The Blackbird: 2

[theblackbird]

[div class="credits"][div class="credits-subheadline"]SYNOPSIS[/div]
[div class="credits-synopsis"]The Blackbird goes to the Royal Aurora Hotel in search of answers.[/div][/div]

[div class="credits"][div class="credits-subheadline"]CAST OF CHARACTERS[/div]
KEANU REEVES       as THE BLACKBIRD
MICHAEL FASSBENDER as KIRILL REZNIKOV[/div]

[div class="credits"][div class="credits-subheadline"]MUSIC CREDITS[/div]
CHERRY BOMB
WRITTEN by JOAN JETT and KIM FOWLEY
PERFORMED by THE RUNAWAYS[/div]
[div class="blackbird"][div class="blackbird-headline"]2[/div]
[div class="blackbird-body"]
[div class="blackbird-setting"]20 DECEMBER 2016
MOSCOW, RUSSIA[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]THE HOTEL WAS only two kilometers away but the heavy snow made him drive slow and careful. The entire way, his eyes were half on the road, half out the side windows looking for police cars. He didn't expect a problem. The cops had to drive through the same damn blizzard.[/div][/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"][div class="blackbird-indent"]The old car got him to the hotel in about twenty minutes. A parking valet was ready as the car rolled under the Royal Aurora's porte-cochère. He was wearing one of those down parkas made for this sort of weather. Climbing out of the car, the Blackbird remembered leaving his coat in the Rolls-Royce, but the cold didn't bother him none. It never did—especially with vodka still burning through his veins.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The parking valet handed him a ticket and said, "No coat? You crazy, man!" Or at least, that's what the Blackbird thought he said before hopping into the car. It was hard to hear over the punk girl singing Cha-Cha-Cha-Cha-Cherry Bomb in his ears. He crumpled the ticket in his hand as the car puttered away with smoke trailing from its tailpipe. It went in the trashcan on his way inside.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Royal was like any other posh, upscale hotel. A cathedral for soft, fat men who are sheltered from the cruel world with money and influence. Take their money away and throw them outside. See how fast they freeze without their gold light fixtures, stained glass ceilings, and turndown service.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]He killed the music and pulled the earbuds off, then stuffed it all in his pocket on his way to the reception counter. A rattle of metal made his eyes snap left, toward the elevator bank. It was just a waiter pushing a dinner cart onto a lift. The wheels were hiccupping over the metal door track. The Blackbird suddenly realized that his hand had instinctively went to the pistol tucked in the back of his pants. He eased his hand away, letting his jacket fall back over it.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The concierge, a middle-aged woman with a mousey face, brightened up when she saw him walk up to the counter. She opened her mouth to welcome him to the hotel when the phone started to ring. Instead she said, "One moment, please," and answered the call. It sounded like a room service order. She started entering the details into the computer.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]He leaned against the counter and turned his head to look around. There, tucked off to the side, was a small lounge with club chairs and couches situated about coffee tables. It was empty save for a man with slicked-back Blond hair. He was sitting with one leg crossed over the other. Much of his face was hidden behind a newspaper, but his keen, black eyes were staring over the paper, right at the Blackbird. They seemed to burn in their sockets with purpose.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blackbird returned the stare, but didn't react. He couldn't make out any other details on the man from this distance and he didn't care to walk over to find out more. He told himself, He'll come to me.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"I am sorry, sir," she said while hanging up the phone. "Are you checking in?" She was smiling when he faced her, but then her smile disappeared. He knew it was his tattoos that made her suddenly uneasy—the flying ravens on the back of his hands and the ornate rings and cyrillic lettering that decorated his fingers.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]To the initiated, the markings told his story and signified that he was a member of the vory v zakone. The concierge knew nothing of the meaning behind the symbols, but like many Russians, she had a basic understanding of what the tattoos meant: this is a man to be feared.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blackbird said, "Just visiting a friend. Room 702."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Oh," she said with a nervous look. "That is the penthouse. Access to suites requires a keycard. I can clear you to go up, but first I have to call the room and verify that you are expected." She reached for the phone and said, "May I have your name, sir?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"No," he said simply. "No names."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"But sir, I have to have a name."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]He started to say something, but then he heard the footsteps coming from behind. They came at a steady pace, not in a hurry. He turned to look and confirmed it was the Blond Man. He half expected him to be holding a garrote wire.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The concierge relaxed a bit as the Blond approached the desk. "I'm sorry, sir. I did not realize one of you were down here. This man is—"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]Blondie cut her off. "I know him. I'll take him up."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blackbird heard one of you and made this man as security. It fit. Blondie was tall like him, and the man looked like he could handle himself in a fight. There were no visible tattoos on his hands or peeking out of the collar of his black button-up shirt. This one had the look of ex-military.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The concierge flashed her perfect, white teeth. "Of course, sir." Her eyes then went to the Blackbird. Her smile faded and she said flatly, "Have a pleasant night, sir."