Edge

"It's teflon-coated, not stainless steel."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes, I used to shave daily with Voskhod."

"Why did you switch?"

"I tried the Wilkinson and since then it's my main blade."

"I didn't like it in my Merkur; it bends it at a weird angle."

"I'll lend you my DE89, great for Russian brand blades too. "

"Oh, that's ok, I know you can't go a day without shaving."

"I have many razors, Frank. I'm currently using -"

"That's our guy."

Eric turned his head and locked eyes on the pizza boy.

"Let's get him."

Just as the kid was buzzed in, Eric gripped his shoulder.

"We'll take that, boy. Go on, get."

The kid was confused for a moment, then he saw the holster and froze. Frank flashed his badge and winked

"Sorry kid, no tip. Get the fuck out of here."

As the door slowly closed behind them, they could hear the kid running down the street.

"Take the elevator. I'll go up the stairs. Wait in cover."

"You got it, boss"

Eric ran up the stairs. A few minutes later he was panting, leaning against the apartment door. Frank stood next to him, gripping his handgun tightly.

There was a knock at the door.

"Pizza delivery."

As footsteps got louder, two distinct clicks rang. First Elric, then Frank released the safety. The door opened and a face peered through the gap between the chain and frame. Frank was holding the pizza box vertically, obscuring his face and gun.

"Pizza delivery."

"Yeah, hang on."

The chain slid off. Frank kicked the door, sending the man flying back. Eric rushed in, saw two sitting at the kitchen table reaching for guns. He popped their heads like grapes. Franc shot the guy on the floor clean through his chest. Both men checked the apartment for signs of life. None breathed.

"Call it in," Eric said holstering his gun.

"Dispatch we need backup at 69 Cherry-pop Road. Shots fired, multiple casualties. Requesting backup."

Eric pushed the guy draped over the kitchen chair. The body smacked the concrete floor with a wet sound. He checked to see if blood stained it, then sat down.

"Look at this shit. There must be ten kilos of this stuff."

"Why did we let the boy go? Wasn't he a mule?"

"Come on Frank, have a heart! A fourteen-year-old kid in juvenile hall? Give him a chance to live an honest, productive life."

"He wasn't connected?"

"Nah, just another stupid kid. We got the goods. Let him run around telling who did this."

"Man, these are some polite neighbors. No one is coming to complain about the noise."

"Haha, yeah. What can YOU do for your community…"

Frank chuckled and sat down at the table. He picked up a brown package and slit the side. Reaching inside his pocket he pulled out a vial. He dipped his overgrown pinky nail in the powder and added it to the liquid.

"Oh yeah, that's the stuff."

"Violet, my favorite girl."

"This stuff was to hit the street in time for New Year's Eve."

"Yeah, we'll make it before the countdown if we leave in the next thirty minutes."

"Pass me one brick; my girls get real fun when they snort some of this shit."

Frank tossed a brown package to Eric.

"I'll check the bathroom. You go through the living room."

The two men searched the place.

"Hey Eric, get a load of this."

"What's that?"

"I don't know. It says shark."

"I know that brand. It's made by Lord."

"American?"

"No. Egyptian. These boys brought their razor blades with them."

Frank flip it over

"They shave well?"

"It felt a bit scratchy for me. They say these are made with excellent precision. They have an ISO attached to them."

"A what?"

"An International Standardization Organization or something like that. Quality control at the highest level."

"Since when do we get traffic from Egypt? I thought Russia was the main baddie."

"I'm shocked to hear such hateful words."

"You know me, boss. I hate all people equally."

"Is that our boys?"

Footsteps in the hallway alerted the men. Frank slowly closed the bathroom door. He and Eric switched to a full magazine and waited patiently for the others to enter the apartment. Frank was peeking through the keyhole. He placed the muzzle near the door, aiming towards the stomach. Eric arranged himself above. As the other two advanced, weapons in hand, Frank shouted

"Police, drop your weapons."

The bad guys took aim towards the bathroom, Frank opened fire. Eric unloaded a full magazine into the center of the door, spraying the room with hot lead. They went down without firing a single shot.

"Christ, my head."

"Shit, the ringing is the worst I'll tell you that. Feels like a church bell is going off in here."

"Hey, that one is still moving."

"Oh yeah."

Eric leaned over the man who coughed blood.

"Hey buddy, you don't look so good."

"What he say?"

"I don't know. But that didn't sound Egyptian to me. You know what it sounded like?"

"Russian?"

"You're goddamn right it's Russian. Hey Vladimir, how many of you are in this shit hole anyway? Hey, you hear me?"

"I think he's dead, boss. Come on, let's lock up and wait for our guys. I don't like how these two showed up so fast."

Eric frowned, locked the door, took all the guns and set them on the kitchen table. Frank called dispatch again.

"Two minutes boss, they say traffic is a nightmare."

"Something doesn't add up. These guns are in excellent condition, premium ammo too. Two guys are brown, two are milky white. One spoke Russian, someone shaves with Egyptian blades."

"What are you thinking?"

"Check the fridge, tell me what's inside."

"Eggs, milk, water-"

"No alcohol, no meat?"

Frank didn't understand where Eric was getting at. Now sirens could be heard and flashes of red-blue light flooded the apartment. Heavy snow covered everything in a white, clean blanket.