Free Cold Blood by Alex Shaw Page A

iron gates and round the back of the building. There was a small courtyard bordered by other apartment blocks from the neighbouring Prorizna Street. Snow led the way to a door and typed in a code.
    “The actual foyer and front door face the street but for some bizarre reason the other residents have decided to use the back door, and who am I to change this.” He shrugged. They walked through the door up three steps and into the dark foyer. The walls were painted a two tone of cream and dark green. Snow pushed three on the key pad and the small lift slowly descended.
    “Here’s something to remember. The floors are numbered in the American way. The flat is on the second floor but we need the third.”
    “Right.” Arnaud frowned.
    “This is not the ground floor but actually the first floor. Are you with me?”
    He wasn’t, but didn’t let on. On either side of the foyer sat rows of dark green mail boxes, one for each flat.
    “How many flats are there here?”
    The lift arrived and they manoeuvred themselves and the bags in. “Four per floor and six floors. But only one on the ground floor – the others are offices.”
    The lift stopped abruptly and they stepped out. Snow walked the five steps to the furthest corner and opened the padded metal door. Inside there was a second wooden door that he then opened. He beckoned Arnaud forward. “Welcome to Chez Nous .”
    “ Merci .” Arnaud stepped through the threshold. “Why two doors?”
    Snow shrugged and followed. “All the flats seem to have them. Security I suppose.”
    “Looks like blast-proof doors. You know, like in the films.”
    Snow laughed, “Well if you lose your key, please don’t try to open them with a block of semtex.”
    Laughing, they walked along the hall and Snow nodded at two doors. “Your room is on the right.” Arnaud followed Snow into the room and they dropped the bags. “Hope you don’t mind sharing a flat too much?”
    “Not at all, it reminds me of uni.”
    “It was Joan’s idea. She thought you could stay here until you found your feet. I had a spare room, so as far as I’m concerned it’s yours. Stay as long as you need.”
    “That’s great, very kind. Thanks.”
    “ Nichevo – it’s nothing, just happy to help. Grand tour?”
    “Ok.”
    The flat had real wooden flooring throughout and light silver wallpaper. Snow led him in turn to the bathroom and kitchen before retracing his steps and heading into the lounge. Snow adopted an upper class accent. “If you will follow me sir, you will find yourself entering the lounge with a south facing balcony providing panoramic views of the city centre.” He dropped the act. “My room is here through the lounge.”
    Snow opened the doors and they stepped onto the street-facing balcony. Arnaud looked up and down Pushkinskaya. To the left he could make out the top of a building with a large electronic clock. “What’s that?”
    “That’s the clock on Maidan, Independence Square. You can hear it chime each hour. It also has a thermometer. I have a picture of myself standing in front of it with a reading of minus twenty-five.”
    “Cool.”
    *
    Southall Car Auction , London , UK
     
    The hammer fell and the car was his. Arkadi Cheban was happy. The 2.5 V6 Vectra was a step up from his Escort and certainly a million times better than the beaten up Lada he had left in Tiraspol. He had paid only £1,800 for the car, which was at least £1,400 less than the dealer price. He had waited outside the auction as the car was started and looked for any tell-tale blue smoke coming from the exhaust pipe and checked for oil leaks on the floor. Neither was present. The dark green Vectra had a set of after-market 17” alloy wheels fitted and a transfer on the rear screen proclaiming it to be a Holden. Both of these he would remove. The car would perform better on a pair of its standard 16” rims, and it was a ‘Vauxhall’.
    Cheban knew about cars; he knew how to tune them and he knew how to