And a double murder two nights ago.

            Sezja smirked as she scanned the article. Murderer was supposedly a blonde female. Supposedly. The victims were two company execs, one accused of embezzling, the other was secretly involved in a major drug ring. The paper said neither of those. Sezja knew, because she was the one who had killed them. Ivanov asked her to kill the man who was heading up a drug ring that was threatening his territory, and the Embezzler…well, he was just a witness who couldn’t afford to live. Helped a little that he was a lying cheat.

            Sezja bought the paper and was walking back to her car when a man grabbed her arm.

            “So we meet again.”

            Sezja looked up. She wasn’t necessarily short, but this man was tall. And it just so happened to be Daniel Ballard.

            “Are you stalking me, Mr. Ballard?”

            “Aren’t you the one who does the stalking, Miss, uh…”

            Sezja smirked. She never told anyone her last name if she could help it. Sezja was already a strange enough name. Strange, at least, for Americans.

            When Sezja didn’t provide her last name, Daniel continued. “I saw you drive up. That your car?”

            “Yes, and I paid for it too.” She walked over to be out of people’s way and sat on the trunk. “You got a problem with my old Crown Vic?”

            “Not really.” Daniel studied her as she opened the paper and started reading more about the double murder. “How the hell can you look so normal reading a paper on the back of the car?”

            “Years of practice, moj drug.”

            “What?”

            “Russian for my friend. Get used to it. I’m fluent.”

            Daniel looked at her with that odd stare again. “I could have guessed. Are you from Russia?”

            “How many times do I have to explain this to people? My parents were the ones that immigrated, not me. Born and Bred here.” She flipped the page. “Suspect is thought to be thirty-five? Are they serious?”

            Daniel stepped closer to this strange woman, who was non-chalantly talking about her heritage and reading a newspaper. He had a feeling the article she was reading was about a murder she had commited. She had sounded… a little offended at the age.

            “How old are you?”

            Sezja looked up, and raised her eyebrows. “Why do you want to know?”

            “Because I’m curious.”

            “That is not a good answer, moj drug.”

            “So you’re not going to tell me?”

            “Why don’t you just buzz off, hot shot?” Sezja folded up the newspaper, and unlocked her car. “I have places to go, people to see, cities to flee.”

            “You’re leaving then.”

            Sezja got back into her car. “Yep. What a good little genius you are. Now leave me alone so I can actually get out of here. I’ve wasted enough time on you.” She put the key into the ignition, and tried to start it.

            The engine didn’t turn over.

            “Dammit, you old piece of der'mo. Don’t fail me now.”

            The car didn’t listen.

            Sezja smacked the wheel in frustration. “I am NOT riding a bus out of this stupid city with two bags of guns.”

            “Do you need a ride?”

            Sezja looked up at Daniel as if he were crazy. “Like you’d be willing to take me all the way to St. Louis.”   

            “Maybe not that far.” Daniel just smiled. “But I offer my apartment as a place to stay until you can get your car fixed.”

            “Are you insane, Mr. Ballard?”

            “Perhaps.”

            Sezja shook her head. “I’m not staying at your apartment. You’ll probably call the cops on me, and then where would I be? Federal prison?”

            “I will not call the cops.”

            “Either way, I’d be a fool to accept your offer, just as you are a fool to extend this offer.”

            Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Really, is it that foolish?”

            The look on Sezja’s face clearly betrayed that she thought it was.

            “Perhaps it is. But come anyway.”

            Sezja rolled her eyes. “I’m getting rather tired of you. Either get your revenge and be done with it, or leave me alone.”

            “How many times do I have to tell you I’m not out for revenge?”

            “Prove it to me, Mr. Ballard. Prove to me that you don’t want to torture me and hurt me as much as I hurt you.”

            Sezja’s eyes bored into Daniel’s. Neither were willing to break eye contact.

            Daniel’s mouth twisted into a smile. “Three words, Sezja. ‘You will Justify.’”

