For Everything a Reason (20 page)

Yurius.

This fact, Joseph was certain
of. His heart began to race. The photo in his hands began to shake. Memories
flooded together inside his head: pictures and video and sounds, all merging
together like a multidimensional jigsaw puzzle. 

A fist landed squarely against
Joseph’s forehead. Pain flared across his skull, and for one terrible second he
thought he was about to lose all consciousness – downed by another attack.
Instead he stayed upright, rocking back in his seat. He was now gripped by the
photograph’s clarity and meaning.

“Don’t bother with the
Internet,” Joseph advised the detective. His eyes were clear now, and a bitter
smile, laced with hatred, had split his face in two.

“What?”

“I already know who Yurius is.”

Carter looked puzzled. “You
okay, Joseph?”

Joseph formed a tight fist, but
left his thumb pointed out.
“Show Time…”
he said, giving the detective
the thumbs up gesture.

Chapter
Thirty-Seven

The Rat continued to gnaw away at Viktor’s thoughts. In
the late hours of the night, Viktor often suffered at the hands of his dark
imagination and paranoia. Was it because he spent these hours alone, with no
one else to share the nights with, that he toiled with his own tortured
thoughts?

Most of Viktor’s men had
returned home, another day of work done, having helped Sergei Mikhailov’s
empire to grow that little bit bigger.  

The bottle of Vodka next to him
was now almost empty, the glass that siphoned it empty, too. The aroma of spent
sex hung heavily in the air. Earlier, Crystal, one of Viktor’s working girls,
had put in a bit of extra time tonight. They’d fucked; Viktor thrusting into
her aggressively, trying to vanquish these demons through the act of sex, while
Crystal had lain there silent and immobile.

Now, alone again, he was
stretched out on the bed, the sheets gathered in a crumpled mess at its foot.

He’d paid a high price for his
leadership – a position that demanded an impassiveness bordering on
cold-blooded detachment. Only once or twice had he allowed himself to get close
to some of his employees – his men – but on each occasion he’d been forced to
discipline them, when a mistake had been made. And Viktor’s discipline came
with a heavy hand. It was all about maintaining face – keeping respect and fear
as your two closest allies.

And this was the only real
reason why Viktor had entertained the fool Presley Perkins. To allow someone to
get away with $25,000 would make him look weak, and this was a weakness that
Viktor could not afford to have.

Viktor would be sending his top
man, Pyotr Krylov, to do business with Presley. The Georgian had requested that
he do so. Viktor didn’t think Perkins would like what Krylov had to offer, but
the thought bent the Russian’s lips into a ghastly leer. Krylov had made many
‘problems’ go away over the last few years, and the Russian boss felt glad to
have him here to help when times were hard. No one – not even Dolly’s son –
could be allowed to make a mockery out of old Viktor.

There was a gentle tap at the
door.

The Russian boss reached down
to grab his undershorts. The tap came again, louder this time, but still masked
with caution.

“What is it?” Viktor inquired,
drawing his shorts up to his waist.

“Boss – you have a guest,” a
voice informed him.

Viktor open the door to find
the doorman, Nikolay, standing before him.

“Guest?” he asked.

Nikolay nodded.

“Who?”

The old Russian shuffled
nervously from one foot to the other. “A familiar face,” he replied worriedly.

Viktor stepped back in the room
to gather up the rest of his clothes. “Where is this ‘guest’ now?” he asked,
slipping his shirt on.

“In the TV room.”

“What? You let him in?”

Nikolay shrugged. “Said he
needed to speak to you – so I let him in.”

“At this time?” Viktor said.

“Said you’d want to speak to
him. Something about a rat?”

Now, Viktor looked both
interested and unnerved. “He’s here?”

“Who?” Nikolay asked, the
conversation taking a bizarre reversal of direction.    

 “Never mind,” Viktor said,
dismissively, with a wave of his hand. “I’ll see him.”

“You need me to arrange for
assistance?” Nikolay asked, meaning protection.

Hell no, thought Viktor,
wanting no one but himself to speak to the unexpected visitor. He shook his
head. “No, Nikolay, I can handle this quickly by myself.”

Nikolay nodded again, and then
simply disappeared from view. Viktor dressed quickly before heading towards the
TV room. He stopped halfway there, wondering if it would be more prudent to go
armed. Yet, after chiding himself, he stepped inside.

Viktor’s heart skipped a beat.

A uniformed policeman stood in
the centre of the room. His cap was tucked under his arm, casually, like he was
making a routine house visit. Then the visitor turned away from the bank of TV
screen to look upon the Russian boss.

In a hiss, Viktor asked, “What
are you doing here?”

The guy before him grinned
back. “Come –Viktor, you’re not pleased to see your own brother?”

Chapter
Thirty-Eight

The old TV set hissed and a blanket of white fuzz filled
the screen. A small group of people sat huddled around it, their faces
expectant and eager. The TV had been plonked on Carter’s desk and an old VCR
lay covered in dust to one side.

