Page 45 of Falsifier

I fall gratefully into a chair, turning it to face him.

"Anyone seen two boys come in here, or run past?" A man calls from behind me.

The man in the bed grabs my hand. "What did you do, boy?"

"My father-man was shot, they would not let me stay while he passes. I ran. I have to go back but I cannot right now."

"Anyone seen them?"

"Not me," the man opposite calls.

"Please, this is a quiet place." A nurse walks down the length of the ward, her eyes looking at me for a second before she passes to deal with the men.

"If you see anyone…"

"We will be sure to let you know."

I hear the sound of footsteps leaving and my breathing eases.

"Here you are poppet." The nurse hands me a glass of water.

"Thank you." I can't hide my tears as I think about Gavriil lying there. "He was holding on, waiting for me to visit so I say goodbye, but they never let me say it."

"I'll check what's happening. What's your dad's name?"

"His name Gavriil Petrov." But he is not my father. I didn’t see his unkindness before, masked under the handouts of food, but I don’t wish him death because of it. I wasn't his burden to care for.

"I'll see what I can find out."

Chapter thirty-two

Knox

Ican'tbelievemyday. My replacements for Gavriil and Nico have let me down. Both the men who took Nico are dead without a word of use slipping from their lips.

"What fucking use are you to me?" I don't normally yell, not since I was told who killed my sister six years ago. Or rather, I was lied to about who murdered her. Dad said it was him, and suddenly all my hopes for revenge were out of reach. I vowed never to show my emotions after that, and I didn't. No one could read me, no one could predict me, and that gave me the edge I'd been missing. Now my anger has these men expecting my wrath. They'll be prepared for it; I can see them hunting the side for weapons.

"We applied torture to the men in the hope of finding out what they asked the kid."

"Idiots. Nico always told me death was the reward, and they had to earn it."

Nico, the giver of death, all skin and bone next to Gavriil. Not fat, but bulky enough to spare a little more for the waif that made him the success he was. Damn it; the mental image appears in my mind of a jolly Santa and short figure of death, handing out bullets like Christmas presents.

As if my boys feel my thoughts turn to them, Porter's number comes up on my phone.

"Good morning my beautiful treasure." I glance at my watch to check my time keeping.

"OK, don't be angry," Porter begins hesitantly.

"Why? Just tell me what's happened and if I sound angry it's because tweedle dee and tweedle dum here are trying to convince me not to end them."

"So now isn't a good time?"

"Not really, but I'll always make time for you." Especially when his tone sounds this fraught.

"I've lost Nico."

"I'm sure that he's fine. Nico is used to doing his own thing without parental permission." He's been a free spirit for as long as I've known him, even while his mother was alive, and she used to bring him along when she visited. I remember being at a loss for amusements for him when TV didn't work. I was perhaps his first experience of true evil when I set him the task of cutting the flowers from a bouquet I was sending to a funeral in my absence. It was a clear message of my feelings at having been invited in the first place. Me and the boy chuckled about that before he did an amazing job.

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