“I’m going to be honest and say I wasn’t sure the elevator would make it to the top,” Vaslav said as he stepped out of the elevator ahead of Igor.
“The shape of the building wasn’t the reason they condemned it last month,” Igor replied.
Vaslav eyed the number on an apartment door as he passed it by, noticing the crack that allowed him a small view inside the entrance of the run-down place. A coat still hung on a wall hook, but more concerning was the rodent shit crunching under his feet.
“Just how many rats?”
Igor sighed, several feet behind Vaslav, muttering, “Apparently, it was a bad infestation.”
No shit.
The owner of the building likely ignored the pleas of his low income tenants, and it wasn’t until something tragic happened that the building had been condemned. Wasn’t that how the story was typically told?
“Lucky for us,” Igor said, not quite caught up to Vaslav who neared the end of the long hall, “the city hasn’t shut the power off yet, and a friend tipped me off on the way to get in when I mentioned needing something high in the area.”
Vaslav nodded to himself. “Kiril, you mean. He’s been playing with locks again, has he?”
It wasn’t surprising. The kid often traveled back and forth to the city; he had an entire social life that Vaslav didn’t try to keep up with that existed outside of the time he spent in Dubna or working for Igor. Nobody could tell Vaslav any different, either.
“Well, at least he finally picked up a fucking call from me, no?” Igor punctuated the statement with a tight smile Vaslav caught when he glanced over his shoulder.
He had nothing to say to that—as Kiril and Igor’s hot and cold relationship didn’t make a whole lot of sense to Vaslav to begin with—so he offered his friend nothing in kind. Silence was far better than a polite lie.
Standing in the doorway where the light from the fire escape ladder led up to the roof, Vaslav breathed in the wet city air. Chillier at night, it rattled a bit deep in his lungs with every gulp. Once Igor caught up to Vaslav, he thrust the long case he’d been carrying toward Vaslav.
“Take it up—I can manage the ladder,” Igor said.
It was a shame to say—and he never did because Igor’s pride undoubtedly made the man aware—but Vaslav was usually a few steps ahead of his friend now more often than not.
Igor still had to learn how to breathe through his new pain. Damaged nerves from burns and shrapnel made every step a sacrifice and punishment, and brought with it a slight limp that softened some of Igor’s looming gait. As far as Vaslav understood it, Igor fired the doctor who recommended he try a cane to take the weight off his bad leg.
The last thing the man needed was to be doing anything at all except resting and medicating in the safety of his own home and bed, but their life afforded no reprieves.
Not that it mattered.
Igor made no complaints.
Frankly, at this point in time, he also didn’t have the option to if he wanted to end any question of his power and control within the borders of Russia. If he staked his claim as the new boss, made his seat unquestionably clear, then Igor would have the time he needed to really heal and recuperate.
“Up we go, then,” Vaslav grunted before stepping out on the rickety metal ledge protected by an equally rusty railing. He minded his hands for anything sharp that could leave him with a nick as he climbed the escape ladder with the gun case tossed over his shoulder. He had no plans for a tetanus shot after they were done tonight.
Just a long drive home to a beautiful woman he’d missed terribly. Both things would have been equally tortuous, but only one was actually worth the suffering.
Vaslav didn’t offer his hand to Igor after he’d reached the roof, and his friend lingered on the top rungs like he needed an extra second or two to breathe. In fact, he figured Igor would want him to pretend like he didn’t struggle at all, so that’s what Vaslav tried to do.
Folding his arms over his chest, he squinted at the bright lights of Moscow staring back at him from nearly every angle. The darkness of the sky helped to dull some of the glow, but his skull still throbbed with his ever-present companion. The pain made him tired especially when the migraine had been chasing away any chance of a rest for days.
“It doesn’t get easier, does it?” Igor asked after he’d finally climbed over the edge of the roof’s cement wall.
Vaslav’s shoulders tensed at the question, and what it implied. “The pain?”
“All of it.”
“I don’t think we share the same—”
“Pain is pain. There was a time you wouldn’t get out of bed before a glass of vodka to wash down your Vicodin. I understand that better now.”
A lump in Vaslav’s throat kept him from warning Igor of playing that dangerous game but only because who was he to judge or give advice?
“You learn to manage it,” Vaslav settled on saying while the wind picked up on the roof and carried away anything else he might want to say. Nothing about living, with or without constant pain, was particularly easy. Then, Vaslav nodded at the item he’d noticed despite the shadows. “Well, someone left you a chair up here to sit in and shake it off, anyway.”
Igor soon found the chair in question, folded and propped against the building’s air flow system. Caked with a layer of city dust, Igor didn’t even bother to brush it off before he made himself a seat on the black cushion. His expression showed the relief he found when he wasn’t standing and his back had something to rest against.
“Are you going to be able to hold the gun?” Vaslav asked as he dropped the gun case from his shoulder, and kneeled to the dirty roof to begin his work.
Igor scoffed. “Don’t be offensive.”
“It was an honest question, comrade.”
“Yeah, well,” his friend replied grumpily, “don’t.”
Igor even scowled.
Vaslav chuckled, reminded of himself as he glanced up at an irritated Igor that barely even wanted to have a conversation anymore. That feeling was all too familiar for Vaslav, and the depression that could sometimes come with it took a strong will and mind to shake off.
And time.
Everything took time. From growing to dying.
Igor continued his contemplative silence while Vaslav constructed the long barrel rifle that had been a birthday gift not too long ago. He hadn’t properly played with the weapon since the day Igor gave it to him, but putting together the pieces and snapping the scope into place was still a familiar puzzle he could have done with his eyes closed.
Guns were the only thing in Vaslav’s life that he was convinced he would never be able to forget. No matter what his brain did to prove him differently. He clung to the way his muscles seemed to remember every weapon he’d ever touched. From butt to barrel, every groove and dip was a picture he could paint in his mind.
With the clip loaded and ready, Vaslav handed the rifle toward his friend but Igor didn’t reach back. Too busy peering through a pair of mini binoculars to notice Vaslav and the gun ready for him, Igor sighed at whatever he found in the skyscraper in the new business development sector of the city that was five years in on a ten year plan for expansion. The partially developed block, however, rented office space like a revolving set of doors.