Kovi now knew that a helluva lot of blood pours out damn fast when you slit a man's throat. So looking back to last winter, he wondered what biological miracle had allowed him to make such a big pile of carcasses without spilling more than a few drops.
His mate Béla knew all about blood. He had gone to England where the Hungarians have a good reputation in the slaughterhouses. But Kovi didn't want to swab blood and guts all night and then sleep all day with a bunch of rotten guys in some London slum (four to a room if you're lucky). It had even been enough for Bela. So he came home and talked his old friend Kovi into the first straight job he'd had maybe ever: trapping hamsters. Müller, a German trader, paid pretty good money. He came around once a week during the month long season after hibernation but before the little rats shed their thick winter coats.
But the damn fleas bite your arms and the whole thing gets old mighty fast. OK, sure... there's no blood. But snapping skulls with a pair of pliars, picking corn kernels from the mouth pouch, yanking off the little pelt and stretching on a homemade coathanger rack to dry.... and of course tossing the leftover fetus-thing of meat-and-bones onto the pile... (so many that the cats stops paying attention pretty quickly)... No thanks. Gets old fast, no matter how much pálinka you have.
So when he got a call from some of his old connections he was more than happy to get back to his old business where money came easy. In the glory days it had been fuel and cigarettes from Romania, but this time he had a chance to move something much more profitable.
"The future is in People," his man had told him.
And like the damned idiot he is, he believed it.
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