Joseph, Carter, Marianna and
Tyler were all tipped forward in their seats. The white blizzard that blew across
the screen cleared.

“What are we looking for
again?” Tyler asked.

Joseph pointed to the screen
before them. “Keep watching.” He pressed the remote and a picture appeared,
warped and broken, and playing at twice the speed. Joseph stopped the tape.

Football sensation Michael
Tucker filled the screen, his broad shoulders reaching beyond the shot, clipped
off by the edge of the TV set. The tape had lost its quality somewhat, the top
part of the screen constantly pulling the picture to the right, a symptom of
overuse and an inability to track. The recording had come directly from one of
the other detectives, who’d rushed home after Joseph had launched into a frenzy
desperately seeking anyone who had been aware of the previous night’s
documentary.

Carter fidgeted awkwardly. Had
Joseph slipped into some kind of dementia? His surprising change in behaviour
had unnerved him. All he kept saying was ‘Show Time’ and giving him the thumbs
up.

The picture started to
fast-forward again. Tiny bodies in bright uniforms scurried around the football
pitch like overexcited ants.

“Here,” Joseph said, playing
the tape again. Now, Tucker was being interviewed in a locker room, dressed
only in a towel, which was wrapped loosely around his waist. By his smug
expression it didn’t take long to realise that the interviewer was female. 

“Turn it up,” Carter insisted.

Joseph increased the volume.
The football player was halfway through thanking God for bestowing His humble
servant with such divine talent. An occasional naked body would appear in shot,
black or white butt cheeks, momentarily gracing the camera. Tucker turned to
someone out of shot and then launched into a tirade of juvenile banter. The
camera panned around to catch a towering white male. The guy was laughing, but
his eyes belied a lack of understanding. He was tall and muscular, with a broad
face, cut either side by tight Mongolian eyes.

Joseph hit the pause button.
“Yurius.”

“What?” Carter gasped.

Marianna reached out to take
her husband’s hand. “Joseph – are you sure of this?”

Joseph nodded, his eyes
unwavering, pinned to the TV screen. “That’s the bastard who took our son.”

Carter examined Joseph’s face.
He recognised the look – he’d seen it many times over the last three months, in
his own bathroom mirror. The hate that radiated from Joseph was tangible.

“Joseph,” Carter began, “are
you one hundred percent certain of this fact?”

“That’s the man who took Jake –
yes.”

Carter moved to one of the
computer monitors.

“What are you doing?” Tyler
asked, joining him.

The detective brought up
Google. He typed in ‘Yurius footballer’ and then pressed
ENTER
. A list of sites appeared instantly.
Carter clicked on the first one. The same face that was frozen on the TV
appeared on the monitor screen. The caption read:
Olympic Medallist takes
America
by storm
. Carter started to read deeper.

At that moment, a group of
dark-suited individuals entered the Department. There were seven men in all.
Six of them carried themselves with an air of self-confidence,
self-assuredness, which was borderline obnoxious. The seventh person followed,
dressed casually, he moved with slouched shoulders and looked around with
nervous eyes. He was short, in his mid-to-late forties, and appeared to be
doing his best to stick close to the team of agents.

Like synchronised swimmers, the
group split apart, without hesitation or dialogue. Two headed directly for
Captain Mendoza’s office, one placed a large briefcase next to the detective
and his recording equipment, and the remaining three gathered around the edgy
civilian as if he was the President himself.    

The agent with the briefcase
opened it without comment, and then began arranging a second set of recording
equipment. These, though, were state-of-art devices: a paper-thin laptop
instead of the detective’s old analogue recorder, earphones that looked as if
they should be worn by some performing pop star, and a small box that, in all
honesty could have been anything. Quickly, he arranged a second set-up next to
the first.

Whilst Carter’s attention was
riveted to the confrontation going on in Mendoza’s office, Joseph couldn’t tear
his eyes away from the civilian-looking guy. He looked fearful, sad and annoyed
all at the same time. Joseph recognised these emotions as his own. They made
eye contact. The guy nodded simply, as if he somehow shared Joseph’s internal
pain.

The man hesitated for a moment,
before stepping towards the occupied table. The three agents shadowed him step
for step. Now closer, Joseph found the guy’s eyes to be red-rimmed and puffy.
He’d been crying, and recently.

The guy opened his mouth as if
to speak.

This new inclusion to the group
drew Carter’s attention away from the verbal exchange that was going on in Mendoza’s
office. 

The guy spoke. “I’m sorry for
your loss.” He was softly spoken and his words had had genuine sincerity behind
them.

Joseph just stared back
blankly.

“I’ve lost someone too,” the
guy said.

“Who?” Joseph asked, wondering
if perhaps he was the brother of one of the slain cops.

“My father…”

“Do I know you?” Joseph asked.

