Page 97 of Doubts of the Egoist
“Why has everything gone to hell? Why can’t he be happy no matter what I do?”
His mind and pride struggled to accept that Kuon had chosen his friend, and might even choose death over a life with him. Again. It enraged him and made him feel defeated for he understood that if Kuon decided to leave, no fetters could hold him.
Yugo couldn’t stomach the thought of Kuon disappearing from his life only to return years later, mutilated and broken. He couldn’t let that happen again, but didn’t know how to stop him.
“What the hell do I do now?”
He approached the window and grabbed a pack of cigarettes with a restless hand but froze, noticing a fly lyingon its back. Iridescent wings glittered in the sunlight in stark contrast to the dark wooden windowsill. Unable to find a way out, it was dying of starvation and dehydration. The bizarre kinship from earlier recurred, causing him to grab the window lock handle and pull open the sash. The insect ignored his gesture, one of its legs twitched convulsively.
Yugo turned away, hating the feeling of doom sinking deep into his core. Wanting a smoke, he searched the mess on his desk, but couldn’t find the lighter.
Clear bags heaped over his closed laptop caught his eye. For a long moment, he examined the plastic covering the gun, then the package underneath, which contained something black, flat, and thick.
“Right…” he breathed at the spark of realization.Tobias stopped by.
With the cigarette clenched between his teeth, he opened the lower package. A modern bulletproof vest slid out onto the desk. M-sized, lightweight, and with polyethylene plates, it definitely belonged to Mio.
The top layer of fabric was torn where the bullet had struck; the edges around it were scorched, dusted with black. Yugo outlined the hole with his finger, humming as particles of burned gunpowder stuck to his fingertip. Despite his request not to touch anything, the bullet had been removed. He wondered if Tobias had also noticed that Mio’s story didn’t add up if he’d brought the gear himself, and judging by the deformed bullet he found in a separate file, it had already been examined.
He knew at first glance that the weapon belonged to Mio. The forged steel frame made the Canik-SFx Rival-S look flashy, expensive, and too heavy to be called a tactical weapon. It was acollectible model for self-defense or sport shooting, but no one would take it into the desert. Only Mio, apparently.
Sinking into his thoughts, he found the lighter in the top drawer. He stroked it and greedily sucked in the acrid smoke. The desire to confront his nephew grew stronger, but he still lacked proof.
He blew the smoke out of his nose. The stream came out of one nostril, accompanied by an annoying mosquito-like sound. He touched his nose, found it hot and even more swollen, then winced, grabbed his phone, and called Greg. “Come over.”
When the door swung open, and the bulky man in a one-size too big jacket stumbled in, Yugo leaned back in his chair, head resting on the backrest, eyes closed. The leather warmed under his bare back, keeping him snug in his dragging intoxication. His fingers tapped restlessly on the armrest, more to keep himself awake than to calm his nerves.
“I want you to do something for me,” he said without opening his eyes and nodded toward the items piling on his desk.
“Shall I bring a piece of raw meat for your face?” Greg’s voice was edged with concern.
“No.”
“Does Kuon need to see a doctor?”
Yugo sat up and opened his eyes. “So, it’s a doctor for him, but a raw steak for me? Have you forgotten who pays you?”
Greg shrugged. “You look fine.”
Yugo let out a sigh, brought the smoldering cigarette butt to his mouth, and took a deep drag of the relaxing poison. It gavehim just enough energy to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “He’ll live. Now, please.” Yugo gestured toward the desk with the glowing tip of his smoke. “I need your expertise on the gun and the vest, and to run the ballistics and fingerprint tests.”
“Hmm…” Unlike Yugo, Greg picked up the gun first, twisted the wrapping around his fingers, then tore it off. Black eyes and sturdy fingers inspected the steel with vivid adoration, as if Greg were making love to the weapon. “I’m sure Tobias has already done the job. I’ll borrow his reports. It’ll be quicker.”
“How do you know he did?”
“He’s nosy, and it’s Mio.” Greg shrugged and ran his fingers along the barrel, his eyes glowing with admiration, the tip of his tongue curling over his upper lip. “Besides, the bullet’s out.”
“Whatever you say, just stop making such a disgusting face.” Yugo rolled his eyes.
Greg barked out a laugh. “You know, I always hated polymer guns. This is the real thing. Classy. Full-forged steel with the perfect balance point close to the hand. Look at that trigger. This baby’s a real beauty.”
“Enough with this gun porn.” Yugo rolled his eyes. “Tell me what you see.”
Greg worked his wide mouth from side to side, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he ejected the magazine and counted the bullets. He twirled the gun in his hands some more, playing with the flat-faced trigger, checking the barrel and slide, then nodded. “A very nice gun, maybe a little too heavy for Mio’s hand, don’t you think?”
“Nice try,” Yugo smirked. “But no, you can’t keep it. Whoknows what he did with it, so get rid of it.”
Greg winced as if Yugo had broken his favorite toy, and a mask of concentration solidified his expression. He sniffed the barrel, then slammed the magazine in. “Recently fired—three rounds missing. New or rarely used.”
