Ever since he'd nearly OD'd on the stuff he sold, Peter had found himself regulated to selling to the low crowds and making less than he should. Vlad had a new found friend and he seemed to take the best clientele now. Peter spit at the thought of Yuri. He really didn't like him, in fact he despised him.
Peter walked the streets looking for one of the newer clubs that had cropped as they did these days. They came and went as tastes changed. Sometimes they were here for years, others not long at all.
A man standing against a wall, grabbed Peter's arm. "Looking for a good time."
Peter laughed and shrugged. "Get lost." He tried to pull away but the man's grip was too tight.
The man smiled, "You got me wrong pal. I'm looking. Got any of those little blue pills?"
The irony? He did. But Peter didn't like selling to the kid on the street. He didn't know them from a whole in the wall. Getting a kid killed had made him leery of selling to those who were not his usual clients.
Peter sighed, he did need to sell the rest soon, or Vlad was going to get angry. "A grand for 5." Peter pulled out a paper bag, and pulled a small baggie out of it. He held it out on the palm of his hand.
It happened so fast, Peter wasn't sure exactly what had happened. The gentle click and the feel of cold metal wrapped around his hand before he was forced to move and his arms pulled behind him. The man called out, "You are under arrest."
Officer Konstantinov grinned as he clicked the handcuffs shut on Peter's wrists. Not only did he get the bust he was hoping for, but it meant he had won the bet with his partner, Officer Sokolov, who sat in a nearby alley in an unmarked car. At the signal from Konstantinov, he turned over the engine and flicked on the headlights, and a moment later had the car parked at the curb in front of Peter and Konstantinov.
Neither officer was interested in spending any more time then they needed to on the street, and as soon as the car had pulled up, Peter was slammed against it's side and quickly frisked for weapons. His cellphone was confiscated as well, and then Konstantinov pulled the door to the back seat open and forced Peter in, although kind enough to make sure he didn't crack his head on the frame, before joining him. Sitting in the back with Peter, he could better keep an eye on the dealer, while Sokolov focused on driving back to the precinct.
"You know kid, you're in luck. My partner and I. We like being police. So much so, that we want to be promoted. You're a small fry, right? So it isn't you we want."
They were done getting the bottom rungs of the ladder. They wanted something more. The boss, for instance. Peter worked for someone. Someone who was in charge of production, distribution. The tip of the pyramid.
Sokolov glanced at Peter in the rear view mirror and grinned a predatory grin; all teeth, no warmth. He clearly expected Peter to be more afraid of his boss then of them, and that always led to the most interesting trips to the interrogation room with the broken camera.
Peter cringed at the thought. His uncle would kill him if he ratted him out. But Peter also didn't want to spend any time in jail either. He had to weigh his options. And they were tough options.
First hand, Vlad would kill him. He'd die like his grandfather had - of natural causes. Peter knew better, he'd seen his uncle do things that were not humanly possible. He just knew he had killed his grandfather!
And the second hand was jail where he would probably be killed just for working for Vlad. The Russian Mafia didn't take well to their sources being inside. He was a small fry, but he could link them to many people.
Peter smiled wryly. He knew he could get a pretty good deal if he played his cards right. He knew he could do that! He hoped at least. His confidence waned. It had been a while since he'd had a hit, and even longer since he'd had a drink. After the incident at the brothel his uncle had been watching him like a hawk.
Fear stuck Peter as he rode in the back of the car to the station. His uncle already knew he had been picked up. It was then that he clamped his mouth shut. He wasn't even going to ask for his lawyer, that was admitting he was guilty. He clearly was, he had been selling the shit to an undercover officer. But he wasn't going to sell out his uncle, at least not for nothing!
Peter stared back with defiance. He wouldn't break easily. He had to believe that. He needed to believe that.
Golyanovo District precinct was, by all meanings of the term, on the wrong side of the tracks. On the outskirts of Moscow, many of the buildings were still of the painfully boring USSR style; cookie cutter blocks of concrete, everything identical and not a hint of imagination to be seen. The area was far removed from the world view of Moscow; high crime rates, graffiti, struggling infrastructure. The region was almost entirely populated by (mostly) legal immigrants, who formed small, close-knit communities and English had yet to become the universal language it was supposed to be.
The local police precincts were often populated by the trouble makers that weren't wanted closer to the heart of things, or the underachievers no one else wanted to deal with.
The unmarked car the two officers had used was brought into the station's parking lot and nestled between two squad cars that had seen better days. Peter was hauled out of the back seen and shown in, where all the usual processing was skipped. No finger printing, no mug shots, no reports filled out. Peter was brought straight to that interrogation room at the end of the hall, with the flickering light above the sturdy door. It wouldn't take an overly active imagination to connect the old building with the long dead KGB of the Soviet Union.
Peter was sat down in an uncomfortable steel chair that was bolted to the floor, and a chain bolted to the floor between his legs was attached to that of his handcuffs.
