He sat sinking deep into the plush black leather of his office chair. His ankles were crossed resting on the corners of his desk. He bit the corners of his lip while running his fingers over the smooth black lettering of the plane ticket he held. His eyes flicked to the dark corner of his office where a black duffel bag containing at least a week’s worth of clothing and a revolver beneath that sat absorbing the darkness. It had been more than twenty years since he’d been home. He didn’t imagine a very warm home coming awaited him.
He had talked to Madalynn about his cases saying that something…urgent had come up and claimed his immediate attention. She had told him with a brilliant smile that she would take care of everything. She was a bright young woman. With a nonchalant shove away from his desk he gathered his muscles and stood. Placing the straight grey fedora off the hook near the office door, grabbing his coat he silently slipped from the room. With one last steely glance around he strode away slipping the ticket into the pocket inside his jacket. Clearly he had overlooked something twenty years ago when he left Russia. Something wasn’t right, the apparent son he had was proof of that.
He was dropped off at the airport by his driver some thirty minutes later. A young brunette with fair skin and bright red lip stick greeted him at the gate to his plane. She had a bright cheery smile. “Good evening, sir. How might I help you?” She asked. He handed her his ticket, she tore off a piece and handed him the stub. He placed back into the pocket of his jacket. “Russia, is there a special occasion, sir?” She asked. He smiled at her slightly.
“Just returning for a visit.” He replied. She smiled uncertainly but waved him through.
“Have a nice flight, sir!” She called after him but he was already out of ear shot. In approximately 9 hours and 20 minutes he would be standing in Moscow.
He was one of several sharply dressed men nestled semi comfortably in the first class portion of the plane. Though none of them resembled him. His hair was salt and pepper in color having become more salt than pepper with the years. His face was slim with high cheekbones. But then again they were all New Yorkers. None were Russians, at least not to his knowledge anyhow. He found his seat a few rows in, pausing he placed his small black duffel bag into the compartment above his seat. He sat in the seat closest to the small oval shaped window. Shortly after having taken his seat he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He turned and saw a young woman, probably in her mid-thirty’s dressed in a dark blue blouse and a black pencil skirt hovering just below her knees. She had twittering green eyes and glittering bleached white teeth. “Excuse me, sir. Is this seat taken?” She asked, her voice betraying that Brooklyn draw. He gestured for her to sit. “Why thank you.” She responded gently taking a seat careful not to mess up her skirt. She held out her hand. “Where are my manners? Please excuse me. I’m Susan.” She said. He looked at her taking her delicate hand in his aged calloused one.
“Alexander.” He replied. She flashed him that brilliant smile.
“Alexander, that’s such a strong name.” She said. He nodded pleasantly, if she was going to continue conversing perhaps he should have said the seat was taken. “Very pleased to meet you.” Nodding she turned back content with herself…For the time being.
He wasn’t sure what awaited for him when he landed home in Moscow. He looked out the window, it had been twenty years what had changed? He wondered if any of the original bratva were still around or if they had disappeared as he had. Why was he sought after now? If Irina truly was alive, he had been gone for two decades why look for him why not just leave him as he was? As he stared out the window all he found were more questions. All he could figure when he returned home was that anger awaited him, after all it was he who had left the brotherhood.
He looked at his watch it was late evening it would be early in the morning when they arrived. He supposed there really wasn’t going to be any better time to sleep. He pulled the lever on the side of his seat and pushed the chair back to recline taking his fedora. He placed it over his face blocking out everything else and let the blackness fill his vision. It wasn’t long before he drifted.
The night was clouded by gun smoke and boomed with the sound of the shot as the trigger was pulled. For a moment the ground quaked as a body plummeted down to meet it. Dust and dirt puffed up and misted out when the body finally hit it. With steady fingers he removed the cloth from his jacket pocket and cleared off the gun. Blood slowly trickled from the small caliber wound to the deceased man’s head. Leaving stains as it dripped down the side of his face. “Get rid of him.” Viktor handed the weapon by the barrel back to the one he called Vadik.
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