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"You, too." The Blackbird pushed off the counter and made for the bank of elevators with the Blond locked at his side. There were six elevators, three on each side. The Blond pushed the up button and the two waited.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Are you not curious," he said to the Blackbird. "Do you not wonder who I am? What you are walking into?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blackbird ran his tongue over his teeth and said, "Are you the man that sent me the messages?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blond shook his head. "I'm not the man."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]An elevator arrived. With a ding, the doors slid open and the same waiter from before stepped off. He gave both men a nod and said, "Goodnight, gentlemen," as he walked past.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blackbird shrugged a shoulder and stepped onto the elevator. He turned and said to the Blond, "If you are not the man, then why the fuck should I speak to you?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blond followed with a half-smirk on his face. He waved a card over a sensor and the doors slid shut. A female voice said over the intercom, "Penthouse. Going up."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]It was a quick lift to the top floor. Neither said another word. "Penthouse," the voice announced. When the doors opened, the Blond made sure to exit first, and then turned around. He said, "I will need that pistol and any other weapons you may have. Come out slowly, with the pistol first."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blackbird pulled the gun from the small of his back and held it out, handle first, as he stepped off the elevator. "No other weapons," he said as the man took his SIG Sauer from him.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]Blondie said, "Pockets. Nice and slow."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blackbird took his wallet from his left pocket, and the iPod and earbuds from his right. He held them up in his hands. "That's all I have."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"You'll forgive me if I don't take you at your word." He patted the Blackbird down, starting at his arms and then down his torso, all the way to his ankles. After finding nothing, he stood and flicked his head. "This way."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The foyer gave way to a hall that led past a richly-paneled billiard room, then a dining hall, into a sitting area. A grand piano sat in the corner, next to the entryway, and expensive-looking paintings hung on the walls. The right side of the room was dominated by a sprawling view of the Kremlin and Red Square beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. Ahead, a gigantic TV was tuned to the CSKA Moscow game against Lada Togliatti. Grouped in front of the television was a black leather couch with a pair of chairs on either side, facing in. One of the chairs was occupied by another bodyguard, dressed like Blondie, with a the same serious stare, but with hair buzzed to the skin. [/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]Another man was on the couch with his feet on the ottoman. He was cheering on Moscow, shaking his fist and saying Go, Go, Go, getting louder and louder, until finally he burst from the couch. The horn sounded on the television and CSKA went up by one. The man screamed at the TV.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blond cleared his throat. It was loud enough to get the man's attention, to turn him away from the game. When he saw the Blackbird, he had a big smile. He was in his mid-thirties, with a square jaw, blue eyes, and black hair parted to the right. "Blackbird," he said, coming around the chairs to greet him with a hand outstretched. "I am happy to finally meet you. My father speaks very highly of you."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blackbird took his hand and gave it a shake because it was expected, not because he wanted to. "We've not met," he said matter-of-factly, and let go.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"I am Kirill Reznikov," he said.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blackbird knew the name. "Viktor's son."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Yes," he said. "From the way he tells it, you were one of his best."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Killing people is easy," the Blackbird said. "Getting away with it, not so easy. Your pop liked anyone who could do both."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"A rare gift these days," Kirill said, then motioned to the free chair. "Come, join me."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]Kirill returned to the couch and used the remote to lower the volume of the game, then looked at his guest. "Would you like a drink?" On the coffee table was a silver tray with a crystal decanter, an ice bucket, and a few empty rocks glasses. The decanter was half-filled with whiskey. Kirill picked his glass off the coffee table and eased back into the couch with it in his hand.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blackbird thought about it as he went to sit. The vodka was wearing off and it left him wanting a taste. He opened his mouth to accept, but the words caught in his throat. He needed to stay focused. Drink made him weak and slow.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]As he lowered into the seat, he said, "No thank you."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]Kirill tipped his glass to him. "As you wish."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blackbird wanted to talk to Kirill about the text, but he couldn't shake the bodyguard's hawkish stare. It was getting to him, making him paranoid, and setting fire to his nerves. He leaned back and studied the man, until finally asking, "What is your problem?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The bodyguard sat forward. "No problem" he said. "I just thought you'd be bigger."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]Kirill started to laugh, trying to cut the tension. He said to the Blackbird, "I have to apologize for Yury. He takes his job protecting me very seriously." He then turned to the bodyguard. "Go fetch us some more ice."