Konstantinov and Sokolov were both quite knowledgeable about how to beat a man for the most pain with the least damage. Bruises healed much faster then cuts, after all, and most street punks weren't near as tough as they thought. All the beatings in the world weren't nearly as dangerous to a man's confidence as his own imagination. Peter's pills were set on the table alongside a plastic cup of water and a long necked funnel. It would be easy for them to write the guy's death off as an overdose, surely.
The questioning began after a cursory few minutes of rough housing; phone books were a classic, and the phone book they had at their disposal looked like it was a veteran to the role it was put to on Peter. The questions started after it was clear to the man that they were quite intent on their course of action. He either cooperated and walked, or played it tough and could look forward to seeing first hand what a bag full of his pills could do to a person.
Peter looked on trying to hide the horror in his eyes as the officers set down his little blue bag of pills and a funnel. Surely they knew that more than one was a death sentence. He looked on dumfounded that they intended to threaten him with his own product. Uncle Vlad had made an excellent drug. It's high was awesome, and the dealers were suppose to prohibit the use of more than one a day for fear of overdosing. They had to know that. But then again, no one really understood the drug other than his uncle. He hasn't shared the secrets with anyone.
If only they had threatened him before beating him, they could have saved themselves a lot of trouble in the long haul. Peter knew all too well that more than one would kill him, it had nearly done so once already.
The phonebook hurt like hell. Who the hell thought of using a phone book. Peter had heard of it being used as a silencer before but not a tool for torture.
It felt like hours before they started asking Peter questions. "Feel like talking now?"
Peter laughed. It was really funny. He spit out the remainder of blood in his mouth on the floor. "Probably before you started beating me!"
That gained Peter another smack across the face with the phone book. Peter sighed, "Yes, but I want immunity from this."
Peter thought better of his request. "I need to be kept safe. If my boss finds out I talked, I'm dead." He laughed, "Just as dead as two of those pills would have made me!" He nodded his head towards the little blue pills on the table.
"We just need to make sure we are all on the same page, Peter."
Officer Konstantinov nodded to Sokolov, who tossed the phonebook onto the cold metal table with the pills while Konstantinov undid the cuffs from the floor. Peter was still cuffed, but he could at least move a bit, and was given a glass of water, without any of his deadly pills in it.
"You tell us what we need to know, and we'll have you out of the Dominance and somewhere safe in no time at all. Like I said, you are not the one we want. Your boss, or nothing."
As sore as Peter was, the bruises from the beating would fade quickly and easily; the beauty of a large, flat, pliable surface to hit someone with was that it did not bruise as deeply, or cut, like fists would. A few days and there would be very little evidence the man had been roughed up at all.
At Konstantinov's gesture, Sokolov left to fetch terribly strong coffee, and they began their conversation. Vladimir's assets, his contacts, his haunts. Everything they would need to know to take the man down. The two officers had hoped to be able to achieve it themselves, without having to turn to anyone higher the chain that might steal the credit, and the promotion that would sure come with the bust.
Peter nodded. With protection he could get out of this mess, and away from his uncle, but more importantly away from the family, including his parents. He'd had enough of their Russian ways. He was born an American and shipped off here for whatever reason his parents deemed worthy. Now it was over!
Peter started to lay out the information they needed. He didn't know much about the financial situation, but he knew enough.
"Vlad owns Igor's in the Red Light District. He doesn't use it for the drug business, but he does meet a few people in the office there." Peter thought about it.
"There is also a hidden room in the back. It looks like a closet but it's much more than that. Vlad doesn't let anyone in there. I think it's where he experiments with weird things." Peter had never been there. But he knew it was there, he'd caught his uncle sneaking in and out on occasion.
Peter gave them the details of the safe house, where the money was kept and the drugs were made. He described a place worse than Igor's on the outside, and it held the same decor on the inside as it did on the outside. It was literally a rat hole in the red light district. Peter drew the map of where the drugs were made, where the money was stashed. Peter smiled,
"I know when you walk in there you'll see a ton of sugar in bags, and very little product. Vlad makes the drug as a need to need basis. To nail him, you'll have to catch him in the act. And he never lets anyone in the room while he makes it. Claims it's too dangerous."
Peter gave them a list of important names that were on the clientelle list. He also gave up the rat bastard who stole his job. Yuri.
There were two final pieces of information Peter had for the officers.
"I know for a fact that Vlad will be making more in two days. Felicia's stash comes due and he'll make hers fresh."
The last piece of information was the trump card. The one thing the officers needed in order to nail his uncle good.
"My Uncle is into some strange shit. I've seen men die at his feet with nothing but a glance from my uncle." Peter paused they had to think he was crazy.
"I know you think I'm crazy, but I've seen him do things with his mind. Like move things too. Catch a falling glass that no one could have done. I'm not crazy and I ain't high. He'll rip you a new one. You need to be careful going after him."
Edited by
Vladimir, Mar 31 2014, 02:20 PM.