            Sezja tore her eyes away, and stared at her hands on the wheel. “How do you know about that, Daniel Ballard? How can you possibly know about that?”

            “I have my ways, Sezja the Killer.”

            Sezja looked down at her hands for another moment, then up to meet Daniel’s. “Where is your apartment?” Her voice held a note of defeat.

            “It’s quite close. You can see the stand from the window. Do you have bags?”

            Sezja popped the trunk. “Take the suitcase. I’ll take the others.”

            “The gentleman should take more bags than the lady,” Daniel said with a raised eyebrow.

            Sezja just looked back at him with tired eyes. “You are not touching the other bags, Daniel Ballard. I have my reasons. I’m going to your apartment, isn’t that enough?”

            Daniel nodded. He took the suitcase, and gestured for the Russian to follow.

            Sezja did, but at a slight distance. She was rather wary of Daniel. First rule in her life was to never trust anyone, not even yourself. If you can’t trust yourself, you can’t trust anybody. It worked both ways.

            “You shall Justify.” She whispered the words under her breath. How had Daniel known the closing sentence of her father’s letters? Her shoulders itched, but she didn’t dare drop the gun cases to scratch.

            Daniel led her into an apartment complex. A very nice one at that.

            “Elevator?” she asked as he led her across the lobby.

            “I live on the ninth floor.”

            Sezja sighed as they stepped onto the elevator and Daniel punched in the button. Several wisps of yellow hair dropped into her eyes, so she set down a case to push it out of the way.

            “I hate my hair,” she mumbled out loud without even realizing it.

            “It is very Russian, is it not? Amanda had blond hair, you know.”

            Sezja turned glaring eyes on Daniel. How could he stand to talk about his wife in such a casual way with her killer? “I do not have blond hair, Daniel Ballard. I have yellow Russian hair. There’s a difference.”

            Daniel just shrugged as if he didn’t understand that there could be a difference between Yellow and Blond hair.

            It had been a constant battle with her. Sezja hated her hair, and had hated it ever since she knew how to hate something. Her hair wasn’t curly, or silky. It was sort of thick, but not glossy thick. It hung down around her face like a curtain. She didn’t bother to chop it off, as a disaster in the seventh grade made her fear bob cuts. It was yellow, in the truest sense of the word. Yellow, very Russian, and very much her fathers. And it drove her crazy.

            The elevator pinged, and the doors opened. Daniel swept out, so Sezja picked up her gun case and followed him out into the hallway. They met no one until Daniel had a key in the lock of his door. The door across the hallway opened, and an older lady stepped out. Sezja was thankful for her curtain-like hair as she tilted her head so the yellow strands covered her face.

            “Daniel! You’re home early.”

            “I had half a day at the office, Mrs. Porter.” Daniel turned to the lady with a smile. She looked to Sezja a classic grandmother type, one who thought of anyone as her grandchildren. Of course, Sezja wouldn’t actually know. She’d never met her grandmother, who was supposedly still alive in St. Petersburg.

            “Who’s this young lady?” The tone was almost accusatory. Sezja fought the urge to laugh, but insted looked up through her lashes, pretending to be shy. It was pretty easy.

            “This is Maria Johnson. She’s my cousin. Well, Amanda’s cousin.”

            Sezja almost snorted, but caught it in time.

            “How do you do?” Mrs. Porter’s voice was much friendlier. “I see you have the Cassen family hair. Though I wouldn’t really know. I just remember dear Amanda telling me that her whole family had that beautiful blond hair.”

            Sezja caught her lip between her teeth. She’d just had a strange discussion with Daniel about her hair, and now this old Lady was telling her it was blond. She did wear glasses. Perhaps she didn’t have good eyesight?

            So she just nodded.

            “Maria’s tired. Jet lag, you know. She’s been traveling in Europe.” Daniel spun the lies as easy as if he were simply telling the woman he was down at the corner store buying coffee.

            “Well, have a good time here, Dear. Daniel’s a nice boy.”