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]Yury started to voice his protest, but Kirill cut him off. "Do as I say." He was no longer laughing. There was a graveness in his voice, and his eyes were piercing. The bodyguard dipped his head and said, "I am sorry, boss." He gave one final glare to the Blackbird as he grabbed the ice bucket.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blond had remained near the hallway by the grand piano. As Yury walked past him, he said, "Take your time. Don't hurry back."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]Kirill said to his guest, "I am sorry about that, friend. Great bodyguards do not always have the best manners."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blackbird watched him swallow a mouthful of whiskey and said, "These men are not vory. It is strange that the son of Viktor Ivanski would hire ex-military."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]Kirill poured another four fingers of whiskey into his glass. "Having a dozen men covered in prison tattoos follow you around makes it rather hard to blend in." He returned the stopper and sat back with his glass. "But I don't have to tell you that."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"I normally wear gloves," the Blackbird admits.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Of course you do." Kirill took another drink. "Shall we get to it?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blackbird didn't wait. "I killed the boss of the Obshina seven years ago. Your father gave the order. Tonight I was attacked by two Chechens. Tell me they are connected."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"They're connected."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"How did they find me?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"I told them," Kirill said. "Not directly. Through back channels."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blackbird looked at him hard. "You need to explain that."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Call it a test. I wanted to see if you could still handle yourself."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Why warn me?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"It was never my intention to see you gunned down in the street."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"You wanted me to survive."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]Kirill smiled. "I was rooting for you. I was hoping you were still the dangerous bastard my father told me about."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"The police will be looking for me."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"I took care of it. Any statement naming you will be lost and never pursued."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"What do you want from me?" the Blackbird asked.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"I need you to come back home and work for me and pop again."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blackbird shook his head. "No."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"You would deny my father?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"He released me to find Tibor Petrov."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"And you never did."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blackbird didn't answer.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]Kirill said, "Of course, we both know it wasn't Tibor Petrov you were searching for. You wanted to find the girl you pulled out of that whorehouse. What was her name?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Mila," the Blackbird said through his teeth.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Mila Petrov. His daughter."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"What is this really about, Kirill?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Before you went all scorched earth trying to find this girl, you fought for my father in the Circuit. We want you to fight again."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"I thought the Circuit was shut down by INTERPOL."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"It was," Kirill said while swirling the liquor around his glass. "This isn't the Circuit. This time, we are legitimate. People are going to watch us all across the world over the internet, but first, we need good fighters who know how to bring the violence. Maxim Gorodetsky used to talk about how brutal you were. That's what I want to see in UNLEASHED."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Not interested," the Blackbird said.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]Kirill emptied his glass in one swig and set it down while licking his lips. "I can appreciate your lack of interest. However, everyone has a price."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"I don't care about money."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Of course you don't," Kirill said, already reaching for the iPad sitting next to him. He entered his password and offered the tablet to the other man. "Your price is much more interesting."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blackbird took the iPad and stared at it in disbelief. The saliva dried up in his mouth and throat, and his stomach twisted and turned into a knot. On the screen was a picture of Tibor Petrov. He was considerably older, with a grey beard and a bit more weight in his face, but it was him.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blackbird was staggered by the revelation. "Where? When?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"America," Kirill replied. "Last week."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"...I thought he was dead."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Apparently not. He's had help. I've been told that he has a US passport under the name Zakir Biryukov. They don't just hand those out. We knew he was working with both INTERPOL and the American CIA. These are powerful friends. The kind of friends that can fake a death."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blackbird's eyes went to Kirill. "What about Mila?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]Kirill nodded his head. "Also alive."