Fugitive

Chapter 15

For obvious reasons the bullet was back in America. No way that would have gotten through security. Instead I have a picture as evidence of the crimes I know they've committed. This was a quiet part of town. A few cars went by. The occasional honk. But the air was still. My vision hazy from exhaustion and my limbs already falling asleep I removed all aspects of my disguise. It felt good to see myself in the mirror and actually look like myself, not David Wood. I fell asleep, unable to grasp the time difference and unable to fight the jetlag. When I woke the next day, it was well into the afternoon. It would have been about eight back in America. The day was almost over. My stomach growled loudly. Looking at myself in the mirror I realised I'd forgotten to remove my wig and contacts. Was it even safe to sleep in contacts? My experience obviously limited. My eyes weren't sore, which I considered a good thing, so they stayed in. After a quick wig adjustment, I was peeling on a jacket and out the door. Ordering food was another tricky part. The man behind the counter spoke English well, he helped me pick out a dish called Befstroganov which ended up being beef sautéed in sauce with sour cream. Despite my caution on the first bite it actually ended up being pretty good. Not a cheeseburger, but pretty good. The man-made conversation with me for a while. He asked about America and where I was from. For the most part, what I said was the truth, I just happened to leave out the fugitive part. He seemed very interested. Like he wanted to visit someday. Or maybe he was just being polite. Maybe he was just bored. The shop was pretty quiet. Google maps gave me clear directions to the bar. I actually turned on my phone and attempted to use the new apple update to get a flyover tour. Unfortunately, there wasn't one available for Moscow. I didn't need it. Realistically it probably wouldn't have been helpful anyway, but I wanted to actually use the new feature. I thought it was cool but hadn't had a reason to use it. A sense of boredom happening again, clearly. In the end google maps worked just fine. I wanted to stake the place out. See who went in and out, where all the exits are, that kind of thing. The bar was dead during the day. The only sunken sole that entered was an old drunk man. He didn't seem capable of going grocery shopping on his own let alone being a part of one of the biggest gangs in the world. As expected he left a few hours later, even more drunk than when he came in. I took the time to search the area. I was getting good at staying in the shadows. I couldn't decide if that was a good thing, or a sign of how my life was going to go. There was a door out the side of the building that seemed to be a designated smoking area, but it looked like no one really listened to that rule. Another door was at the very back. This one I presumed led to the kitchen or storage room. There were some small frosted windows that were the bathrooms. There didn't seem to be that many more windows. They don't want people like me looking in on their business I guess. The warehouse looked big compared to that actual bar itself. It was connected to part of the back of the bar. After a good snoop around I didn't find much else, so I returned to my position at the front. It was nine before anything interesting happened. Men started entering the bar with women on their hips and bottles of beer already in their hands. I entered with a large group of men. Blending in was difficult, but at least this gave me a shield of sorts. My shoes scuffed along the ground as I entered. Immediately you could tell the drunk from the sober. I suspected the more sober ones were part of Bratva. I was recognised almost as soon as I walked in the door, which ended a lot of conversations and sparked silence throughout. Within seconds my hands were behind me and I was being dragged out back. Not exactly how I wanted it to go down. The crowd seemed to ignore me as I was dragged away. Which at first, I thought was kind of odd. You'd expect someone to do something. Then I realised the majority of these guys are Bratva anyway and the others ones probably saw this happening quite often. I didn't struggle. These guys were practically giants. One of them looked to be of Pacific Islander decent. Dark skin, bald and tattoos that looked cultural. The other most likely Russian. He had that 'Russian' look about him. Their triceps alone bigger than my head. Any attempt of escape was going to end badly for me. They both smirked, knowing that I knew I had no chance. The several doors we went through looked unreliable. The paint scratching and the wood chipped off in places. Only when they were opened you could see the steel in between the outer layers of wood. They were locked with a four-digit pin code. Two men on each door at any one time. That's how you know it's intense. We'd walked far enough now that I expected we were inside the warehouse. One last door revealed an office. It wasn't a corporate office, not even close. The walls weren't glass and it didn't have a minimalistic design with filing cabinets and a clear desk. Instead the desk was wooden and old. It was dark inside the room. The only window covered by a black blind. A worn leather couch sat opposite the desk, some more wooden tables around the sides. A large riffle was carefully positioned on a stand. The model I couldn't identify from this distance. Two men stood on either side of the