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He pours himself another drink, his hands visibly shaking. “Of course it would,” he answers. “You have siblings of your own. You know what it's like to worry for your family.”
“That I do.”
“What's going to happen?”
“What do you think is fair?”
Arman hits me with a withering look. “Enough of your games. No sense in stretching this out. Do whatever you want to me, but please leave my wife and children out of this. Everything I did, I did for them.”
I think momentarily about his daughter. Her crutches. Then I mentally crunch the numbers. Working solely as the night shift manager at the taxi company doesn't exactly bring in an impressive salary. We do offer a benefits package for our more senior members, but it's a far cry from living in the lap of luxury. Especially if there are medical bills to consider.
“If you're going to kill me,” he says, “can we at least do it outside? I don't want my family to have to see it.”
“I’m not going to kill you,” I state firmly. “And for what it's worth, your brothers are all alive and well.”
The tension in his shoulders melts. “I'm glad to hear it.”
“This is what's going to happen. You're going to give that money back, and, in the spirit of the holidays, I'll let you live.”
“I can't give the money back.”
“Why not?”
“I spent it already.”
I stare at him for a moment, trying to discern whether or not he's lying to me. I suppose he doesn't really have any reason to. He already knows how much trouble he's in, so why make things worse?
“I had medical bills to pay. I was behind on rent. My credit’s shot, so no bank will approve a loan. It was never my intention to steal from you, but I had no choice.”
“How did you even know about the Bratva?”
“It wasn't that hard to figure out. All your odd comings and goings. Your taxis have reinforced trunks with expanded cargo holds. Your people are careful, I'll give you that much, but sometimes mistakes happen. In the years I've worked for you, I found all sorts of incriminating evidence. Baggies left behind, weapons forgotten.”
“But you never went to the police.”
Arman shakes his head. “That would have been an immediate death sentence.”
I huff. “You're probably right.”
“And then my father let it slip that he was paying an arm and a leg every month for protection. I don't think he meant to say it. Dementia, you see. All it took was a bit of questioning and I was able to piece everything together. I realized who you and your brothers were and I figured it couldn't hurt to skim a little off the top. Cook the butcher's books a bit. Never enough to raise any red flags, but just enough that we could get by.”
I strum my fingers on the kitchen table, listening intently. “Very clever,” I tell him. “A commendable effort. It takes a lot of guts and a lot of smarts to pull a fast one over me.”
Arman works his jaw. “So what’s going to happen now?”
I can feel the beginning of a headache slowly growing in the back of my skull, bringing with it a dull, throbbing pain. Whatisgoing to happen now? He's made it clear he doesn't have the money. No amount of threatening is going to change that fact. I'm not going to kill him, either, because dead men can't pay their debts.
For a brief moment, I think about Erik Belov. The desperation in his eyes, all the begging he did for a little extra time. And then I think about Nikita and everything her father’s situation put her through. Could I bear to do that to Arman's daughter? Maybe I've grown a bit of a soft spot because, no. No, I couldn't do that to her. Why should children suffer for the mistakes of their fathers?
“Here's what's going to happen,” I say, speaking slowly and clearly. “Someone very important to me is expecting me home soon. We don't need to drag this out unnecessarily. I'm not forgiving your debt, but I won't punish you for it, either. You're going to spend Christmas with your family, enjoy your time together. And come the new year, you're going to come back to the depot to work off all the money you took.”
Understandably, Arman looks confused. “You want me… to come back to work?”
“Would you rather I dump you in a ditch somewhere?”
“I just…” He runs a shaky hand through his hair. “Are you going to go back on your word?”
“I don't joke and I always keep my promises. Does that sound like a reasonable compromise?”
