The Margin of Evil! by Simon Boxall

'Look we'll report in every day, but we have got to go!!'
    Georgii Radetzky watched the two boys scurry off down the street. He also knew that the two boys were lying. One minute they were happy, full of the joys of spring, next minute they were sad and withdrawn. There was a lot to be said for good, old, police intuition. Nine times out of ten Georgii's always right.
    On the way ho me, he decided that tomorrow he would pay the two boys a small visit. It was time that he had a good look around the city abattoir. He also decided that Anya Trofimov was going to furnish him with a letter of introduction. But before he did all of that, Georgii Radetzky knew he was going to be facing another sleepless night.
    The City Abatt oir was a grim looking building.  It was set in the middle of wasteland. It made the mortuary look like a five star hotel. It was also a small fortress, barbed wire covered the walls. Guards manning machine guns were positioned on the roof and walls. Georgii surveyed the scene in front of him and then walked towards the gate. The Red Guards watched him walking towards them.
    ' This place is off limits,' the guard shouted.
    ' I want to see the Commissar in charge of this place.  My name is Georgii Radetzky. Here are my papers.'
    ' Cheka eh, you have no jurisdiction around here, this is a restricted area.'
    ' If you could read you would see that. I also have a letter of introduction,' Georgii said, knowing that he had hit a raw nerve.
    ' Wait here,' the guard said in a surly tone.
    After what seemed like an eternity, the guard returned and ushered him into the compound. Georgii looked around him. Lorries were unloading and loading, administrators were filling in ledgers. Carcasses were weighed in and out and at every stage the guards scrutinized.
    ' Come with me!'  The surly' guard said.
    He led Georgii into what seemed like a semi-refrigerated building. In the far corner there were some stairs that led up the side of the wall to an office that was positioned so it could observe the comings and goings down below. They climbed the stairs and the guard knocked on the door. A small balding man looked up and waived them in. The guard introduced him waved and then left.
    ' Comrade Radetzky, pleasure to meet you. Marko Mendolovitch at your service.  What can I do for you?' the little man said.
    ' I'm tracing the last movements of an associate of yours,' Georgii said.
    ' And who might that be,' the man said.
    ' Isaak Goldstein.'  Georgii examined the man's face closely. He thought he could see a bead of sweat forming on Comrade Mendolovitch's brow.
    ' No I don't believe I know that name. Now, if you don't mind I'm a busy man and I have a lot of work to do. The city has to be fed you know.'  He looked down at the ledger he was filling in.
    ' Black-marketering is punishable by death! And I have the evidence on me that will put you in front of a firing squad if you don't cooperate with my enquiries! So I will ask you again what you know of a Comrade Isaak Goldstein!'
    ' Guard,' Mendolovitch shouted.
    The guard waiting outside answered the call.
    'One minute!' Georgii said. 'I want you to look at this!'
    Mendolovitch picked up the copy of the Cheka report that Radetzky had spent half the night drafting. He looked at both sides quickly and then ushered the guard out. Mendolovitch now looked worried.
    ' I talk to you and I'm a dead man!' he said.
    ' If you don't talk to me you`re still a dead man! The games up!! So tell me about Isaak Goldstein?'  Georgii replied.
    ' Then what?  You will hang me out to dry I suppose!'
    ' That depends on you, and what you tell me!  'Georgii thought everybody's card around here was marked. Some people in this city just had a little bit more time than others. 'So tell me what you know about Isaak Goldstein. His connections with you, and your connections with him, and this group of organized criminals called 'The Kevshors.'
    ' I met Goldstein six months ago. He said that if I did not