HE'S ONLY SIX-FOOT-THREE. SUCH AN EXAGGERATION.
It was distracting, having Tangerine's knuckles graze the top of her thigh back and forth underneath the table. His rings would brush the hem of her dress before dipping back down and repeating the motion a hundred times. He'd gone from resting his hand on her to that torturous action sometime between mocking Thomas the Tank Engine and answering Vasili's questions about where the current and not animated train was headed.
And it was because she was so distracted that she missed the looks her brother had been sending her more frequently as they came closer and closer to the next stop, desperately wanting to get off when they got there.
But the infuriating man that was Tangerine had Kliment pathetically wrapped around his fingers on her skin without even knowing he was doing it. In fact, he hadn't really realized he was still making contact with her until he reached into his jacket to retrieve something from his blazer pocket, the calming touch — calming to him, at least — almost feeling like second nature. He nearly hesitated when he noticed the lack of warmth he was feeling.
At least Kliment managed to snap out of the docile trance he'd accidentally pulled her into. As soon as she met Vasili's blue eyes that he got from their father, he was moving to stand.
"Hey, listen, we're just gonna get off at the next stop," he declared as Tangerine dropped a set of brass knuckles on the table followed by his phone.
But Lemon easily pushed him back into the seat. "Oh, let's, uh, have a seat, then, huh?"
Tangerine looked at Vasili pointedly. "Do you know what they call your papushka?"
"Course I fucking do," he muttered, already so tired of the two men,
"The White Death," Lemon said as if they needed to be told. "Not exactly a fruit."
"No. There you go," Tangerine said. Klim narrowed her eyes as he pulled a few pieces of black plastic strips from his inner blazer pocket. She didn't know what he needed them for. "There's a story — stop me if you've heard it—"
"We probably fucking know it," Kliment interrupted, crossing her arms.
Tangerine raised a pointed eyebrow, resisting the urge to snap at her. "There's a story where this woman found herself in the unfortunate position of owing your father a tidy sum of money. Now, the issue was it took her some time to acquire this money. But she did pay it back five minutes late, didn't she?"
"Yeah, what'd he do?" Lemon asked, the only one not familiar with the story.
"Cut her arm off," Vasili informed him, hardly bothered by it all.
"Fuckin' hell!"
"Yeah. He said she owed him a finger for every minute," Tangerine explained.
Kliment had to stifle a laugh as Lemon covered his mouth and let out an, "Oh."
"Well, he's not a complete monster," Kliment said, putting her hands up in defense. Of course, it was a lie, but it was fun to joke about. "He didn't make her sit through it five times."
"Yeah, he just cut once, didn't he?" Tangerine finished.
"Got her blood all over my shoes," she added with a pout.
Vasili snorted and rolled his eyes. "Bought you two new pairs as an apology."
Lemon eyed the smiling sibling for a moment, wondering if he'd miscalculated his Rosie diagnosis from earlier. But he shook his head and got back to work, grabbing one of the black strips from Tangerine, and before Vasili knew it, his left hand was tightly zip-tied to the armrest.
"Ow!" he hissed.
Kliment looked at his wrist with wide eyes and then over at Tangerine, but it was too late. A second after her brother was restrained, so was she. It was useless as she tugged on the zip-tie, unable to loosen it.
"Not exactly what I had pictured when I thought of you tying me up," Kliment seethed, glaring up at Tangerine.
"And why don't ya paint a pretty picture of what you did have in mind?" he asked in a flirty tone. He was satisfied when she scoffed in annoyance and turned away. "Our job is to keep you both safe and to recover the briefcase with the ransom money inside. And I plan on completin' my job and keeping..."
Tangerine trailed off while looking around the compartment, not spotting the silver briefcase with a train sticker on the handle anywhere. "Lemon?"
He simply hummed in response, unsure of what was bothering his brother.
"Where's the briefcase?"
"Oh, I stashed it."
He took in a deep breath to try and calm down before leaning forward, clasping his hands together on the table, not bothering to hide how displeased he was. "The case, Lemon. Go get me the fucking case."
As Lemon got up and walked to the baggage compartment, Vasili let out a low sigh, eyeing Tangerine with disinterest. "You're a liability, you know? To our father."
Tangerine looked away from Lemon's back to study the almost mocking expression on Vasili's tired face. He also noted that Kliment went quiet and was staring at the table. "Hmm?"
Vasili leaned as close as he could while restrained and with the table between them. "He doesn't need a reason to kill people like you. He needs a reason not to. Does he have one?"
Perhaps the hired help didn't understand, as he'd never met their father, but Kliment understood her brother perfectly. The minute they stopped being useful, when they lost even a fraction of the White Death's interest, they'd be dead and no one would bother to remember them. In fact, taking on this assignment while not being a part of the organization was practically signing their death certificate, though she wasn't going to let them know that.
