Gift From The Bad Boy

# # #

I’d thanked John and sent him on his way with a renewed offer for him to call on the Dark Knights if he ever needed assistance with something. He’d been as helpful as he could have been, but I was still steaming fucking mad. It didn’t seem like there would ever be an end to this shit. We’d come so close to a breakthrough, but now we were knocked back on our asses, planted firmly in square one. It felt like someone was toying with me. And all I could think of was Dina, begging me to bring a close to her misery.

I picked up the obituary and read through it again. I’d read it a thousand times over in the hours since John had left, but it kept niggling at me. Something just didn’t sit right.

Duncan and Jay were back to digging through the documents. At first, they’d had some real zing in their movements, but as the minutes wore by and the clock hand ticked loudly in the silent room, they grew more and more despondent, until they looked every bit as depressed as they had when I had first walked in the room that morning.

The obit was dated a few months after the investigation had closed. Eric Joiner, 23, passed away suddenly yesterday evening… Designated no heirs… Is survived by his uncle, Victor, and cousin, Petrov…

I froze. His cousin, Petrov.

The memory practically slapped me across the face: Ivan shouting at the pimply teenage boy, “Go on, Petrov, get the hell out of this room. I don’t want to look at you.” Turning to me and giving me an apologetic shrug of the shoulders. “My apologies, Ben. My son is often useless.”

I leaped to my feet and grabbed my jacket with one hand and my keys with the other. Duncan whirled around to look at me. “Where are you going, Ben?” he asked.

I growled over my shoulder as I swept out of the room, “I’m going to pay our friend Ivan a visit.”

# # #

Six pairs of eyes locked onto me as I barged in through the door. I had a Russian henchman pinned in a headlock, my gun pressed against his bleeding forehead. The men surrounding the poker table with cigars clamped in their mouths looked stunned at the sudden intrusion.

“I need to talk to you, Ivan,” I thundered. “Right now.”

Ivan looked around at his companions and shrugged, then set his cards face down on the table and stood. As he walked over to me, he pointed at the man in my arms and said, “Come on, Ben, let poor Dante go. He did no wrong to you.”

I relinquished my grip and let the poor motherfucker go. “Put some ice on that or it’s going to swell up like a bitch,” I advised.

He grunted as he stumbled away down the hall.

“Come, come.” Ivan gestured for me to follow. He led the way to his office, where he settled into his chair with a sigh and pointed for me to do the same.

I sat. “Sorry about your man,” I said. “I’m a little short on time. Had to do things the messy way.”

He waved me off. “It is no big deal. Good for a man to get knocked around every now and then, no? Teach him he is not so tough. But, you did not come to discuss philosophy with me. Tell me, then, what brings you here in such a violent temper?”

“I need to know if you know a man named Eric Joiner.”

Ivan leaned back, frowning and stroking his chin. “Hmm,” he pondered. “I must say, the name does not sound familiar.”

“He’s your son’s cousin, Ivan.”

“Pardon me?”

“I’m going to lay this out simply, because I trust you and I know you cared about Olaf as much as I did. Eric Joiner disappeared less than six months after Olaf was murdered. The newspapers said he died. I think that’s bullshit.”

“Oh?”

“Eric Joiner is a distant relative of yours. I’m willing to bet he came to you right around that time and said he was in trouble. Said he needed to go underground, get out of the limelight for a little while. With James Sanders breathing down his neck, I can understand why he might want that.”

“My friend, I swear to you I know nothing of this.”

“I believe you, Ivan. But I think your son does know something.”

His frown deepened. Extending a finger, he pressed a button on his desk. “Lana, find my son and tell him to come immediately.” He didn’t wait for a response, instead rubbing his temples as he sank deep into thought.

A moment later, the door squeaked open and Petrov stood there. “Yes, Papa?” he asked timidly.

“Come,” his father ordered. Petrov slinked over to stand at the side of the desk.

“Go, Ben, ask him your questions.”