Page 100 of Hunter's Hidden Camera
Nash: “The kid? What do you want? You want me to bring him to you? I’ll go get him.”
Nikolai: “No.”
Nash: “Then what?”
Nikolai: “I wantyouto kill him.”
Nash: “Me?”
Nikolai: “Yes.”
Nash: “Nikolai, dealing drugs for you, smuggling drugs, is one thing, but killing someone . . . I’ve never killed someone.”
Nikolai: “Well, tonight will be your first time.”
Nash: “I don’t know that I can do that.”
Nikolai: “Did you not just say that you want to make it up to me? That you will do whatever I want you to do? Or are my ears lying to me?”
Nash: “Yes, I did say that.”
Nikolai: “Well, it’s time to grow up. It’s time to be a man, yes?”
Nash: “I don’t know.”
Nikolai: “Don’t worry. Killing. It gets easier the more you do it. Like that cop who pulled us over in Riverside two weeks ago. When I shot him in the face, I felt nothing. It will feel like this someday for you too.”
Nash: “I don’t think I can do it, Nikolai.”
Nikolai: “Nash, you have a choice. You kill the kid. Or I kill you. What do you choose?”
Nikolai stares Nash down. After a while, Nash caves in and nods. Nikolai reaches into his back pocket and pulls out my bloodstained survival knife. He unfolds it so that the blade is out and ready.
Nash takes the knife by the handle. “Okay, Nikolai. I’ll do it.”
Nikolai says, “Do it slow. Make it hurt. Kill the boy.”
43
Surrender
Ihurry as fast as I can from the kitchen window of Nikolai’s house to the exterior basement doors. A padlock holds the doors firmly closed.
I could probably use one of the big rocks in the garden area of the backyard to smash the padlock, but it’ll make too much noise. I need to create some kind of distraction in the front.
I run low, back to the front of the house. I scan all around and spot a small but heavy-looking potted plant (because it’s ceramic, not plastic). I pick it up and chuck it at one of the windows. The sound of glass shattering pierces the quiet. I hear shouting coming from inside.
As I speed back to the basement doors, I hear bodies inside the house all run towards the front, in the opposite direction from where I’m heading. It’s working.
I find a good-sized rock on the ground. I repeatedly bang against the padlock until it breaks apart. I pull the doors open and descend down creaking wooden stairs.
When I reach the bottom, I see an exposed light bulb hanging from the ceiling, which has spiderwebs dangling from it. And there, in the corner, Oscar lies on the cold ground, eyes closed, dried blood covering his clothes and skin, handcuffs securing him to a water pipe.
“Oscar!”
Oscar opens his eyes. He’s unable to say anything.
I put my hand on Oscar’s shoulder. He puts his hand over mine.
