An Accident

In the back alley of the Red Circle Club, under the dim yellow light, a white-haired Russian mobster leaned against the doorframe, smoking.

As the faint glow of the cigarette flickered, John's P30L was silently pressed against the back of his head. "Good evening, Francis."

The low greeting made the old guard tremble.

The moment he slowly turned, Beta's gun stock smashed down with a whistling sound. A muffled "bang" was followed by a swift finishing blow, ensuring the old guard would have a long, deep sleep.

"I could have convinced him to leave," John said with a hint of regret in his voice.

Beta, checking the lock, replied without looking up, "And then what? How would he explain to his boss how two professional killers like us just waltzed in under his nose?"

The metal door hinges creaked slightly, and the back door swung open.

John tightened his grip on his handgun and was the first to step into the dim corridor, Beta following closely behind. They maintained their tactical formation and disappeared into the club.

The back door of the Red Circle Club led directly to the staff area.

The dim corridor connected to the bathrooms, restrooms, and locker rooms. It was peak business hours, and all the dancers were busy on the main floor, leaving the back area silent.

John put away his handgun and drew a dagger in a reverse grip. He hugged the corner and choked out a mobster playing on his phone, the sharp blade piercing precisely between his ribs. The man slumped into the urinal, eyes wide with shock, before he could even react, his breath gone.

Beta kept watch with his gun, his gaze sweeping every corner.

John used the victim's jacket to cover the wound, then yanked the dagger out with a spray of blood. The two exchanged a look, and in perfect understanding, switched formations. Beta took the lead with his gun, John covering the rear with his blade.

A crisp clatter of metal cabinets came from the locker room, followed by the sound of running water and off-key humming.

Beta's index finger rested lightly on the trigger guard, his gun aimed at the source of the sound. He gestured with his left hand. John moved like a ghost, closing in. The moment the mobster by the sink looked up, a heavy punch sent him crashing to the floor.

Just then, the door to the adjacent bathroom suddenly opened. A gang member, toweling his hair dry, froze, his gaze shifting from his unconscious companion to John.

Before he could make a sound, Beta's suppressed rifle let out a soft "pak." The bullet pierced his forehead, and he fell backward, landing on his back. John lunged forward, grabbed him by the collar, and gently laid the body down.

After a quick sweep of the bathroom to confirm it was safe, Beta nodded at John.

John stared at the blood-covered captive. "You've been to my place. I remember you. Where is Iosef?"

"Сукаблядь! (Russian profanity)" the captive spat blood and curses.

John raised his leg and delivered a vicious knee strike right to his groin. The mobster let out a heart-wrenching scream and collapsed to his knees, curled up in pain.

John ripped the belt from his bathrobe, wrapped it around his neck, and slammed him hard against the sink. With a muffled thud, John turned on the faucet with one hand, blocked the drain, and shoved the man's face deep into the rapidly rising water.

Bubbles gurgled to the surface. John stared at his watch, counting six seconds, then yanked the man up. "Where is Iosef?"

"The pool, basement level." The man coughed violently, snot and tears streaming down his face.

John grabbed him by the hair and smashed his face against the ceramic sink. "You killed my dog!"

Beta added, "And broke Helen's glassware."

Before he finished speaking, he raised his hand and pulled the trigger.

A muffled "pak" sounded as the bullet from the suppressed rifle pierced the skull. Splattered blood bloomed like an abstract painting on the mirror. The body slumped onto the dark tiles, the widening pool of blood reflecting the stark white light overhead.

John and Beta exchanged a look.

Beta pulled open the rusty staff access door, the metal hinges groaning loudly. "What are we waiting for?"

John bent down, picked up the phone next to the body, and quickly followed.

They passed through the dim corridor and pushed open the final fire door. The underground pool area unfolded before them, the sparkling water reflecting the blue lights. Deafening electronic music reverberated in the enclosed space.

The two moved quietly up the steel stairs of the VIP viewing deck. John paused, looking through the glass railing. Iosef was leisurely floating in the center of the pool, surrounded by four or five women in the mist. Several of his henchmen were also in the pool, with women draped over them.

"Split up?" Beta asked John.

John nodded.

Beta turned and melted into the shadows of the equipment room, the hum of the ventilation ducts quickly swallowing his footsteps. John continued along the viewing deck, the snap of his holster making a faint "click" between beats of the music.

Beta's figure completely merged with the shadows at the turn of the stairs, separated from Iosef by only a few panes of shimmering floor-to-ceiling glass. Dazzling spotlights refracted off the pool water, constantly changing angles and bathing the entire pool area in a hazy glow.

A woman in a high-slit swimsuit strolled along the edge of the pool.

She gently pushed a tray laden with drinks onto the water's surface, then gracefully slid in. The ripples lapped over her curvaceous body, pushing the floating tray towards Iosef. Water droplets gathered on her collarbone, sparkling like diamonds under the spotlights.

Iosef raised his champagne flute, his voice, amplified by alcohol, eight octaves higher than usual. "Another round!"

His henchmen let out rough laughter, the clinking of glasses sharp in the misty space.

Beta aimed his scope at Iosef.

A "bang" suddenly erupted from the second-floor VIP area.

Beta reflexively raised his gun towards the source of the sound. John Wick was locked in a fierce struggle with a burly man by the railing, their figures flickering in and out of the flashing lights.

In that split second of distraction, Beta spun around, only to find Iosef had already dived like a slippery water snake to the bottom of the pool and was rapidly swimming towards the nearby ladder.

The entire pool area exploded into chaos: screams from the women, roars from the bodyguards, the sharp crash of glassware, all mixed with the deafening background music, creating a suffocating wave of sound in the enclosed space.

Beta decisively pulled the trigger. The suppressed rifle let out muffled "paks." Bullets successively pierced multiple layers of tempered glass, spiderweb cracks spreading wildly across the glass as one pane after another shattered.

He tried to lock onto the target, which flickered in and out of the crowd, but Iosef's bodyguards displayed astonishing professionalism. Some actively formed human shields, others dragged panicked bikini-clad women in front of them as human shields, and some even overturned floating serving platters to create obstacles.

Each bullet only managed to tear through splashing water, but never hit the slippery target.