Lemon and Tangerine were living on borrowed time.
Tangerine, who was typically quick-witted, genuinely had no idea how to respond to Vasili's words of warning. Thankfully, his phone on the table vibrated with a call, which he stood to answer. "That's fucking confusin'," he managed to say, looking away from the siblings. "Hello?"
Both Kliment and Vasili watched him with interest as he responded to whoever was on the line. "What, you mean this dickhead with the silly face tattoos and the little princess with an attitude? Yeah, they're right here."
While the person on the other end spoke, Kliment looked at her brother and whispered, "They are silly."
"Says the one with a butterfly tramp stamp," he reminded her, remembering how upset their mother was when Kliment came home the day after she turned sixteen with the fresh tattoo.
It was the first of a handful of tattoos Klim had, but none of them were on her face. Six weeks after getting the small and simple butterfly on her lower back, Gedeon left home. As one of the only ones that cared, she got the outline of a crown on the inside of her forearm. To commemorate her change in title, she also got 'the heir' tattooed on the upper right side of her ribcage.
"Yes, of course, I've got the case," Tangerine spoke up, continuing with his phone call.
But as he spoke, he leaned back and looked out the window on the door where Lemon was still trying to find the case. A bad feeling washed over him as Lemon began tossing luggage around, clearly panicking. As the phone call ended, Tangerine began walking to the luggage compartment, not sparing the siblings a second look.
"Something's wrong," Kliment said, leaning as far as she could to watch Lemon as well. It shouldn't have taken so long to grab the briefcase. "I'll be right back."
"You are tied up too," Vasili reminded her.
In response, Kliment reached for her hair with her free hand and pulled the long hairpin that resembled a thick chopstick that was holding it all up out. As her hair fell over her shoulders, she stuck the end of the pin in her mouth and pulled. Vasili's eyes went wide, seeing the thin blade that was unsheathed like a sword.
Kliment made quick work of the plastic restraint around her wrist, cutting it away and freeing herself. She couldn't wait to see the stupid, dumbfounded look on Tangerine's face.
"Free me. Me next," Vasili said, tugging at his zip-tie.
"I'll be back in a second. Don't go anywhere," she said with a teasing smile. As he began cursing at her in Russian, Kliment leaned in and kissed his forehead as if he was a small child. "Enjoy your timeout."
The girl moved down the aisle, ignoring how he was yelling at her in annoyance. Once she stepped on the sensor, the electric door slid open, revealing a panicking Lemon and Tangerine.
"How the fuck did you get out?" Tangerine asked, looking at her wrist with wide eyes.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" she asked teasingly.
"Yeah, that's why I fucking asked," he said while pulling her over to him.
Kliment paid him no mind and instead looked at Lemon. "What happened to the briefcase?"
"It was here. Now it's not," he said, sucking on his teeth. Tangerine was glaring daggers at him, furious over the development. "Oopsie daisy."
"Oopsie fucking daisy?" Tangerine repeated, steam practically blowing from his ears. "Do you know what this means?"
"Look, we got his kids," Lemon said, gesturing to an unharmed Kliment. "That was our job."
Tangerine loosened his tie to try and breathe better and not panic. He was valid for panicking, but Kliment also found herself wondering if he took medication for high blood pressure. "Our job was to come back with his kids and his ten million dollars. Three words describe our situation right now. Do you know what they are?"
"Sure do," Lemon said, holding up his fingers to count down on them. "Saved his kids. Family's more important than money, right?"
Not to mention there was only a measly ten million in the briefcase, which Kliment hadn't known before. Naturally, her father would want it back even if that wasn't a lot, but why make such a big deal about its safety if it were lost? For whatever reason, he wanted it though, and losing it was bad news for the twins.
"Do you honestly not know who the White Death is?" Tangerine asked, seeing that Lemon wasn't grasping the danger they were now in.
"Yeah, I know the White Death. You just told me five minutes ago. He cuts off arms in front of his little girl, puts them—"
"Why do I even bother forwarding you the briefings?" he interrupted, shaking his head.
Lemon was practically expressionless as he looked at him. "I do not know," he said honestly, not even ashamed by his lack of preparedness.
Tangerine sighed heavily and turned toward the window, watching as the world passed by in a blur. Klim also sighed, knowing she was about to hear her father's legend yet again.
"The Japanese underworld used to be ruled by a man named Minegishi. Now, Minegishi was one brutal bastard. But he was old-school, you know? Tradition and loyalty was all that mattered to him. When you were in, you were in. You were like family. He treated you like you were one of his own."
