I took my time. I had all day, to be honest. I stopped at a roadhouse to have some food. It was early evening when I got to the shack. The young fool of a cop was there, sitting on a rock. He took his hand to the empty gun holster, then realized it wasn't even there. He stared at his hands, busily fidgeting with a shirt button, as I approached him.
“Hey. I thought you'd have more common sense than to get involved in this again, son.” I greeted him.
His voice was cool. “I'm not letting Mr. Petrov alone.”
I laughed at him. “Well, seems to me like you did. Is he inside?” Of course he was, the door was locked.
He nodded. Seems like yesterday's lesson hadn't been in vain, after all.
I broke the silence. “So. What am I supposed to do with you now? Huh?”
“I don't even have a gun this time.” At least he had some sense of humor. He kept fidgeting with the button, trying hard to keep up the mask.
“So, did your Captain told you?”
“Told me what.” He finally looked up.
“Who am I.”
“You're just a scoundrel who thinks himself above the law, just 'cause some people are unscrupulous enough to turn a blind eye on it.” His voice was completely steady, with just a hint of contained anger. What a nice cop.
I couldn't help grinning. You idiot. You haven't even talked to him, too shocked at realizing he's not the honorable man you thought. “Well... I'll take that as a compliment, but...” To hell with it, if you're stupid enough to come again, then you deserve to know. “But, no, to be honest, I'm not above the law. I am the law.” I handed him my ID card. Andrei Z. Head of Detentions, old KGB. Yeah, the name changed a long time ago, but the new one isn't as awe-inspiring. People never know what you're talking about.
He went white when he saw it. He had surely assumed I was a criminal, probably from the mob. He definitely wasn't expecting me to be on the law's side.
“Now, son. I'm guessing, you didn't saw the last thing I did?” I handed him my phone as it replayed the video feed, right from that noon.
He stared at the screen, unable to tear his eyes from it, as he saw the latest chapter. He glanced at me in horror a couple times, especially as I was carving the young man's face. I just smiled at him. I took the phone again once the interesting part ended.
“You're still a sick scoundrel, ID card or not.”
“I won't deny that, Kenya. Now... I bet you've seen that mark around before, haven't you?”
His face went nuclear white as the realization hit him like a train. Yes. The police station was full of cops with it. Most of them in the chest, so it wouldn't be as obvious, but a few ones in the cheek, too. He looked at me, incapable of asking the obvious question.
“That's what I do so people remember me. Now, Kenya. Let me be honest here. I've told you too much for you to forget me. Don't you think?”
He started mumbling. The realization was almost too much for the poor kid. “Oh, shit, no no no no, please, I swear I won't tell...”
I grinned at him. “Shut up. And open your shirt.”
“Please, no, no, I won't...”
“Look, son. Either you open your shirt, or I'll carve your face. Understand?”
He looked in my direction, but couldn't see me. His mind lost who knows where as he unbuttoned his shirt. His trembling hands made undoing the tight buttons hard, and soon he started sobbing.
I patiently waited for him to finish with the last button. Then drew a knife and brutally hacked an X into his chest. Made sure it hurt like hell. I didn't really want to spend half an hour with him, so a proper first impression was a must. I held his mouth shut, muting down his screams to avoid drawing too much attention. Even if most people around the place knew better than to poke their nose around, there could always be someone too stupid to understand why.
I took the knife to his chin and made him look into my eyes. “You know what it means? Ah?”
He tried to shake his head, but the knife wouldn't let him.
“It means, you better do what I tell you. Or else.”
He nodded as far as the knife let him, wincing hard when the tip bit slightly into his skin.
“I'll make this easy, son. Keep a close eye on Mr. Petrov. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. Don't try to stop him if he does – get out and call me. I'll take care of it.” I handed him a slip of paper with my number on it.
He hid his face in his palms, trying to hide himself from the nightmare. Shoving your beliefs aside is never easy.
“Button up that shirt. You don't want him to see that. Now I have to talk to him. Once I'm out, wait until you hear the door buzz unlocked, then escort him home. And tell him I've said, tomorrow, same time, same place. Okay?”
He nodded again as I unlocked the door.
