Both of Jean-Pierre’s security guards turned and pointed guns at me.
I swallowed. “Should I put my hands up?”
“No way." A smile spread across the Butcher's face. "Remain comfortable.”
“Then, tell these motherfuckers to get their guns off me.”
Jean-Pierre crossed his leg. “Do you know why I like Pagliacci the most?”
“Oh, God. Not more about that damn clown opera.”
“It’s a classic, Maxwell.”
I gestured to his men. “Why do they have their guns on me?”
“You’re going to be my test dummy and see how warm Timur is to visitors.” He pointed to me. “By the way, give my men your phone. I do not want the Mosquito to distract your assisting me.”
I dove in my jacket and pulled out my phone.
One of Jean-Pierre's men took my phone and gave it to other.
“I’m not going to bother Timur. He doesn’t want visitors.”
Jean-Pierre chuckled. “You will or my men will kill you and Boris.”
“And how will you explain our deaths?”
“I am a smart guy. I will think of something. Perhaps, it was Timur.” He curved his lips into a smile. “But back to Pagliacci.”
I groaned in annoyance.
“It is intriguing that they did an opera within an opera.”
“Yeah. Very intriguing.”
We passed another sign. This one looked like it was written in blood. It read, "I will kill you."
Oh, come on, man.
Jean-Pierre continued, “The characters all wear these colorful clothes. Everything seems so lighthearted and theatrical.”
The final sign stood in front of a huge two-story house. This one had no words. It was just blood splatter.
Damn, Timur. Do you even get mail? I doubt any post man is coming up here.
Meanwhile, Jean-Pierre kept talking about the stupid clown play. “But at its core, the opera is less about clowns and more about the dangerous emotions of a jealous husband. That’s the plot twist.”
We drove past the sign.
I took in the property.
Crumbling steps led to a home made of peeling paint and tattered curtains in shattered windows. The old house was nestled among countless shaggy bushes and trees, their branches poked at the property's sides. It had a rusty, brown-tiled roof that sagged from the weight of time, making the top of the house appear heavy and tired. Weeds, moss, and lichen covered the front porch.
The driver parked several feet away.
“You see, Maxwell.”
I turned back to Jean-Pierre.
“Jealousy is the most dangerous emotion on Earth. It is a disease that has turned many into murderers.”
The driver opened my side of the car.
I frowned.
“Get out, Maxwell.”
“And then what?”
“Knock on Timur's door. I want to see what Timur will do.”
“I’m not your test dummy.”
“Correction. You’re one of my test dummies.” The Butcher gestured behind him.
Two guys pointed their guns at Boris as he stood outside and glared my way.
I looked back at the Butcher. “Boris didn’t flirt with Eden. Leave him alone.”
“So, you admit to flirting with her?”
I sneered at Jean-Pierre. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I am a very jealous man and I do not like the way that you look at Eden. I do not like that you talk to her. And I definitely do not like that you make her laugh.”
“I’m a funny guy.”
“But most of all. . .I hate that you watch her and me during our most intimate moments.”
So you did know I was watching. . .
I swallowed down my nervousness. “And now your plan is what?”
“Do not look so sad, Maxwell. Timur may not kill you. This is just a test, and I only don’t want to risk any of my men’s lives.”
“So what. . .I’m supposed to go up and knock on the door?”
“Exactly. Timur may kill you.” Jean-Pierre shrugged. “Or Timur may let you in.”
“I don’t believe that you’re going to let me die. You made too much peace with Em and— ”
“But then there’s jealousy.” Jean-Pierre gestured toward the door. “Go ahead and knock.”
“Give me a gun.”
“Absolutely not.”
My pulse quickened. “Man, this isn’t a clown opera. If you tell Em I’m dead, she will do worse to you than Kazimir ever could.”
“But Eden will still be mine.”
“And what about Misha?”
Jean-Pierre narrowed his eyes. “What about Misha?”
“That’s my homie. That’s who was on the phone.”
Jean-Pierre chuckled. “There are many simple ways to kill a mosquito, and none of them would have me lose sleep at night.”
“It would be a war.”
“In the end, I don’t care about war, the Lion, Mouse, Mosquito, or even the Dragon. All I ever care about is Eden.”
My survival instincts kicked in. I tried to appear sad as I slowly put my hands into prayer, scooted super close to him, and leaned over almost touching his chest. “Please, Jean-Pierre.”
“What are you doing?”
I closed my eyes and tried to mimic a heartfelt sob of some sort. It didn’t matter how it sounded. I just needed him to be distracted. “I’m begging you to not do this.”
One of his men snickered.
“I’m serious, man.” I inched closer and groveled. “I’m young. I’m scared to death, man.”