Free MasterStroke by Dee Ellis Page A

hats or scarves. It was difficult to tell them apart aside from very minor physical characteristics. Sandrine noted that they could be professional football players or weightlifters.
    They peered around the shop with bored, slightly puzzled expressions, as if suspicious of seeing so many books in one place. One broke away from the group and advanced to the counter. He wore a square silver ring on the little finger of his right hand. With little else to tell him apart from the others, Sandrine labelled him Pinky Ring.
    “Good morning,” he said with a harsh, thick accent. Sandrine guessed Eastern European or Russian. “I am looking for Marcus Buckingham.”
    It’s possible he was in the store on business. Marcus’ dealings led him to some unusual quarters but these visitors were definitely out of character.
    “I’m afraid he’s currently away on business and won’t be returning for a few weeks. Perhaps I can help. I’m the manager.”
    Another of the men wandered off, deep into the shop. The other stood silently by the door, scowling slightly, his hands deep in the pockets of his overcoat. Sandrine dubbed him Smiley.
    If Pinky Ring was disappointed with the answer, he didn’t show it.
    “I need to speak with him most urgently. How may I contact him?”
    “Mr Buckingham is out of contact. He is with a client in Europe.”
    Pinky Ring pursed his lips in frustration.
    Sandrine smiled her brightest apologetic yet stonewalling smile.
    “He doesn’t have a cell phone, he’s the old-fashioned sort. I have no way of reaching him but if you’d like to leave a contact, I’ll be sure to pass it along.”
    The big man seemed to loom larger on the other side of the counter. He was not used to being refused. His brow furrowed and something shifted behind his bright blue eyes, like a cloud crossing the sun. His big head nodded once.
    “I’m sure he will want to talk to me,” he said. “It could be worth a great deal of money for him. I’m looking for a book.”
    “Well, you’ve come to the right place.” If Sandrine had made a joke, Pinky Ring hadn’t noticed.
    He took a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to Sandrine, who didn’t look at it or open it, just placed it carefully in front of her, maintaining a vacant smile and quiet composure. She wasn’t sure she wanted to take her eyes off him for a moment. Smiley watched them intently. The other man was nowhere to be seen.
    “Of course. I’ll make sure he gets it.”
    Pinky Ring stood quiet and still. A minute passed. What do I do now?
    “It is most urgent.”
    “I understand.”
    He nodded once more.
    “I am sorry. I have been abrupt. My name is Sergei.” He pronounced it Sir-gay. “It was not my wish to intimidate you.”
    That was an understatement. He and his friends were huge. They almost blocked out the light and she barely came up to their chests. They were intimidating in ways she’d never encountered before. It also didn’t help that she was all alone in the shop. Even Marcella would be useful; while she may look like a little old lady, she was fearless and feisty and would have dealt with all three in short order.
    Smiley said something in a language she couldn’t understand. It was similar but different to the dialect of a Czech friend from college and she immediately sensed the guttural syllables were Slavic; her initial impression, judging by their appearance, was that they could be either Russian or Scandinavian.
    Sergei replied in a clipped, unfriendly tone and nodded. A thought instantly jumped into her head. They’re regular Bobbleheads , and Sandrine almost snorted with laughter.
    The third man appeared from around the corner of the bookcases and stood at the side of the counter, uncomfortably close to her. He had a pale, twisting scar above his left eye that left a void through his eyebrow. Scar Face , Sandrine thought.
    At that moment, the shop’s door exploded open, pushed by the wind as a delivery man in a