            Sezja just nodded again, biting her lip harder to keep from laughing. Mrs. Porter returned to her apartment, and Daniel opened the door to his apartment.

            “Sorry about that, Sezja. She’s a prying old lady, but I still love her like a grandmother.”

            “Well, I’ve got Beautiful Blonde Hair, and I’ve been traveling in Europe. What can you expect? And Maria? I hate that name. There was a girl in my high school named Maria and she made it her duty to make my life a living hell.”

            Daniel’s confused expression made Sezja laugh.

            “What’s the matter, Daniel Ballard? Didn’t think assassins went to high school?”

            “Not really. Perhaps its that whole other world I live in.” Daniel set her suitcase on the floor next to a couch. Sezja looked around the apartment. Condo, really. Tastefully decorated with pictures in expensive frames. Crystal glassware, leather couch. Big TV and DVD player.

            “Got money?”

            “More than I know what to do with at the moment. Make yourself at home.”

            “I’m standing in the apartment of a woman I killed with her husband and you’re telling me to make myself at home?”

            “You always bring that up. Can’t you forget?”

            “Can’t you remember who I am, Daniel Ballard?” Sezja’s eyes were like steel, and her voice was cool and tight.

            “Sezja.”

            “Sezja the Killer, you mean. You know what I do. And you still let me sleep in your house? Eat your food? Look at pictures of your wife?” She picked up a silver framed picture of Daniel and Amanda with their arms around each other.  “You should be hating me with ever fiber of your being. You should be wishing me a cruel, heartless death an eternity in hell.”

            Daniel just watched her, his hazel eyes carefully cool and guarded. “Should I, Sezja?”

            “Yes. I know your kind. I’ve seen it. Hate tearing your very sould, wanting everything the way it was supposed to be.”

            “Killing you won’t bring Amanda back, Sezja.”

            “You aren’t supposed to care.”

            Daniel took the picture from Sezja’s clutching hands and set it back on the endtable. “You keep saying should and supposed to be, Sezja. How do you know how things should be? Who gave you that knowledge? You are not God.”

            “I don’t believe in God.”

            “That’s too bad, because, you see, I do.” A smile flickered across his lips. “And that’s why I can’t do anything to you, Sezja. I’ve forgiven you.”

            “I never asked for forgiveness.” Sezja’s demeanor grew even colder. She didn’t want to listen to this man’s rants and raves about the Lord. She didn’t want to hear what he thought was divine inspiration. She didn’t want to hear about a Just God who damned her to hell. “You think you’re so high and mighty, huh? You think you are vyshe, above me. Forgiving a sinner such as me.”

            “You don’t understand, Sez-“

            “I don’t need to understand how you see things, Daniel Ballard.”

            Daniel shook his head, almost sadly. “You truly don’t understand. Have you not heard the true story of God?”

            “My mothe was Orthodox. Russian Orthodox. There’s no way I’m getting to Heaven, Daniel Ballard. I’m too grave a sinner. And why should I do good works to an unfeeling people who don’t deserve them?”

            Daniel’s eyes grew sadder. “You haven’t. Poor child that you were. Good works do not grant you eternal salvation and God’s Forgiveness. If being sinless meant God’s Grace, we are all doomed.”

            Sezja collapsed onto the couch, not willing to listen to his words. “You are a fool, Daniel Ballard.”

            “I think you are the greater fool. Can’t you listen to me?” Daniel flicked his eyes to a cross on the wall above the TV. “Do you know what that cross means?”

            “It is a symbol of Christ’s crucifixion. I was forced to go to church for eighteen years. I know all of this.”

            “Just a symbol? That it doesn’t say that Christ gave up everything? He became a human, the only sinless human, and he died, so that we may live?”

            “He died, sure. But what does that have to do with me?”

            “He rose, Sezja.” Daniel crossed his arms over his chest, but didn’t look back at the assasin. “You don’t want to understand. I can hear it in your voice.”