Not two hours after I delivered the second letter, I heard a knock on the door. I quickly looked into the surveillance screen. The old fool had brought a cop with him. Idiots. Getting more people involved tends to mean more people end up getting hurt. Oh, well. Let's get on with this and see how things play out.
I checked my jacket's inner pocket. Yes, the gun was there. Good. One can never know what to expect when a young, fool cop gets himself involved. You see, I was fairly sure that nobody knew he was there. Or at the very least, his Captain didn't. Those guys know better than to try to stop me. They had already lost too much trying and failing. Some idiot young officers, on the other hand...
I opened the door. The young cop tried to draw his gun, but seemingly had forgotten to undo the clasp holding it safely in place. I stared at him in amusement as he fumbled with it for a good ten seconds. “Boy, don't bother. If I wanted to kill you, you'd be already dead.” I slightly opened my jacket, discreetly letting him see the inner pocket's contents. “Now, hand me that before someone gets hurt, will you?” I stretched out my hand, but he was too much of an idiot to get it.
He finally drew his gun, and pointed it at my head. “Freeze!” He yelled at the top of his lungs.
I burst into laughter. “Son. Give me that before you get hurt.”
“Hands where I can see them!” He nearly blew my eardrums this time.
“Son, I'm not deaf yet for you to yell like that, you know. Though a couple more screams and I may as well be. Also,–“ I pointed at my hands. My left was tended towards him, my right visibly open, a good foot away from my pants' pocket. “–are you sure you don't need to get your eyes checked?”
“Shut up, I'm the one giving orders here! Get on your knees, now!” This time his yell was just annoyingly high, not deafening.
I have never had the patience for banter, no matter how witty. In a split second, I tore the gun from his hand. Long before he even realized I had moved. I pointed it at him, took a step forward, and let the barrel rest against his temple. My other hand grabbed his shirt. “Okay. Maybe you'll listen now, won't you, boy?”
He froze. Just stared at me, but by his look, he couldn't even see me.
The old man took a step backwards and drew his own gun. “I thought you bastard wanted to talk, not this.”
I sighed loudly. “Mr. Petrov, I get you don't really know who you're talking to. But please. Your son is already in a rough spot – don't make it worse, will you? I actually wanted to talk. Just not in front of an idiot of a cop that's trying to arrest me, thinking it will somehow help. Now, be nice and give me that, will you?”
“Give me a damned reason to not kill you right now.” He took another step backwards. He was gripping it so tight, his knuckles turned white.
“Well... for a start, you don't even know where your son is. Only I do. You'll never find him if you kill me, you'll be letting him starve to death. Is that a good enough reason for you?” I offered him my hand. “Come on. Give me.”
He threw the gun at my face, not wanting to give up, but knowing he had no choice.
I caught it on the fly. Signaled them both to follow me inside. The door locked behind them with a soft buzz. I offered them both chairs, and turned on the big TV screen. On it appeared Mr. Petrov's son, curled against a corner as a scared cat who can't find a place to hide. There were quite a few blood stains, both on him and on the concrete walls.
The two men on this side of the screen froze when they saw it. Mr. Petrov took a couple long steps towards me, getting almost too close. “You bastard, I swear you'll regret this. If you do anything...”
He went quiet as I handed him a check, completely ignoring his polite threats. “Okay. Then just sign this, and I'll tell you where he is, give you the key and everything, so you can have him back.”
His voice was ice cold when he finally replied. “Look, you bastard. I don't even have that much. But I'm willing to negotiate. I'll give you ten million.”
I gave him a smile. “Look, I know what you do and don't have.” I let him think about it for a second. “Okay, so, maybe a check is not the way to do this.” I dug though the papers on the table – I had left it there. “I know... sigh. Where on earth did I put it, now? ...Oh, here it is.” I handed the paper to him. “Here. Sign this and we're done.”
Mr. Petrov tore it from my hands and started pacing around while reading it. Long story short, it said he gave me everything he had. I teased him. “I've been doing numbers, it makes for roughly a hundred million. I won't mind if it's only ninety, you know. I know the stock options' value can vary quite a lot by the day.”
He went white, his eyes now locked to the ground, his mask faltering for a split second. “You goddamned bastard can't do this. I... no. You can't.”
“Oh, well, as a matter of fact, I can. I have a lawyer friend who's written it. He says it's binding if you sign it. Or... well, I can unlock the door, and you keep going on with your life. Your son, though – well, I'm afraid I can't really free him. You know. Else, how the hell am I going to send you more pieces? Huh?”
The young cop pat Mr. Petrov's shoulder. “Let's go, man. We got him, we've seen him. I'm sure we'll think of something soon enough.”
I looked at him. “Son. I thought you had already realized that your superiors aren't going to do shit about this.”
His eyes darted away from me, obviously trying to hide a lie. “The Captain wanted to be sure, that's the only reason...”
“Son, I'll be blunt with you. He won't give up his life for this. Nor his family. Understand what I'm saying? Nobody's going to do anything about it. They all know they have too much to lose if they do.”
His eyes widened in disbelief. “You're lying, you scoundrel. I'm going now. I'll prove you wrong, you'll see.”
I laughed at him. “Son, you're not going anywhere unless I unlock that door. Now, sit, be a good boy, and let the adults do the talk, okay?”
Mr. Petrov was still pacing around. He stopped as I finished my words. Looked at me, still trying to put up a mask, but not really managing it. “Will you open the door for me, at least? ... You said we could go, didn't you?”
I grinned at him. “Of course you can go. Just don't forget, you have until noon to pay. Else, you know what I'm doing.” I unlocked the door for him.
The young cop got ready to follow Mr. Petrov. I stopped him, signed the old man to go on without him. The young man sat in the chair, his eyes starting to well up, his look apparently on the floor, actually nowhere in particular. I took his chin, made him look into my eyes. “Calm down, son. I just wanted to talk to you.”
“Wha-what do you... do you want from... me...”
“What's your name, son.”
He took a deep breath. This was apparently not as bad as he had thought. “Everybody calls me Kenya, sir.”
I grinned at him. “Well. What the hell are you doing here, Kenya.”
“I won't–” He clenched his jaw, his eyes glaring into mine, fear gone for a second. “I won't turn a blind eye while you scoundrels tear this city apart.”
I got closer to him, just a few inches away. “Would you rather die?”
And he broke again. “N-no, sir.”
“Good. See, I don't really have anything against you. But, try to arrest me again, dare to point a gun at me again, and I swear you'll regret it. Understand?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
“Now, get the hell out of here, son.”