“No. I don’t think so,” he
replied. “But you may have known my father – sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“I believe you met my father.”

Joseph frowned. “I’m sorry – I
don’t believe I did.”

The guy extended his arm. “I’m
Edward Jones. Henry’s son.” 

Carter’s mouth dropped open.
“Wait a minute – you’re supposed to be dead.”

Edward Jones turned his
attention towards the detective. His hand remained in Joseph’s, but his empty,
soulless eyes bore into Carter’s.

“Dead and gone to hell,” he
said, in a voice devoid of hope.

Chapter
Thirty-Nine

The uniformed officer took a step towards the Russian
boss. His face split to reveal bright white teeth. “Come – Viktor, is this any
way to greet your brother? Your blood?”

Viktor was half inside the TV
room. Subconsciously, his hand patted the side of his hip, where he would
ordinarily wear his weapon, on the few occasions when he needed one.

The guy before him laughed
openly. “Always the same old Viktor.”

Viktor’s eyes formed themselves
into tight, questioning slits. “What brings you here, Yurius?”

Yurius placed the officer’s cap
on the back of the large sofa which overlooked the bank of TV screens. “We have
business to attend to, remember?”

“Not here,” Viktor hissed. “You
shouldn’t be seen here.”

Yurius’s smile widened,
reminding Viktor of a Great White shark. “No worry, brother – I came
undetected.”

Viktor finally entered the
room. He moved closer to his brother, but maintained a safe distance.

Yurius said, “I come bearing
gifts.”

“What?”

“Gifts, for my brother.”

“From whom?”

Yurius grinned again. “I bring
cub from big bear.”

The Russian boss frowned.
“What?”

“I bring bear cub, for my
brother.”

Viktor took another step
closer. “You get out now, while I still have my patience.”

Yurius just stood there
grinning foolishly. Another step took Viktor close enough for him to see his
brother’s face in detail. He was broad of face, square-chinned, with a thick
crop of brown-grey hair. His was cut into a short, tidy style, unlike Viktor’s
unruly mane. Now, closer, Viktor also saw the thin line of scar tissue that ran
from just below Yurius’s hairline, down to the top of his left temple. His eyes
were deep brown, but the left one ticked constantly, just noticeable if you
knew what to look for.

Yurius smiled now with a look
of deep affection. “Viktor – you look tired.”

Viktor took the remaining few
steps before finally embracing his brother. “You shouldn’t come here,” he said
again, but this admonishment had no weight or malice behind it.

Yurius kissed both of Viktor’s
cheeks. “Come – I show you gift now.”

Viktor shook his head. What the
hell was his crazy brother talking about? He paused for a moment, looking
deeply in his brother’s eyes. The burning flame of intelligence that had once
been there was now gone.

“What is this gift you speak
of?” Viktor asked.

Yurius grinned, his shark-white
teeth visible. “I will show you. Come, follow me.”

The Russian crime boss followed
his brother. He was led to the rear of the TV room, through a storage area, and
then along to the bolted back doorway.

Viktor frowned. “How did you
get in?”

The white smile cut through the
gloom. “Nikolay let me in. Don’t worry Viktor, nobody saw me.”

Viktor rubbed at his eyes.
Tiredness clawed at them with cruel talons. “Hurry, Yurius – it is late.”

Yurius reached out to release
the bolts. They slid back silently, well greased and maintained: an emergency
exit that was kept in good working order. The doorway opened and the alleyway
beyond flooded in, dousing them in a pitch-black wash of darkness.

Viktor’s heartbeat quickened.  

His brother’s moods were
volatile at best, and Viktor wouldn’t have put it past his boss, Sergei, to
utilise such a thing, and turn brother against brother. Stepping out into a
dark alleyway was not on Viktor’s immediate list of things to do. Yurius stepped
into the shadows and gestured towards something just out of view.

Viktor poked his head outside,
briefly, tensing slightly, half-expecting the quiet cough of a silenced weapon.
Instead, he caught a glimpse of a car’s rear. The weak lights above, which filtered
through from the bright sidewalk, cast slivers of light on the trunk’s surface
like the multicoloured mix of motor oil and water.

Yurius moved towards the trunk.
He activated a button on the key ring that had appeared in his hand. The
taillights flashed twice before the trunk lid popped open.

“Look, Viktor – bear cub.”

Viktor took a step closer. A
slight shape revealed itself to him. Just a small part of the object was
visible, but with sickening dread, he knew what lay inside to be human.

“What have you done?” he asked,
thinking the unthinkable.

Yurius frowned. “What?”

“Who is this?” Viktor asked,
looking down now at the small bundle.

“It is big bear’s little cub,”
Yurius explained.

“What is this big bear you
speak of?”

Yurius grinned from ear-to-ear.
“It is Joseph Ruebins’ son.”

“Oh good God…” Viktor cursed.
“What have you done?”