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“This is the asshole who ripped us off,” Grigor mutters to Vadim under his breath. “He took our money and never delivered.”
Vadim’s blue eyes light up in recognition. A puff of steam comes from his mouth, but he doesn’t speak.
“He’s doing the same act, too,” Grigor adds. “Showing off a truck full of weapons, but he says the guns in his truck aren’t for sale.”
“For display only?” Vadim asks through a laugh. The cold weather turned the skin on Vadim’s cheeks a deep crimson color just under his eyes and following outwards to the sides of his face, the same way my face reacts to the cold. Grigor’s skin is paler than ours and has an olive tint to it. The entirety of his cheeks are reddened from the cold.
“Da,” Grigor says, “Then he takes our money and runs off.” He glares at the man inside the truck and watches him casually pacing back and forth at the edge of the trailer. “He’s got some balls showing his face here again.”
The man in the truck has a salt-and-pepper beard down to his chest with jutting patches of overgrowth connected to a mustache so thick you can only see the meaty red center of his lower lip. The fabric of his uniform pulls across his bulging stomach and strands of long hair peek out from under his hat. Uneven lacing on his boots zig zag over thick ankles.
The man in the truck raises the sleeve of his jacket and looks at his watch. “I was getting ready to leave!” he yells out in a condescending voice.
Vadim’s smile widens as we walk closer to the truck. “I’ll deal with him,” he says to us.
Vadim, Grigor, and I stop in a line in front of the open trailer.
“Only one person comes inside,” the man growls with a false authority.
Vadim hooks his hand on the bar at the side of the truck and pulls himself up to the trailer interior. He faces the man in the military uniform and looks him over briefly before turning to the crates at the end of the truck. He strolls around, lifting wooden covers off the crates he passes, and looking inside. From what I can see the contents look authentic enough. Rifles, grenades, various sizes of bullets and artillery, and knives you can stab an elephant with.
Vadim closes the last crate and points at boxes holding ASVK sniper rifles. “We’ll take those,” he says with a smirk on his face.
The man shakes his head and starts his grift. “These are for show,” he replies smugly. “Tell me how many you need, any amount, and we can deliver them to you.”
Vadim leans his head to the side with the same smirk on his face. “Can you?” he asks.
“I just told you,” the man in the uniform says, “as many as you need.”
“And you’lldeliverthem?” Vadim asks with an icy stare.
The man in the uniform narrows his eyes at Vadim. “Of course we–”
“That’s not what I hear,” Vadim cuts in as he walks closer to the man in the uniform. Watching Vadim setting his trap and playing with people reminds me of the way I operate when I catch someone trying to betray me.
“I hear you can take money. My money,” Vadim tells the uniformed man. “But you seem to have trouble with fulfilling your orders.”
“That’s a lie!” the man shouts.
Vadim grasps the collar of the man’s uniform. “When was the last time you wore this, Afghanistan?” Vadim looks down at the man’s chest and sucks his teeth. “There’s no name plate. How do I know you didn’t steal this uniform?”
The man draws his mouth into a hard frown. “I don’t want you knowing my name.”
“I don’t care what your name is,” Vadim interjects. “But I promise you know my name and my organization. Vadim Nikolaev,Pakhanof the Mikhailov Bratva,” he says and watches the man in the uniform pale when he hears that name.
The man in the uniform struggles to regain his composure. “Pakhan?” He spits out a nervous laugh. “How old are you? You look like some spoiled politician’s son.”
Vadim ignores the man’s attempt to insult him. He steps closer and looks down at him. “You stole from me,” he says in a stern growl.
“You’re being lied to!” the man shouts.
This is Vadim’s business, but I can’t help but feel an anger grow in me as I watch the man who tried to rob Vadim defend himself. It’s still what’s left of my father’s empire.
Vadim wraps his hand around the man’s shoulder and pushes him out of the truck in front of Grigor’s feet. The man writhes in pain on the ground and Grigor steps his foot onto his chest to keep him still. He leans over, bringing his face closer.
“You remember me?” Grigor says with an absurdly cheery smile. He smacks the back of his hand across the man’s cheeks to keep his attention on him. The man’s eyes widen and he looks back at Vadim.
“I delivered the weapons!” the man struggles to say under the pressure of Grigor’s foot. “He’sstealing from you!”