"Then out of the blue comes this six-foot-fucking-six geezer from Russia. Whispers that he was exiled from the Russian mafia or that he was ex-KGB. No one really knows the truth. But what is known is this Russian worked his way up the ranks — bit by bit, kill by kill — and very, very fucking quickly became one of Minegishi's closest advisors."
"And those loyal to him said, 'hold your horses.' This geezer ain't the full ticket. He ain't to be trusted. 'He's dangerous,' they said. 'A modern plague,' they said. A White Death."
"So, sure enough, they were right. He made his own alliance. His own gang. And what'd he do? Stabbed him in the back. I mean, metaphorically. Blew his fucking brains out, didn't he? He wiped the name Minegishi off the face of the earth in one single night. And made an empire worthy of the White Death."
Kliment hardly heard any of it, too busy staring at her chipping black manicure — she'd need to find a salon once she was off the train. Because of that, she didn't notice right away when both brothers stared at her, truthfully unable to believe she was the daughter of a living nightmare.
"It's not all true, by the way," Klim said, seeing the relief that flashed across Lemon's face. "He's only six-foot-three. Such an exaggeration. But the other bit, yeah, that's pretty true."
Tangerine nodded to her, glad she confirmed it for his brother. "So, let me put this bluntly. There's this soulless psychotic leader with the largest criminal organization on the planet shoved right inside our fucking ass cheeks!" he shouted, getting in Lemon's face.
"That motherfucker's definitely a Diesel, then, isn't he?" Lemon asked with a groan.
"Such a Diesel," Klim agreed.
"If you mention Thomas the Tank Engine one more time, I'm gonna shoot you in the fucking face," Tangerine threatened.
Lemon clenched his eyes shut nervously while getting back on track — it was rare he and his partner got nervous. "Okay, okay, if - if he's such a badass, how come he hired two random operators instead of getting his children back himself?"
"'Cause if you actually read the briefings, you'd know that he had a wife," Tangerine said.
"What, he had a wife?" Lemon asked. Both brothers glanced sympathetically at Klim for a moment, who found the floor quite interesting.
"Yes. She was the most important thing in his life, and she died — drunk driving accident or some shit. And now he's at the compound and he ain't left since."
Lemon was the one to break the moment of silence that fell over them. "An unnamed locomotive might say there's a lesson to be learned."
Tangerine shook his head and sighed. "Listen, and he didn't hire two random operators, Lemon. No, he asked for the best. He asked for the two responsible for the Bolivia job. He asked for pros who wouldn't fuck up."
"Bolivia," Klim whispered under her breath, thinking it sounded familiar.
"Three words, Lemon," Tangerine went on. "We are—"
"Fucked," his brother finished for him.
"It could be worse," Kliment said knowingly. "You've still got Percy and Rosie here. Ten mil is walking around money for a Diesel like him—"
"Enough with the Thomas!" Tangerine snapped, whirling around to face her. "It's the last thing we need right now, and I already had to put up with your jabbering for the car ride to the station. Keep down before I shove something in your mouth to keep you quiet."
While yelling at her, Tangerine backed Kliment up against the wall of the train. And she just couldn't help herself as she hooked her finger around his loosened tie and pulled him a little closer. "Well, I have always loved the taste of tangerines. Perhaps that's just what I need to learn my lesson."
"Is that you offering, Princess?" he asked lowly, his eyes traveling toward her lips. He was suddenly in dire need of some kind of stress reliever. "'Cause I certainly wouldn't say no to a little rough and tumble—"
"Oh, Jesus, you two are disgusting. This train ride is going to be unbearable!" Lemon complained. He couldn't believe how easily his brother was distracted despite how dire their situation now was. Lemon grabbed Tangerine's shoulders and turned him back toward him while fixing his tie that Klim ruined. "We rescued his fucking kids, huh? We find the fucker who took the briefcase, make things right, be like it never happened. Never happened."
Tangerine thought it over for a long moment before inhaling deeply. Then he pulled out the revolver he'd been hiding under his blazer and counted the bullets.
Kliment eyed it with interest. It was the same type of gun their father used when teaching them Russian roulette as children. At their mother's insistence, he loaded the gun with a blank rather than a real bullet — though he never told them that, making the first round terrifying. They had to do it until they no longer flinched in fear.
When each of his children turned thirteen, the White Death had them play a real round with his associates. It was a miracle that all three of his children survived the rite of passage.
"You still got that vest on ya?" Tangerine asked Lemon, worried about his safety.
"Oh, no, vests give you a false sense of security. You might, like, get shot in the neck," he said, shaking his head.
"Yeah, it also stops you from getting shot in the chest, but I guess you missed that episode of Thomas, did ya?"
Lemon's face was expressionless as he looked at his brother. "I really must've, because that sounds dark as shit."
