One, two, three booming shots from the Mean Ol’ Broad, and they went down before they could throw more lead. Toppling against polished oak cabinets, they upset what looked like costly glassware, all of which shattered as everything hit the floor. I kept moving, hearing the sound of big shoes stomping from the hallway. Pulling a pulse grenade from the harness across my chest, I pressed the button on the side and sent it rolling their direction. I barely caught sight of the group of oversized suits and wide eyes before the grenade detonated, creating a sphere of ionized energy that trapped any carbon matter in its field and disintegrated it by way of implosion. A humming sound, an electric charge in the air, and an explosion in reverse redecorated the walls with abstract blotches of sizzling DNA.
The house rumbled as the nature-warping destruction ate a perfect circle into the walls and floors. Gunshots thundered upstairs, where Poddar dealt with the goons up there. One of the injured men crashed through an interior window, broke the railing, and fell to the bottom floor with bone-crunching force. I leaped over the body and burst into the next room, where a savory menagerie of scents hit me in the face.
The immaculate table overflowed with silver candlesticks and dinnerware, the food still warm, steam wafting from bowls of Baikal fish pelmeni, baskets of pirozhki meat pies, plates of beef stroganoff, Kamchatka crab, Olivier salad, and honey cakes alongside pitchers of beer and bottles of vodka. All the piping hot deliciousness reminded me that I hadn't eaten since my morning meeting with Flask, and I couldn't help holstering my iron and a picking up pirozhki as I passed.
"Such a podonok," Madame Goryacheva said as she entered from the opposite end, aiming a retro scattergun at me. She wore all black like a widow, from wide-brimmed hat to boots. A scowl carved lines on her mature face as she motioned to her bodyguard of five bruisers with murderous glares on their ugly mugs. They toted an assortment of weapons that ranged from sawed-offs, pistols, and even a few edged weapons for some reason. I figured they wanted to be shot first and be put out of their misery.
I charged the HFM on my left hand with a flick of my wrist and kept my fist trained on her while I took a bite of the pirozhki and savored the flavor of ground beef, mushrooms, onions, and rice. "Mmm. Not bad. In fact, this might end with me walking away with a doggie bag instead of dropping more of your boys like dead weight, if you play your cards right."
A hard smile touched her lips. "You think so? Then you are durak, Mick Trubble. I spared your life once. I won't make mistake twice."
"I don't think you realize the severity of your situation, Madame Goryacheva. Because I got four shots left in this revolver, and no matter what happens, one of them is gonna carve a peephole through your brainpan. Unless you give me a reason to change my mind, that is. Now, I know you sold Kilgore the explosives that took out the Power Central building. That blood is on your hands. You can make amends by telling me where I can find him."
"You understand nothing, Troubleshooter. Don't be upset because I sold to a higher bidder. The reason I had to deal the explosives is the same reason I can say nothing. You're no longer the most dangerous golovorez in New Haven, and since that is true, you have no power."
"Better be sure, 'cause you're a few seconds away from having no life."
"You fire that weapon and you're a dead man, Trubble. My Igor is taking care of your friend upstairs. After he finishes, he will take care of you."
The ceiling rattled from the force of heavy impacts above. I kept my attention on the Russians, a smirk on my face. "I wouldn't bet on that."
As if on cue, the ceiling collapsed, and two bodies slammed onto the table, breaking it in two in a shower of shattered timber and crumbling drywall. It took a second for the chalky dust to clear enough to see that Poddar stood on top of the unconscious body of a literal giant: nearly eight feet of misshapen muscle that could only be the Igor that Madame Goryacheva spoke of just a second earlier. Poddar's laser-edged talwar protruded from the big lug's chest. Madame Goryacheva's eyes widened in shock.
"Igor! What have you done to my baby boy?" Enraged, she raised the scattergun. The HFM fired when I squeezed my palm, and she screamed as she tumbled backward. I kept blasting, dropping three of the trouble boys as they wavered between checking on her or attacking. Poddar flew from the table at the remaining two, his already formidable speed and strength enhanced by the exodermis skin under his clothes. As he made savage work of the duo, I dropped to one knee beside Madame Goryacheva, who clutched her injured shoulder with clenched teeth, glaring at me with red-rimmed eyes. "You are monsters. Prishju!"
"Monsters? Lady, you ain't got the slightest idea." I ignored her ire, feeling my face harden into something cold and feral as I pulled the Mean Ol' Broad and aimed right between her eyes. "Call off the backup unless you wanna get more of your family killed."
"I'll do nothing, bastard. Poshyel k chyertu." She followed the insult by spitting in my face.
I kept my composure, wiping the saliva away with a hard smile. "Go to hell? You got two seconds before I send you there unless you get smart very fast. Call off your backup chopper squads before you get on my bad side."
Her face trembled with rage and pain, but she complied, tapping a sequence on her holoband.
"Smart move." I placed a gasper between my teeth and let it dangle there as I spoke. "Now, I was gracious enough to only hit you with a stun blast, because you still have valuable information that I need, like the location of your friend Kilgore. Of course, if you don't spill, then you're no longer valuable." I jabbed the muzzle of the Mean Ol' Broad against her temple. "If you're not valuable, I got no reason to let you live another second, vrubatsa? Nod your head if you comprehend."
She nodded.
"She was an old lady," Poddar muttered.
City lights dripped across the windshield like liquid jewels as Maxine raced across the wet asphalt. The amount of water on the streets was terrible, even for a city like New Haven. Unfortunately, I had suspicions where it originated from, and it was nothing but bad news if my hunch was correct.
I glanced at Poddar, eyes narrowing. "She's a mob boss, in case that flew over your sentimental head. Means she deals hop, guns, and explosives, Ace. Not to mention leaving a lot of bodies to push daisies. The lady's put more stiffs in the ground than the local mortician, so save your sympathy."
"You didn't have to threaten to kill her."
"You're right — I should have buried a slug in her head and been done with it. That's what Hunter would have done. So, she better thank her lucky stars that I got my act together before our little visit. But because I chose mercy over sensibleness, I'll have droppers on my back for the rest of my life — or the rest of hers, depending on how I feel once we put Kilgore on ice."
"Yeah, if she even gave you the right info. She could have been just gassing us so we'd breeze."
"Not a chance."
"How can you know?"
"When you got someone dead to rights, you can read 'em like a newspaper. I know from experience that no one's more honest than when they got a gun to their head. No, she gave up Kilgore, all right. I know that just like I know she tipped him off as soon as we lit out of there."