“LET’S KILL ANDREW TATE - PART TWO” (SHORT STORY)
Two men walk to an apartment filled with books, their intentions heavy in the air.
The plan seems simple. Fly to Romania. Find Andrew Tate. End him. But nothing is ever simple when it comes to killing.
“Let’s Kill Andrew Tate - Part Two” is a provocative short story about the problems of modern masculinity.
Will they go through with their deadly plan?
Can they live with the consequences?
1,000 words / 4 minutes of clandestine reading pleasure
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‘Man holds the remedy in his own hands and lets everything go its own way, simply through cowardice.’ Fyodor Dostoevsky
STEFANO BOSCUTTI
LET’S KILL ANDREW TATE - PART TWO
Copyright 2024 Stefano Boscutti
All Rights Reserved
‘When you say let’s kill Andrew Tate are you being, you know, metaphorical?’
Edward is locking up the front door of the second-hand bookstore.
Tyler shakes his head, grins. Edward cocks his head, squints.
‘Allegorical?’
’No,’ Tyler says. ‘I think we should go to Romania where he’s hiding out and kill him. Live by the machete, die by the machete. You know, justice.’
Tate famously sleeps with a machete under his bed. In one of his videos he said that if a woman ever accused him of cheating on her, he’d bang out the machete, boom in her face and grip her by the neck and tell the bitch to shut the fuck up.
‘You know people live on this street, right? You know they can hear you.’
‘I doubt very much they’re listening. People rarely do.’
Edward thinks for a moment.
‘Romania? How would we even get to Romania?’
Tyler grins again and reaches into the pocket inside his jacket. Edward recoils as Tyler pulls out two airline tickets.
‘What the hell are those?’
‘Airline tickets to Bucharest, return. One for you, one for me.’
‘When did you --’
‘Let’s go to your apartment and I’ll explain.’
‘Why my apartment?’
‘You’ve probably got paper and a pen. We’re going to need to make a list. I’ve got nothing in my apartment except a mattress, a lamp and a book.’
As they walk down the street towards Edward’s apartment, Edward wonders what the book could be. Tyler answers him as if reading his thoughts.
‘The book? It’s “Cities of the Red Night” by William Burroughs if you must know.’
‘Nothing is true. Everything is permitted.’
‘Everything.’
Inside Edward’s apartment, every wall is lined floor to ceiling with shelves crammed with books. Edward has every book Noam Chomsky has ever written in multiple languages. Tyler glances over the titles, impressed. Edward looks a little nervous.
‘So what’s the plan exactly?’
‘Fly in, kill him, fly out. How hard can it be?’
‘You know Tate is back in his warehouse compound in Voluntari, Surrounded by armed security guards. Doesn’t travel anywhere without a team of ten bodyguards.’
‘That’s a lot of bodyguards.’
‘Russian ex-military. Apparently they’re the worst.’
Tate’s compound is at the end of Stradă Drumul Bisericii, about fifteen kilometres from Bucharest. Past a litter dump and a sprawling cemetery and broken down factories. It backs onto a small forest and wetland.
Edward is looking at his phone.
‘High brick wall along the road with razor wire along the perimeter and only one way in and out. Security cameras everywhere.’
Andrew Tate and his brother first came to Romania in two-thousand and fourteen to act as coaches and commentators for a local cage-fighting promoter. Online videos of cage fights led to online courses on rigid masculinity. Naked webcam girls was a side hustle that exploded.
Naked cam girls typing out sob stories online to presumably naked men reaching for their credit cards. Hundreds of naked young cam girls. Thousands of desperate men. Millions of dollars.
What would the girls lie about? Needing money because they’re getting evicted, needing money for a medical emergency, needing money to help their dying parents, needing money to escape her abusive boyfriend, needing money to travel to meet in person.
Edward looks up from his phone.
‘Tate’s going to be Constanța for a cryptocurrency conference.’
‘On the shores of the Black Sea? On the Romanian Riviera?’
Edward nods.
‘CryptoCarpathia. Over two days at the Zenith Hotel Conference and Spa on Mamaia Boulevard. Three thousand participants, one hundred speakers, fifty international exhibitors, and workshops and seminars. Networking opportunities, company presentations, cocktail breaks, private dinners, and parties. Lots of parties. Oh, and they’re given out awards.
‘Awards for what? Best Original Scam? Best Social Fraud? Best International Misogynist?’
Edward smirks. Tyler thinks.
‘Three thousand participants provides a lot of cover.’
‘How would we do it?’
‘Guns are too loud, knives are too messy. We could poison him with Novichok and make it look like Russian security forces did it.’
Novichok is a nerve agent developed at the GosNIIOKHT state chemical-research institute in Russia. It disrupts nerve signals to the muscles, leading to suffocation and heart failure. It’s impossible to detect with standard forensic equipment.
‘Where would be get a nerve agent from?’
‘Where everyone gets everything.’
Edward answers.
‘The darknet?’
‘Where else?’
‘How does someone who doesn’t even have an email address know anything about the darknet.’
Tyler grins.
‘I have a friend of a friend.’
‘Go on.’
‘Who has a friend.’
Tyler shrugs.
‘Who, you know, helps me with this kind of stuff.’
‘So your plan is we go online on the darknet and buy a military-grade Russian nerve agent and fatally poison Andrew Tate at a cryptocurrency conference in Romania?’
‘Military-grade Russian nerve agent in an ultrafine powder state and paid for in cryptocurrency. Which is ironic, right? Live by crypto, die by crypto.’
Edward is appalled. Tyler is adamant.
‘One less asshole in this world is a good thing.’
‘Does this friend of a friend of a friend have a name?’
‘Name’s Sam.’
‘Will Sam be in Romania?’
‘Already there.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘Not at all. Also you need to pack.’
Edward cocks his head. Tyler dangles the airline tickets.
‘Our flight leaves in forty minutes.’
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Copyright 2024 Stefano Boscutti
All Rights Reserved
The moral rights of the author are asserted.
No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, digital, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or copying and pasting, recording or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing.
Stefano Boscutti acknowledges the trademark owners of various products referenced in this work. The publication or use of these trademarks is not authorised or sponsored by the trademark owner.
This is a work of fiction. While many of the characters portrayed here have counterparts in the life and times of Andrew Tate and others, the characterisations and incidents presented are totally the products of the author’s volatile imagination. This work is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It should not be resold or given away. Thank you for your support. (Couldn’t do it without you.)
Discover novels, screenplays, short stories and more by Stefano Boscutti at boscutti.com