Yuri "Ten-Rubles" Chervonetz dropped his crowbar and dumped the crippled Moscow detective onto the subway tracks. His meaty paw reached out to remove the man’s blindfold. Major Konstanin Petrov’s eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light and noticed red letters on matte-black tiles: Pokryshkin Station. He was in D-6, the secret Metro deep beneath the city, reserved for top military personnel and the nomenklatura party elite. 

Konstantin’s legs and arms refused to obey his mental commands. He spat blood. “Dermo! The vodka wasn’t that bad, Yuri.” 

The bull-necked thug chuckled as he drew a Makarov from its shoulder-holster. His former drinking companion was the hired muscle of the Patriarch, a vor gangster in the Moscow black market. Yuri’s klichka or nickname was earned as a schoolboy; it was the standard fee he charged for protection. 

“I like you, militsiya. You are a funny guy. For old time’s sake, I’m going to do you a favor. The train will be coming soon. If you stay put like a man, I won’t shoot you. That way, you are remembered as a valiant officer lost in line of duty instead of a corrupt cop who outlived his usefulness.” 

Something made a sound in the pipes above. Chervonetz crouched, scanning the arched ceiling. Out of the shadows, a bundle of rags moved with impossible speed. A muscled leg shot out, a thick-soled boot breaking Yuri’s left knee. As Yuri fell, the woman wearing the patchwork coat expertly gripped his wrist, disarmed him and hip threw his grunting body onto the third rail. The big man’s carcass twitched as sparks and smoke sent the acrid smell of sizzled flesh and ozone into the air. 

The Fox whirled to face the injured policemen. She grinned, exposing uneven rows of rotten teeth. Her shaved head was scored with a web of white scars. 

“Greetings, Konstantin.” 

“Fox. Thank God. Now I know things haven’t been right between us. I see what I’ve become and I’m ashamed. I can’t believe that you rescued me.” 

“I couldn’t have lived with myself, Konstantin. I couldn’t watch that byk murder you.” 

“You blame me for the death of your friend. She was in trouble and I failed you. You must understand, it wasn’t the right time to act against the Patriarch. She was a cheap prostitute addicted to heroin. She had been dead for years. What does it matter that it ended with a beating instead of an overdose?” 

The Fox squatted, edging heavy boots into his chest. She casually scratched the fleabites and scabs on her bare legs. Her feral smell stung his nose like ammonia. 

“Once we were lovers. We rutted like animals in these dark tunnels. I had hoped that we would become allies in the great struggle against these lowlifes. But you were one of them all along.” 

The track began to vibrate. These trains had no lights or whistles. 

“Your death at another’s hands would have haunted me forever. As I told you before, I couldn’t have lived with myself. I will make sure that your mangled bodies are found together. I’ll let your comrades draw their own conclusions. Goodbye, Konstantin.” 

The officer rocked back and forth weakly. He lacked the strength to roll away. “No, damn you. No!!!” 

The Fox watched dispassionately from the platform, as if she were an official witness to a state execution. “How does that old saying go? It’s a hard winter when one wolf eats another. Looks like lean times for the Patriarch."