Storms and craters

Chapter 3

Tonight, the dark sky is once again creeping to his lonely bed on beast paws. On the other side of the window panes, downpour is lashing with whips. The nightlight falls on a narrow strip of the sofa, where the photo, tarnished by time, is placed. Its edges are jagged, one corner is crookedly torn off.

Vegas lowers his head on the outstretched arm, a smile appears on the surface of his lips a little wider and more sincere than the grin that he occasionally bestows on others.

And every time it seems to Vegas that these child's eyes are smizing from a faded photo paper. Just an illusory self-deception? Let it be...

This photo. An obsessive tune in his head... and something else stored in the almost childish hiding place of his small apartment is the only thing left of that story of his past.

If only I could find out what's wrong with you, get at least one microscopic clue.

Vegas both wants and doesn't want to know it. There are reasons for both outcomes. And if one of them would stir up the soul like a storm after a century-long lull, then the other would leave deep frozen craters in it.

He closes his eyes, eyebrows narrow to the bridge of his nose. He puts the photo on the side table and turns off the light. The next morning he doesn't remember what he dreamed about, or if he dreamed at all. But by the wet eyelashes and the pain in his eyelids, he guesses that he was crying.

***

"Have you completely lost touch with reality? Or has the thirst for a major's star completely knocked the brains off your head?"

"And I'm glad to see you too, Kinn."

Kinn. A junior in rank, still a senior lieutenant, but a protege of their superiors. The department has long been rumored that his wealthy father did not attach his son to the police occasionally, especially in such a department. Anyway, he feels very at ease here. And behaves like that as well.

"Do you even understand what your brilliant idea with "live bait fishing" will cost us? And where will you find such a person? Any police cadet there will be revealed out in five minutes. Well, you and I," here Kinn grins and lifts his chin up, "although very good-looking, but for this lover of adolescents we can't be a tasty morsel. And to steal that precious thing, you need professional hands."

"Okay. I have such in mind."

"Yeah? And who is he?"

"Does it matter? And then, if it works out, new stars will shine not only on my shoulders. Come on, Kinn. It's time to learn how to earn titles yourself, and not wait for them to be presented to you on a silver tray."

Kinn rolls his eyes and then clenches his jaw:

"I achieve everything myself. I'm surprised that such thoughts are twirling in your head."

Vegas shrugs his shoulders. Then he hears:

"Well, damn it, think what you want. But whoever you have in mind — are you ready to put him under the knife just like that?"

"Don't be so dramatic. If he works as he's able to, and he, believe me, really able, then there can be no question of any danger. Since we are considering this case, as far as possible, we will provide protection."

"And the other side of the question doesn't bother you either?"

"Which one?"

"Who would voluntarily agree to such a thing?"

Vegas shrugs again:

"If not, I can help a little. In a nutshell, an the sentence for theft is much more harmless than an for possession and sale of prohibited substances."

Kinn picks up the top of the uniform at the waist with his palms, bites his lower lip and shakes his head in disappointment:

"And after the Academy, you were a role model for me."

Vegas raises his eyebrows and the right corner of his mouth:

"What can I say... you have shitty role models."

Both of them give a short laugh. Deep down, Vegas knows that Kinn is not a bad guy at all, and even without his father's protection, he could have become a good cop. But Vegas will not let him get closer than he allows to be others.

***

The same background with old pickups. The same bunch of loafers. However, there is no Splinter among them.

Hmm. "Working"?

"Are you looking for Splinter?" one of the cubs asks him unceremoniously

"Let's say it."

"He's... busy."

"I get it. And when will he be back?"

"Uh, no, you don't get it. He's here, just was called by 'daddy'."

What?

Vegas is already imagining local Don Corleone vibes. But the one he sees in front of him later looks more like the host of a carnival show.

What kind of parrot is this?..

The fact is that Pete, who appeared from around the corner, deliberately pretentiously hangs around the neck of a brightly dressed man, the age of Vegas, or a little older, who lifts pretentious sunglasses and sounds in fake high intonations:

"If you've come to upset Tankhun, you'd better leave right away. And yes," the fashion victim pulls out his lips like a tube, "Tankhun is me."