"I'd watch it," Klim said, shrugging.
Lemon shook his head before hitting Tangerine's shoulder. "Nut up or shut up, bruv."
With that, the three of them went back to the third car to update Vasili on what happened even if he wouldn't care. Despite their circumstances, the twins were managing to be optimistic, confident that they could turn this around so long as the briefcase was still on the train.
"Think he's sleeping," Kliment said, seeing that her brother put his hoodie back up and was leaning against the window.
"Well, wake back up," Tangerine said as they got back to their original seats. "Slight change of plans."
Lemon grabbed Vasili's shoulder and pulled him to face them, only for them all to jump back in fear and shock. Before she could scream, Tangerine slipped his hand over Kliment's mouth, muffling her cries.
Blood was pouring out of Vasili's vacant, dead eyes.
Lemon leaned in close to the body to examine his condition as Tangerine held Kliment up, keeping her from collapsing over it all. "First his wife, now his son? That's a lot of white deaths."
When Klim let out a whimper, Tangerine tucked some hair behind her ear and whispered in it. "Shh, love," he spoke softly. "I know, but you can't make a scene. Not now."
The shock of seeing her older brother dead was beginning to disappear as the reality set in. Vasili was dead — killed horribly if the gorish mess on his face was anything to go off of. Whoever did this was nowhere in sight, whether it was the same person to take the case or not.
Kliment pulled out of Tangerine's hold, wiping her tears away, not caring about the smudged mascara staining her cheeks. "Fix him."
"What?" Lemon asked, watching her carefully. Gone was the playful tone they'd grown accustomed to.
"We can't very well have him sitting like this the whole ride. One of you, clean him up, the other, go find something to cover his eyes," she said, keeping her gaze on Vasili's blue eyes. "Now."
After sharing a look, Lemon rushed off to figure something out. Tangerine pulled out a white handkerchief from his breast pocket. When wiping at Vasili's cheeks did nothing, he licked the fabric to pick up the drying blood. Soon, Lemon was rejoining them, sliding into the seat next to Vasili and keeping him propped up. Once the blood was gone, Tangerine pulled his hood back up, covering the blood coming from his ears.
All the while, Kliment stood unmoving in the aisle, silently watching as they covered up the murder of her brother.
"All right, mate, try these," Lemon said, handing the oversized, pink glasses to Tangerine, who had never seen anything like it.
"Huh?"
"They're them Momonga glasses," he explained, having swiped them from a child too little to fight back.
Tangerine put the glasses on Vasili but that didn't make him less confused. "The fuck is a Momonga?"
"Comes on after Thomas every Thursday — Oh, shit!"
Vasili started to fall forward, so both men rushed to put him upright. "Okay. It's good," Lemon said as Tangerine made sure the glasses stayed on.
Then Tangerine leaned his head against the window in the same position that they found him in. "Just like that."
"He should look asleep, you know," Lemon said, readjusting the hoodie.
"There, like that. Like that? Right?"
They both looked at Kliment then, wanting to make sure it was good enough. She silently nodded before taking a seat next to Tangerine — it was the one diagonal to her brother, meaning she wouldn't have to look at him to talk to either Lemon or Tangerine.
"We'll be at Yokohama station in five minutes," Kliment told them. "Whoever took the case will want to get off there."
"Not even the case can save our asses now," Tangerine said, rubbing his jaw that had been clenched impossibly tight for the last fifteen minutes. "The orders said not a scratch on him — bleeding from the eyes is a pretty fucking big scratch."
"What do you mean? Not a scratch?" Klim asked with a frown. Wanting Vasili home was one thing, but their father wouldn't give a damn if the son was a little beat up on the journey.
"Our orders were quite clear," he told her with a sigh.
"We bring back the case of money," Lemon explained, "and we bring back both his children, and The Heir was to arrive with not a single mark. We've let the heir to the biggest criminal empire in the world die on our watch. Goodbye arms. It's been fun."
"Well, you're in luck, Fruits," she said, her voice practically void of emotion. "Vasili is not The Heir. I am."
Both men looked at her with wide eyes — Tangerine, in particular, had done his homework and read the briefings. No, it didn't specify a name or even gender when it spoke of The Heir. They — no, she — was on her way to being just as deadly and feared as her father, though she'd been off the radar since leaving Japan and distancing herself from her father. The Heir had been killing grown men in frilly pink dresses since she was twelve years old.
"You're The fucking Heir?" Tangerine questioned, realizing he'd grossly underestimated the girl pressed against his side.
"What? You thought the dipshit with the 'trust no bitch' eyebrow tattoo was The Heir? No, I am," she said, leaning back against the seat. "And for the remainder of this train ride, or until my brother's killer is found, I'm also the one in charge."