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blackbird's heart sunk into his gut and made him nauseous. The happiness came first. Happy knowing Mila was alive, out there somewhere, and he was going to find her, no matter what. Then came the guilt. It took all that happiness and twisted it around. He didn't find her. He didn't rescue her. He didn't keep looking when they said she was dead.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]He asked, "Do you have a picture of her?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]Kirill didn't answer. He just reached over to the screen and swiped left.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The next photo was dark, taken in a club. There were outlines of people's heads along the bottom of the frame. Above them, maybe ten feet away, a woman danced on the stage. Beautiful didn't do her justice. With her hands on her waist, her hips were rolled back, and her bare breasts were pushed out through the curtain of long black hair.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]Mila Petrov. Age 20. The skinny little thirteen-year-old girl had grown up.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blackbird said, "Where was this taken?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"At her father's stripclub in Los Angeles. It's called 4Play."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blackbird couldn't ignore the sick twist of fate. Seven years ago rescued her from the life of a prostitute, and here she was, forced to sell herself all over again. He was going to find Mila, no matter the cost, and a whole lot of people were going to die until he did.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"How did you find him," he said, handing the iPad back.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]Kirill shrugged his shoulders. "He made a mistake. For years, he has lived as Biryukov without any ties to the old country, but two weeks ago he reached out to some old contacts."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"That doesn't sound like Tibor Petrov."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"He is desperate," Kirill said. He brought up another picture. "Do you know this man?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blackbird eyed the picture. "No," he said. "Should I?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"His name is Niels Gram. Calls himself Spiral. He was part of the Circuit for a time, until INTERPOL caught him. In exchange for information on Tibor Petrov, they agreed to hand him over to the Americans, who promptly threw him into a mental hospital."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"He wants revenge," the Blackbird said.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"He is obsessed, and it made him stupid. Spiral is getting released in two weeks. Tibor Petrov has hired a contractor to kill him."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"You know where Tibor Petrov is, then. Give me his address and I will deal with him."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]Kirill looked out the window. "He has already fled with his daughter. Maybe he figured we were on to him. Maybe he still has friends in the vory v zakone who tipped him off. It matters not." His voice grows severe as his eyes look back at the Blackbird. "You will find him."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]There was no debate for the Blackbird. He was going to find Mila. "You want Tibor Petrov dead. I will deliver you his head."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"I am sure you will, but truthfully, I don't care about Tibor Petrov. He is old business for an old world where men like us fought over scraps. My father and I have moved on to UNLEASHED. All of our money is invested in this venture, and I want you there." Kirill angled his head and pointed at the other man. "My offer to you is this: come work for me, and I will help you find Tibor Petrov and his daughter."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blackbird told himself he didn't need help finding Mila, but he knew it was a lie. If he could find the man so easily, he would have done it many years ago. If the Americans were in fact helping Tibor Petrov, then it would be that much more difficult to locate him.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]He said, "How will you help?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]Kirill smiled. "I have considerable resources, my friend. Tibor Petrov will have a much harder time hiding now that we know he's out there."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Lead me to Mila, and I will fight in your cage."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Splendid," Kirill said, cupping his hands together. "But there is one more thing. I need you to go see this Niels Gram. I want you to recruit him."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blackbird cocked his head. "In the Circuit, that was Danilo Myovic's job. Did someone finally put a bullet in the back of his head?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]Kirill laughed, saying, "No, not yet. Myovic does still work for my father, and he has retained a similar position in the new company. He is very good at what he does, but..." He trailed off for a moment, while considering his words. "Gram could prove unpredictable. There is a reason why the Americans locked him in that hospital. He is certifiable. If I send Myovic, he likely will come back in a box, or not at all. He isn't used to dealing with a man like this. His mouth will get him into trouble. For instance, Niels insists on going by Spiral."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"What makes you think he'll listen to me?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"It's not so much whether he'll listen. It's how you tell him. He's a peculiar man, from what I've been told. Approach him the right way, and he'll be easily swayed by the premise of fighting the cage. If he proves resistant, you two have a common enemy. Offer to him him find Tibor Petrov. He'll want blood after Petrov's assassin fails."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"You're sure the contractor will fail?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"If he doesn't," Kirill said, shrugging his shoulders, "then that is one less job for you, my friend."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The Blackbird looked at the other man and said, "I'll have that drink now."
[/div][/div]