His shoes slipped in a mix of damp grass and soppy mud as he reached the base of the slope. He swore and stepped carefully over the draining water in the concrete dip. He tried to shake the mud from his shoes, satisfied as bits of mud fell off.
"Why are we coming down here, Miroslav?" the other man complained, slipping in the same slick place but was less fortunate about not stepping in the recent rainwater run-off. He swore and stepped out, but his shoes made a wet squish.
"You know why Shurik," Miroslav sighed, pulling the small school picture from the breast of his suit. "The woman at the shelter said a lot of homeless and runaways live down here, so..."
"We can't really be checking every homeless hang out until we find him?" Shurik griped. "My shoes are ruined now, and my socks are soaked through."
"A lot more than just your shoes will be ruined if Yakov finds out we skipped a place looking for his kid," Miroslav threatened. "Now come on."
The second man groaned and they walked towards the bridge. The late evening traffic passed over it, loud with speeding cars and horns. They went over onto the old train tracks—dryer than the ground. They stepped carefully on the wood ties as they neared the old train cars. A damp gust of wind blew past them, creating a small chill.
A few make shift tents already spotted the area as they went under the bridge. More tents were cluttered between the abandoned train cars. Miroslav presented the picture to the first person he could find—an old woman. At least, by length of hair, he figured they were a woman. "Have you seen this boy around here?" His Russian accent came out through his words, though it was minor.
She just gave him a long blank stare for a few seconds, so he moved on. They both had a picture that they showed to the stragglers and showing it to every person. Finally, someone pointed to a rusted, red train car with graffiti scrawled over the outside.
"You've seen him there?" Miroslav questioned more pointedly.
They just kept pointing at the train car. He nodded and went towards it, but the door to the car was closed. Before he could get to it and get it open, someone stopped him. "Hey, hold up there," the man said, giving Miroslav a light shove. "It's closed at the moment, don't you see?"
"I see it's closed. That's why intend to open it," Miroslav answered curtly. He brought up the picture. "He in there?"
The man eyed the picture. "And so what if he is?"
"Then I need to speak with him," Miroslav snapped.
"Then you'll wait your turn, and it'll be two hundred," the man demanded.
"Excuse me?" Miroslav continued, crossing his arms over his chest.
"What? He's young—you know, one of those twink types. Underage, too. And he's actually got good looks, so yeah, he's more expensive." The man shrugged as if it all made sense.
Miroslav finally started to connect the dots. Before the man could even react, Miroslav had his hand around the cretin's neck. "Are you his pimp?" He snarled.
"Well not so... specifically," the man muttered, now losing some of his backbone. "But I mean—well, are you a cop?"
"Much worse than a cop," Miroslav said, brushing back his suit jacket to expose a gun. "I see him, now."
The man sputtered blankly, just as the train car door slid back. Miroslav turned to look, glaring down the man that hopped out and fixed his pants. He and Miroslav made eye contact. "Keep moving," Miroslav warned, watching the man skitter off. "And now I will see him." He shoved the man back and went for the train car.
Miroslav stepped up into it, teetering slightly on the edge. The boy was just pulling on a pair of boxers, and glanced up. "I didn't think I had someone else..." he trailed off as Miroslav stormed in.
He checked the face briefly; matching the picture. "Nicolai," Miroslav let out a short sigh of relief. His hair was longer, but it was him all the same.
Nicolai pulled back suspiciously. "How do you know my real name—"
"Kitten, everything okay?" the cretin from outside stuck his head in.
"Um, Jack, this guy is kind of freaking me out," Nicolai mumbled, trying to pull back. "Get him out, please."
Miroslav forced himself to back off slightly. "I'm not going to hurt you," he tried to sound gentle about it. "Do you speak Russian?"
Nicolai only gave him a confused look. "What?"
Miroslav forced a tight smile. "That's fine. I'm—your biological father sent me."
"My father..." Nicolai shook his head. "I wouldn't—I was put into foster care."
"Unknown to him. He didn't know about you, and when he did, the foster care system had lost track of you." Miroslav cupped his hands around Nicolai's face. "Now... clothes. We're going."
Nicolai took a defensive step back. "I'm not just going with some random guy."
Miroslav gestured back towards Jack. "With your pimp?"
"He's not... we're dating," Nicolai protested.
"Da—" Miroslav held back the word. "And so he rents you out?"
"Well we've got to eat," Nicolai snapped. "And I'm really not going with you."
