It was early evening when the old man arrived to the police station. He went straight to the main desk, ignoring the short line of people waiting to be attended, which greeted him with angry looks and mild protests. He ignored them as he proceeded to open the blank envelope he was carrying. Everyone fell into an uncomfortable silence as they saw the contents: a plastic freezer bag, with a bloody fingertip inside.
“Officer, my son's been missing since at least this morning. I thought he may have been out, partying or whatever, until I received this.” The man drew a note from the envelope, and read it aloud. “He's with me. If you want to see him again, I want a hundred million. Every day you don't contact me, I'll send you another souvenir.” His voice was cracking by the time he finished.
He left the note on the desk and took a couple deep breaths, a way of steadying himself before addressing the young man again. “Officer, I'd gladly pay if I had the money. But... even if I managed to gather it in time... there's no contact information – at all.”
The young officer was stunned as to what to do. He had just been promoted from a traffic guard to being a real cop, and goddammit if he was ready for this. The rest of policemen either hadn't heard enough, or they acted as if they indeed hadn't.
The officer took the note and quickly read it. There was something else the old man hadn't pointed out. An X, drawn in blood, as an ominous signature. He couldn't tear his eyes away from it. Somewhere deep in his mind, it rang a bell, but he couldn't seem to put his finger on it. “I... If you let me, I'll show all this to my boss. He may know what it all means. But honestly, it doesn't make sense.”
“Call him, then. Or let me follow you to his office. I'd rather not lose sight of that note, I'm sure you can understand that.”
“Okay, I'll call him, sir.” He tried to be polite, but his mind was racing, thinking about that macabre signature.
About ten minutes later, the Captain came. “What's it that you couldn't come to my–” He saw the note, the bloody freezer bag, and changed his mind in regards to the lowly officer. There was a clear hint of resignation in his voice. “Oh, hell, no.” He took the note, scanned it for a second, and left it again on the desk. “Mr. Petrov, excuse us for a second, will you? I need to talk to my officer.” He signed the young man to follow him to the stairwell.
The young officer's eyes kept darting to the main desk. To the old man. “Captain, I...”
The Captain grabbed the officer's arms and cornered him against the wall. “Kenya. Listen to me. I know what this is about, I know who did it. And, fair warning, you DO NOT want to get involved in this.”
“Who...?” Kenya spurted, too confused to realize both what he was saying, and to whom.
“Boy, dammit, this is well above your pay grade. Don't get involved in it, okay?” The Captain sighed. “I know you want to help and make the world a better place, but there are people you just don't mess with. Understand?”
“What? So, we're not...? That man just...”
The Captain's voice turned icy-cold. “You are going to follow orders. Don't get involved in this. I won't be able to help you if you do.” He relaxed the tone somewhat. “This... this is seriously not in your job description, boy.”
Kenya exploded. Politely. “Look, Captain. I'm not going to look the other way while this man receives finger after finger.”
The Captain sighed loudly. “No. No, we're going to wait and see how this plays out. Right now, we don't have any lead to follow. Do we?”
“Captain, you said...”
“No. We don't. Kenya, for all that's holy, stop it already. Call it a day and go home, have a nice dinner with your sister or your parents or whoever the hell you care about. But forget about this, dammit!” He turned around and left before the nosy kid had a chance to protest.
Kenya was stunned by the Captain's reaction. He'd said he knew who it was? Wasn't he an honest man? He decided to wait outside. The old man, Mr. Petrov, had to walk out sooner or later.
Meanwhile, the Captain went to the main desk, where Mr. Petrov was still waiting for him. “I'm sorry, Mr. Petrov, I really had to comfort him, I think this is the first time he's... dealt with something like this.”
Mr. Petrov sighed, trying to hide his annoyance. He wasn't used to have to wait. “Alright, Captain. Now, what can I do? There's no contact info of any kind. And, well, I'll be honest, I'd gladly pay – if I had that kind of money.”
The Captain looked at him, questioning his words. He was a rich man. And surely... whoever did this... knew better than to ask for more than Mr. Petrov could pay. Right? He sighed. Shit. “Honestly, only thing we can do is wait for whoever sent this to realize you can't really contact him.”
“Captain, but it says they'll send...” Mr. Petrov's voice broke.
“Yeah, well. I'm at a loss as to what to do.” The Captain drew a contact card from his pocket. “But if you do have any idea, please, tell me. Now, if you excuse me, I have a few things to check. Namely, if we've dealt with something like this before.” And he left.
Mr. Petrov was visibly shaken when he left the station. He nearly jumped in place when the young officer called him from a car. He rushed inside.
“Mr. Petrov, is it? Look, I want to help you. I have this feeling, that the Captain is hiding something. That... somehow... he doesn't want to... help you.”
“Yeah, I got that feeling too, boy.”