Konstantinov and Sokolov were both very attentive to what Peter had to share. It was quite the wealth of information, assuming it was all true. But then again, the lad seemed greasy enough to be the sort to be telling them the truth. He didn't want to go to jail, and saw them as an out to get away from the repercussions that were surely already coming his way for having been picked up by them to begin with.
It was everything they'd need to at least start their investigation, and if any of it panned out they'd be in the clear to make their move. Promotions were within their grasp, and the two men seemed quite pleased with themselves at the prospect.
Of course, it all nearly fell apart at Peter's insistence that his uncle was some sort of magician. The two shared a glance, then looked back to Peter with obvious dismissal of the man's claims. The drugs the man favoured had likely tainted his understanding of reality in a few places. They'd make sure that didn't make it into any reports; it would taint the evidence they would gather, should it be learned their anonymous informant was crazy.
"We'll keep that in mind, Peter. Now. You'll be staying here a few days until we've got your uncle. Then, once he's off the street, you'll be safe to be moved out of the Dominance. Understood?"
The pair of officers would do the surveillance themselves, and likely try to make the bust on their own. Unless something happened that they needed to seek help from on high, of course.
WHERE the hell was Peter! He was late. Even Yuri stood near by waiting for his cut and he was far more loser than Peter ever could dream of being. Which was probably an indication of Peter's intelligence, or lack there of.
"He had better not been caught." As much as he had hoped so that was probably the case. Vlad sighed and tried to reign in his anger. The power lurked just this side of it, and he had need of it's power later and he didn't want to be tired.
One of Vlad's thugs, everyone who worked for Vlad was a thug, except for his marketers... Yuri, Peter, and a few others, but the rest, they were the muscle to keep those few safe. Ivan was out looking for Peter. He was as good of a man as any he employed, which meant little to those who sought real goodness in men. Ivan was a killer, and that was why he was here, no doubt about it.
"Sir, Peter is in custody. I heard through the vines that he got caught, and my source says they saw him dragged away by two glory hounds." The worse possible thing was for that boy to get caught. Vlad's fury rose, the power raged and he seized it. They always say don't shoot the messenger, but Vlad's anger out weighed all thought. Ivan sank to his knees, clutching his throat. The air was being sucked from his lungs and the area around him. Vlad saw the flows of air as if they were plain as day. He never did understand why only he could see them. Though he was sure Yuri could, though he didn't understand that either.
Ivan's body fell lifeless to the floor. Vlad barked
"Someone clean this up."
((This is just for show, this is several days later while under surveillance to freak the cops out so Drayson can be involved. If you want Yuri to find a little bit about the secrets to the drug, that'll be the scene they get caught in... cool with everyone?))
Edited by
Vladimir, May 9 2014, 01:25 PM.
So Mudak was showing off again. Crushing the air out of that chump Ivan's lungs like it was some awesome thing to do. Big fucking deal. Maybe to the ordinary loser who couldn't see the flows it was unusual. He watched part of an old movie once his dad liked where some stupid corny fucking villain all in shiny black plastic like a dollar store robot crushed people's voice boxes and a bunch of weirdo fags jumped around with laser swords. Yuri had been getting drunk off vanilla extract so he didn't remember any more of it except for it being stupid. That's probably what Mudak looked like to the average asshole.
The body dropped to the floor. It made a funny kind of squishy crumpling thumping sound ending with a smack when the head struck the concrete. "Someone clean this up."
Fuckbeans. Something else to get in the way of payday. All Yuri cared about was getting his damn score and now the body had to be cleaned up first. Yuri had been living ass to mouth since the fucking party. Some fucktard had jacked some of his pills from him -- it was that rich kid and Yuri knew it, but everything went to hell right afterward with that attempt on the Ascendancy and Yuri barely got out of there with his skin. It had been a struggle making up the rest of the scratch in a way that Mudak never found out about it.
"Yeah, you got it,"
he replied. " "Boss."
The word twisted a bit in his mouth. He couldn't wait till he could tell Mudak where to stick it. But the fucker still had secrets Yuri wanted to learn. He reached down and grabbed a boot. With the back of his neck still tingling from the lingering effects of the go pills he'd taken earlier, he reached out and seized the power. Just to remind Mudak he wasn't as special as he thought. Yuri wrapped the sack of skin that had been Ivan in thick flows of air and dragged the body along on the ground. Less work and he didn't have to expose himself to the other fucktards.
Yuri opened the back door to the alley and dragged the body outside. No one was watching. Awesome. He went through the dude's pockets. Seriously, not even a bump of coke on the fucker? The watch was nice, so he took that. Then he focused fire in flows around the corpse, cradling it like its own furnace, encased in air. The body flared up and turned to ash. Another flow of air and the ash was released into the wind above the alley.
Yuri opened the door and walked back inside. There better not be any more interruptions to payday. Although if Mudak wanted to share some secrets of the blue candy he'd be more than happy to hang about.