Miroslav leaned out of the train car. "Shurik, get over here!" He waited a moment until he saw the big lug pop up and spot Miroslav across the tracks. While Shurik was on his way, Miroslav pushed Jack aside and started to pick up clothes. "Come on, dress."
"Are you Russian or something?" Nicolai mumbled, taking his clothes out of Miroslav's hands.
Nicolai hurried into his pants as Shurik came into the car. Nicolai stumbled. "Oh, shit. He's a giant," he muttered nervously.
Miroslav handed the shirt over, and Nicolai tentatively put it on. "Now we can carry you out, or you can walk," Miroslav challenged.
"You can't just take him!" Jack protested. "He doesn't even want to go with you. That's kidnapping!"
"Another fucking word and no one will recognize your face," Shurik threatened the smaller man.
Jack snapped his mouth shut. Nicolai shifted on his feet. "I really don't want to go with... you."
"We won't hurt you," Miroslav repeated. "Your father sent us. I can call up your social worker, if you'd want to hear it with her."
"Kidnappers," Jack snorted loudly from outside.
"Says the man who prostitutes underage boys," Miroslav replied, shooting a nod towards Shurik.
Shurik hopped back outside, and Jack's muffled yells of protested quickly faded away. Nicolai seemed to only squirm more. "You're really going to haul me out if I don't come?"
Miroslav let out another sigh. "I don't want to have to. I can call your social worker up, and she can come find you here instead."
Nicolai hung his head and rocked back on his feet. "Um, let me get my shoes. Do you have any like... documentation, or anything?" He started rooting around through a mess of sheets.
"There is legal documentation saying you're his son, but I don't have it on me. We've been looking for you for a month," Miroslav admitted.
"But you aren't police," Nicolai went on, finally pulling out a tattered pair of sneakers. He put them on without socks and glanced outside. "Is it still cold?"
Miroslav eyed the thin t-shirt Nicolai was wearing, and the lack of any other clothing lying around the train car. Miroslav undid the three buttons of his suit jacket and shrugged it off. He handed it to Nicolai, ignoring the chill from outside going through his shirt.
Nicolai turned the jacket over in his hands. He put it on anyways, swimming in the extra fabric. "We're parked up the hill on the other side of the bridge," Miroslav said. "Come on." Miroslav jumped down from the train car and turned to help Nicolai out.
Nicolai refused it though and got down from the train car himself. "Do you not have anything else you need?" Miroslav asked, looking in into the car one last time. "Anything that's yours?"
"Not in there," Nicolai mumbled and went to a small excuse for a tent. He pulled out a backpack and slung it over his shoulder. Even then, it still looked like there wasn't much in it. "Where'd the other guy go?"
"Shurik will catch up with us," Miroslav answered vaguely and led the way down the tracks.
Nicolai followed along in silence, glancing around at the other tents and people. Miroslav stopped at the slope and eyed Nicolai's ratty shoes. "Here, come on." Miroslav held his hand out, knowing that going up the slick hill was going to be more difficult than coming down.
Nicolai waved it off and took to the hill with a slight run. He got about half way up before slipping, but caught himself on his hands. Miroslav hurried up behind him and pulled Nicolai back up to his feet. "Carefully," Miroslav stressed, keeping a tight hold on Nicolai's shoulders.
They got to the top of the slope and crossed the dead side road to the car. Miroslav opened up the back and ushered Nicolai inside. "When Shurik returns we will go," Miroslav said. He closed the door and got in to drive, letting the car idle with the heat on.
Shurik showed up a few minutes later, rubbing his hands together as he got in the car. He and Miroslav exchanged a few words in Russian, ignoring Nicolai's brooding stares from not being able to understand what they were saying.
Soon they were off though, and Nicolai huddled up against the door with the suit jacket still draped around him. The evening light that had been out earlier was quickly gone with only the city lights against the dark. Nicolai tried to keep track of where they were going—he still wasn't entirely sure he should have gone with them.
"Are we going to see my social worker?" he asked. Having her handle everything made it seem safer. He didn't really know if these two were telling the truth.
"In the morning," Shurik answered over his shoulder.
Nicolai slunk down lower in his seat. "And so where are we going?"
"To see your father. Yakov Slavin," Shurik explained.
Nicolai had heard that name before. He frowned and tried to focus on it. "Isn't... I've heard that name." He paused stiffly. "Crime boss?" He realized brokenly. That's where he'd heard that name before.
Neither Miroslav or Shurik replied to that. Nicolai sat forward then. "Look, I haven't done anything where I should be getting in trouble with that..." he started to ramble.
