Caroline #2
Lukas studies me. It's not rude exactly, but it's thorough. "You have your mother's eyes," he remarks. "And your father's chin."
"People keep telling me that. The chin part especially. I'm not so sure any daughter wants to be told that she has a man's facial features, but I'll take the compliment in the spirit in which it was intended."
Lukas chuckles politely. "Bill had a stubborn chin. It served him well, for the most part." He smiles, just a little. "He was a good lawyer and a good man. A better man than this life usually allows."
I want to ask him a hundred questions. How did you know my father?
What did my father do, like, actually? What's the price of this little conversation we're having and all the nice things you're doing for us?
But Afon rests a hand on my knee, sensing my anxiety, and I understand somehow that this isn't my conversation yet, that there's an order to these things, that some customs must be respected.
"You sent the whole damn Bratva," Afon says. "Before I even said yes."
"You called me," Lukas says. "No, actually, that's not true.
I had to hear from Alexei Ivanov, of all people, that you were alive and being hunted by a man I thought was twenty years dead.
You don't call me for nothing, Afon. You never have.
" He spreads those scarred hands as if to ask, What else ought I have done?
"So I started moving. I'd be a poor friend if I waited for the formalities. "
"We're not friends, though."
"No." Lukas's smile doesn't budge. "We're something much older than that."
The room goes awkwardly quiet. I sip my coffee. It's shockingly good, though I figure now is probably not the right time to send my compliments to the chef. Er, barista, or whatever.
"Tell me about Reznik," Lukas suggests.
So Afon does. He lays it all out in a flat monotone. The logging camp. The mercenary. The Lastochka rebuilt, bigger, nastier. How they took me and burned the cabin. How they hunted us down a mountain.
Lukas listens to the whole story without moving. He doesn't interrupt once. When Afon's done, Lukas's frown is deep and thoughtful.
"He's organized," Lukas says finally.
"Very."
"Funded, too."
"Has to be."
"Which means he has buyers. A real business.
" Lukas turns his head to gaze out the window at the snow.
"He took the thing you and Gervasii built and he made it into something I'd have had to deal with eventually, whether he came for you or not.
" He turns back. "He just made it personal first. That's the only mistake he's made. "
Afon nods, but says nothing.
"Here's where we are," Lukas continues. "I have men aplenty.
I can put eyes on his routes, money behind closing them, and guns wherever I need guns.
" He leans forward, just a fraction, though even that small movement makes the room feel much, much smaller.
"But I've been out of the field a long time, Afon.
I run things now. I don't do things. And the men who do things for me, good as they are, don't know Reznik.
They don't know how he thinks, how he moves, where he'd run, what he'd protect. "
"And I do," Afon finishes.
"And you do," Lukas agrees. He settles back.
"You ran with him. You and Gervasii made him.
You know his patterns better than anyone alive, probably better than he knows them himself.
" He folds his hands again. "I want to end the Lastochka.
All of it. Not only do I want it gone, but I want it pulled up by the root so it doesn't grow back in another twenty years on some other mountain.
" His gray eyes fix on Afon. "I can't do that without you.
That's the favor, Afon. That's the price.
You help me finish Viktor Reznik. For good. "
I watch Afon's face. He's not surprised. He knew this was coming. He's known since the truck, probably since long before that.
The price of help from Lukas Lazarev is the rest of your life.
"And in exchange," Lukas says, "you and Miss Oglethorpe are under my protection. Now and forever after. Reznik won't get within a hundred miles of either of you. When it's done, you walk away clean, both of you. That's my word."
Afon is quiet for a long time. I want to reach over and take his hand, but I don't. This is his.
"You'd let me walk away a second time?" Afon asks.
"I would."
"That's twice more than I ever would have expected."
Lukas winces. I'm kinda shocked to see that; he just doesn't seem like a wincing sort of man.
"Things have changed. Rae has changed me.
She asked about you, by the way. I told her you'd found yourself some new trouble to keep you busy, and she seemed to think that suited you.
" He glances at me, just a flick, then back.
"But the past is the past. I'm not inclined to dwell in it anymore.
Favors and prices, things owed and things given…
It's a harsh way to view the world. I'm in the business of wiping slates clean now. "
Afon's jaw clenches tight. His thumb finds the bronze ring and turns it once. I see Lukas's eyes track the movement and understand exactly what it means, though he says nothing.
"Alright," Afon says finally. "I'll help you finish him."
Lukas nods, like that was never in doubt.
"Good." He picks up the little silver bell on the table and rings it, and the woman in gray appears in the doorway.
"Tell Kir to start pulling the Catskills files.
Everything we have on movement up there the last three years.
I want it on the table by tonight." She nods and disappears.
Lukas looks back at us, and the businessman in him softens, ever so slightly, into something almost human.
"There is work to be done. But not for you two.
Today, you eat, you sleep, your dog heals. The war starts tomorrow."
"He took a bullet for me," Afon blurts out of nowhere. I think it surprises even him, saying it out loud, in this room.
"Of course he did," Lukas says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "That's what they're for. The good ones."
We stand. Lukas does, too, finally, and he's even bigger on his feet. He comes around the low coffee table and he does something I don't expect: He puts a hand on Afon's shoulder.
"Yelena's death was not your fault, my old friend. Neither was Gervasii's. If I've learned anything lately, it's that the sins of the past aren't quite as permanent as you and I once thought they were."
Afon freezes. So do I. I didn't think anyone said her name out loud to him. I didn't think anyone could.
"I hope like hell you're right," he sighs.
"I know I am." Lukas squeezes once, then lets go.
"You'll see, in time. Sometimes, you just need a good one to show you.
" He turns to me, and he takes my hand in both of his scarred ones, gently.
"Your father did me a great service once, Miss Oglethorpe.
Greater than you know. I never had the chance to repay him.
Helping his daughter is the closest I'll come.
" He looks at me a moment longer. "He'd be proud of you, I think.
Hiking up that mountain, then back down…
Most people would have stayed home and grieved quietly. "
"I'm not most people," I say.
"No," Lukas agrees. "You're not." He releases my hand.
"Go. Rest. There's a library if you can't sleep.
But Caroline…" He uses my first name, and it stops me at the door.
"When this is over, there are things you'll want to know about your father.
Afon's been carrying them a long time. He'll tell you in his own way.
But know that, whatever you hear, your father loved you.
Everything he did, he did with you in mind. Don't lose sight of that."
I don't know what to say. So I just nod.
We walk back through the enormous house, past the art and the fireplace and the men in the halls. Afon's quiet. I am, too. We get back to the room and I sit down on the edge of the bed and look at him.
"You're going to do it?" I ask. "Go after Reznik?"
"Yes."
"And then it's over."
He stands by the window, looking out at the snow, exactly the same way Lukas did. "One way or another, yes."
I let myself believe it. Just for a minute, I let myself picture how it could be.
Reznik gone. The Lastochka pulled up by the root.
Wolf healed up, chasing butterflies in some sunlit yard somewhere.
Afon and me, on a porch perhaps, no snowmobiles in sight.
The whole rest of the story finally told, and me still here, choosing him, eyes wide open.
"Hey," I say. "Come here."
He comes without argument, sitting next to me and cuddling me against his side.
"It's going to be okay," I say.
"Don't say that," he chides. "You'll jinx it."
"I believe it," I insist. "Stupid, brave idiots always find their way to a happy ending."