desk, both armed with handguns. Behind the desk, a man. He wore dark pants and a white shirt. The buttons undone enough to reveal part of an eight-point star tattoo. A leader of Bratva. My knowledge of Bratva, or the Russian Mafia was limited to say the least. I'm not expert. I only know what Alexander told me in Afghanistan when I got him too drunk to hold back the truth. He's rather closed off without a little... persuasion. He told me a variety of things. Bratva apparently makes most its money off heroin trade. The Solntsevskaya Bratva is one of the biggest crime groups related to the Russian Mafia. That's what Alexander is a part of. Who I was talking to. The organisation symbol is a black sun. It refers to a city or something. To become a member, you must do three things. Or I guess you could say there are three stages. This is after getting a massive beating. I'm pretty sure the first one is to fight Bratva members and ring a bell behind them. The aim is to test your intelligence and to see if you can come up with a strategic way to get through. The one who rings the bell first while the others are killed. Pretty easy way to be eliminated from initiation if you ask me. Then you let other Bratva members cut your back with knives. Something to do with trust. This kind of blows my mind. Who would let other people cut their back? They're just supposed to trust that they're not going to be killed. The last is performing a successful hit. Killing someone they want killed. It shows that you can do as you're told. They have 5000 members of Russian and Ukraine decent. They have groups operating in Russia and Ukraine, obviously. They also have groups in many European countries including the UK and France. As well as South Africa, Canada and other parts of Africa and even Australia. Why the Russian Mafia is in Australia I have no idea. Either way they're pretty much everywhere. An eight-point star tattoo symbolises a captain I think. I know it's a pretty high rank. Anyway, back on track. The guy behind the desk. He looked up when he saw me. He was an average looking man I guess. He wouldn't stand out on the street. He's the kind of guy you wouldn't cross the street to avoid (unless you knew him) but your eyes would drop to the ground. Even then, for me I felt like I couldn't look in his eyes. They were a strange pale green colour with a hint of grey around the edges. He seemed surprised, but quickly masked it. "Jacob Rogers". At least he spoke English. I nodded unsure of what to say in that moment. Thankfully he started talking first. "I must admit I'm surprised to see you here. I expected you to be locked up in jail by now. I guess the American police aren't as good as they think they are". "I guess not", I responded my hands still firmly held behind my back. I twisted them trying to loosen them. The man noticed my movement and motioned to his men. They let me go. I rubbed my wrists tenderly. "My name is Grigory Vladimir. What brings you to Moscow"? "Pretty sure you know Grigory", I spat his name earning a hard kick on the back of my leg. I winced but didn't go down. My leg felt strangely heavy and kind of numb. Good kick. "No, please. Enlighten me", he motioned just to spite me. "My sister, and my nephew are dead. One of your men killed them. I want to know who and I want to know why". "Oh, that's why you're here", he laughed, as if this situation humoured him. That only infuriated me more. "Yes of course. Well it was one of my men. Former men actually, he broke a rule". "Broke a rule"? "Well, it's a bit more complicated than that, either way he is no longer part of our brotherhood". I scoffed, another kick. I didn't think Bratva had many 'rules' as such. And if some guy broke one, wouldn't they just kill him? Maybe he was a future asset. Or he had something on them that he was using as blackmail. A kind of 'if you kill me someone else will leak this information' thing. These guys were really starting to piss me off. "I thought Bratva was for life"? "As for the why. That was a warning of sorts, to keep you quiet about our business. Despite my better judgement, we decided not to kill you. Others seemed to think your skills might come in useful", he continued completely ignoring my question. I didn't bother repeating myself. "What the fuck are you talking about? I don't know anything" ... Within a millisecond, a lightbulb turned on in my brain. "You don't want me telling people about Afghanistan". Grigory nodded firmly. "But, that doesn't make any sense. I thought you guys were proud of your drug dealing achievements"? "The world knowing would cause... complications to our system". "I haven't thought about that in months and now you're saying you fucking killed my sister and her son so that I wouldn't say anything about it"?! I was blinded by a white rage. I know that sounds like something you read and isn't comprehendible. I never understood it and I'm sure a lot of people don't. Not until it happens to you. Then you really understand it. It was like the whole world had gone hot. Like everything was so bright and fiery that it hurt my eyes to keep them open. My fists clenched tightly, leaving deep marks, even with my stubbed fingernails. With the wave of his hand Grigory had his men holding me again. Right when I was ready to jump over the desk and claw my way through his neck. After a minute or so of useless struggle, my breathing slowed, as did my heart rate. His men let me go once more. "Who was the man"? I snarled.