"We told you, your biological father is seeking you out. You're not in trouble for anything," Miroslav repeated.
"And so you're saying my... he's—Yakov Slavin?" Nicolai echoed in dismay.
"Yes," Shurik sighed. "We're almost there, then you talk." His accent was thicker than Miroslav's, and his words were broken. Miroslav spoke almost perfect English, his accent only coming out when he got heated.
Nicolai held back a groan and clutched his backpack to his body. The car finally stopped, and Shurik rounded out to open the door for Nicolai. Nicolai slid out cautiously but didn't have time to look around before he was guided through a back door of a restaurant.
"You go ahead, let him know," Miroslav instructed.
Shurik nodded and wove his way down the hall. Miroslav took Nicolai into a bathroom. "Feel free to clean up some in here," Miroslav said, pointing to the sinks. Nicolai ran some water and washed his face and fixed his shaggy, light brown hair.
Miroslav showed him out then, and then down the hallway again. Miroslav knocked on a door briefly before pushing Nicolai forward. Nicolai stumbled in slightly, slinking back towards Miroslav.
"Nicolai?" The older man asked, taking a slight step forward.
Nicolai took another testy step back. "Yeah, what of it?"
"Do you speak Russian? Any?" He asked hopefully.
"No," Nicolai admitted.
Yakov nodded solemnly. "Where was he?" he aimed the questioned towards Shurik and Miroslav.
The two exchanged a look. "Did you tell him anything?" Miroslav asked.
"No. I wanted to give you the honors." Shurik shrugged uselessly.
Miroslav sighed and steeled himself. "Living in a homeless camp out on the old tracks under 44th. He was... being prostituted out by his 'boyfriend'."
Yakov drew in a sharp breath. "What?"
"I took care of the pimp. He's out bleeding in the grass," Shurik announced proudly.
"But my boy was—" Yakov cut his words short. "I've made my money the same way at the expense of others without the blink of an eye; but now my own blood... Shurik; go back, find the man, and I want him killed. Miroslav..." he paused though, and looked softly towards Nicolai. "So... it's getting late. Are you hungry? Tired?"
Nicolai squirmed uncomfortably. "Hungry," he muttered, wringing his hands.
"Miroslav, tell the kitchen to get him some food. Nicolai, come sit, please." Yakov ushered him towards a small couch.
Miroslav ducked out of the room and was gone. Nicolai made his way over to the two-person couch, still holding onto his backpack. Yakov pulled his desk chair around and set it up in front of Nicolai. "So... I do plan on seeking custody with you," Yakov began stiffly. "I—I wasn't aware that I had... you. Not until social services contacted me a month ago. So for that... I'm sorry."
Nicolai shrugged and averted his eyes. "I don't... whatever." He shrugged a second time.
"I can't begin to say I understand anything of what you've experienced so far, but I intend to try and make up for it as much as I can." Yakov cleared his throat. "Nothing can hurt you here."
"I'd think that Russian mafia was dangerous," Nicolai griped.
Yakov gave one quick nod. "So you know about that."
"Not many Russian names make a scary reputation on the streets," Nicolai informed.
"They said you were... um... selling yourself," Yakov began awkwardly. "Do you—owe someone? I can have that taken care of."
Nicolai snorted and began to play with a broken zipper on his bag. "No. Just have to eat somehow, someway."
Yakov shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Yes well... I guess I wish it just didn't have to come to that. But now you won't have a lack of anything. I know Bratva is scary to hear of, but... we take care of our own. Especially my son."
Nicolai sighed slightly. "How did you figure that out?"
"I was seeking out old connections. Then I found some records of your mother, and... DNA tests. And so your social worker will be by in the morning, and we can work out details. For tonight you can come home with me; I've had a room set up for a while now." Yakov smiled slightly. "And I'll have Miroslav keep an eye on you when I can't."
"Well that's... nice," Nicolai said dryly.
"And so your name; Nicolai... that's Russian. I'm glad you at least have that. Maybe you can even come to take on the Slavin name. Or maybe it's better to keep your current last name, with my ties and all. But no matter. Your food should be here soon... and..." Yakov scratched his head, lost on what to say.
Miroslav came back then with a plate of food at hand. Yakov relaxed gratefully for the distraction. "Yes, food. Eat as much as you want, Nicolai. I have a few things to finish up and then we can leave."
Nicolai grunted in response but eagerly took the food. Yakov slunk away and went back to his desk.