Moscow summers seem to rain harder by the year, after a painstaking hour of traffic jam, Morris finally reached the Red Light District. He found the nightclub, tipped the doorman and entered, brushing off the rain from his coat.
It was late and the place was almost empty, only a few businessmen talking in German, and some young Europeans who maybe visiting a strip joint for the very first time, kept being told to put their camera phones away by the bouncer.
He found the person he was looking for, went towards the bar and took the seat next to the smoking man. The two sat side by side staring at the liquor cabinet behind the bartender, which was backed by a mirror, offering a clear view of their rear.
"Have you come for my proposal?" the man asked looking at the reflection.
"No, Simonov." Morris ordered a beer. "But I may need your help."
"Why? Does the Talon of the Cold needs a partner? That's very rare for his reputation."
"No one use that name anymore. Not since the Cold collapsed."
"Because everyone who knew that name are dead?"
"Because everyone who knew that name thinks it's a joke now!"
By the end of the Cold War, lots of spies and operatives were dismissed by their organizations, some went working for private securities, others went into the black market, Simonov was the latter.
"How would we know? Morris." the old spy blew out a cloud of smoke. "That we'll be sitting in a bar, drinking together?"
"We did it many times, Simonov."
"Yes, but most of the time we wouldn't know which one of us may walk out alive!"
The bartender placed the beer before Morris, he took a sip and looked around, nodded to Simonov's comment. There was a time when they would shoot each other dead on sight, but now they were just two unemployed men, outdated and living off their savings.
"I need some information." Morris began. "About Mikhail Siwanov."
"I think that's public information. No?"
"I want to know who would want his family, and for what purpose."
"Your question is too general. It's like asking why everyone hates the Americans."
"Hey! I'm an American!" Morris felt offended.
"I know!" Simonov burst out laughing. "What you should be asking is, to what value does his family holds. Siwanov is at the top of the food chain, he would sacrifice himself for his country."
"We never cross path. I don't know the man."
Simonov was spinning the glass with his fingers, a gesture when he hesitates.
"There's a man."
"Go on." Morris stared forward, monitoring the reflection of people behind him.
"He knows who and where, but he's not friendly."
"Sounds friendly to me."
"He doesn't like to show his face."
"A phone call would do."
"He's not a social person, half the people I setup only seem him once."
"And the other half?"
"Found in pieces, or never found at all."
"Sounds like we're friends already!" Morris grunted.
YOU ARE READING
Dance Moms Bodyguard (8) JoJo and Talon
ActionAgent Morris lives with a haunted past, but his life soon changed when he took on the task to deliver a young kidnapped victim.
