The Blackbird: 3

[theblackbird]

[div class="credits"][div class="credits-subheadline"]SYNOPSIS[/div]
[div class="credits-synopsis"]The Blackbird meets with Danilo Myovic to discuss Tibor Petrov's current location.[/div][/div]

[div class="credits"][div class="credits-subheadline"]CAST OF CHARACTERS[/div]
JEFFREY DEAN MORGAN as THE BLACKBIRD
JERE BURNS          as DANILO MYOVIC[/div]
[div class="blackbird"][div class="blackbird-headline"]2[/div]
[div class="blackbird-body"]
[div class="blackbird-setting"]5 MAY 2017
SAINT PETERSBURG, RUSSIA[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]Five long months pass and I am no closer to finding Tibor Petrov. Instead, I am standing in a cage, getting my head taken off by Ed Terryn. This isn't my kind of fighting. These rules, they do not suit me. Referees. Judges. TV cameras. All of it makes me uneasy, but every time he knocks me back, I persist. I keep moving forward. I get my shots in. He feels the knuckles of my fists even through these stupid gloves they made me wear.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I could just take a hit and fall. Let this fight come to a grinding halt, but the Russians expect a show, and I have to keep them happy for now. So I keep fighting because I have something to fight for. Each time I swing at Terryn, I am picturing Tibor Petrov. Each time my fist slams into his mouth, I see Tibor Petrov choking on blood and teeth.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]In the end, the guy clocks me good with an elbow and the lights go out. Some doctor hovering over me says time expired before I hit the mat. After I'm up and on my feet, the announcer calls it a majority draw, whatever that means. The referee raises both our hands. I don't care. I walk out of the cage knowing I gave Kirill Reznikov a good show.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]My body is already starting to ache when I step out of the shower. I wipe the steam clear from the mirror. My face is red and swollen in places. I look old, but I was already old. If this is the price for finding Petrov, for finding Mila, then it's a price I will gladly pay.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]After getting dressed, when I am walking out the back door, a black limousine is idling in the rain. A tall, fat man with a goatee stands near the rear of the car under an umbrella. He says, "Mr. Myovic wants to have a word." He opens the door and waits.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I walk through the rain to the car. I hand my duffel bag to the fat man and slide into the rear of the limousine. Danilo is sitting across from me with his back to the tinted divider. He is the same odd-looking man I remember, with his forehead full of thick wrinkles, high-angled eyebrows, and a nest of dyed blond hair crowning his head. When he speaks, it's coming out of his bent nose just as much as his mouth.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"That was great, Blackbird," he says to me with a big, ugly grin on his ugly face. "I didn't know if you still had it in you, all these years later. Granted, the old you might have gotten the win, but still, let's not sour your achievement. Drink?" He motions to the liquor cabinet to my left.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]My mouth goes dry. I know I shouldn't, but my hand is already reaching for the vodka bottle chilling in the ice bucket before I can say no. "You better be here with some information for me," I tell him while pouring two fingers of vodka in a rocks glass.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Better I?" he says with a half-smile, then watches me with his black beady eyes as I return the bottle to the ice. He says, "I am supposed to provide you with an update on your so-called hunt for Tibor Petrov. However, I have decided against it. Do you want to know why?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I say nothing as the anger starts pushing its way into my throat. I take a drink and try to swallow it back before it makes me do something regrettable. My temper wants to get the best of me, but I'm not shocked by Danilo Myovic's game. The little prick craves power and information is his throttle. He'll hold Tibor Petrov over me for as long as he can.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]He laughs a bit under his breath. "Do you remember that time you threatened to shoot me in the liver? We were sitting at the bar in the Queen of Montenegro casino. You were set to face Alex Collins that weekend. You won by dislocating his fingers, one by one. Do you remember him? He's famous now. A respected professional wrestler."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I take another drink. The vodka burns my cracked lips. "I don't remember the fights. Too many years ago. Too much vodka since. It's all just one bruised memory, like bad fruit."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Bad fruit." A snort pushes out of his nose. "I like that. It's the same for me, for the most part, but this particular event is forever etched in my brain. You wanted me to lead you to Maxim Gorodetsky. When I resisted, you jammed a gun against my liver and threatened to shoot me dead."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Must have worked," I say, then swallow the rest of the vodka.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"It did. I agreed to take you to Maxim, and you repaid me by breaking my nose."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"It's an improvement, I think. Gives you character."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]He lurches forward and yells at me, "You smashed my fucking face on the dashboard! All because I made a fucking joke about that brat you had in the backseat. Mila, right? The same girl you're looking for, all these years later, and you expect me to help you find her? Fuck you, Anton."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I am staring down at the empty rocks glass in my hand, rotating it with my fingers. "I remember when you first came to work for Viktor Ivanski all those years ago. You were the same insufferable prick back then as you are now. Everyone hated you. More than a few wanted to kill you. The only reason you have thrived all these years in the Izmaylovskaya Gang is because you are the best at one thing: information."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]His jaw is clenching. "I am warning you, Anton."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"You are not like me, Danilo." I slowly lean forward. "You act like a man of violence because you want to be one, but it's not in you. I know this because I'm as violent as they come and we recognize our own. Looking at you, all I see is a sad little man who wants to be notorious. Sad is fine by me. Pathetic in a man, but fine."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"You don't scare me."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I look down at that rocks glass again, turning it in my hand. It slips from my fingers to the floor and I crush it under the heel of my boot. "What the fuck," Danilo says at me, jumping back into his seat. I reach down and pick out a long piece of broken glass and hold it up to him. His eyes fixate on the three-sided shard.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I say, "You may not think I can force this down your throat, but I can. The question is, can you stop me before it slices all the way to your stomach? Can the fat man waiting outside?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"You can't touch me," he says while jerking his tie loose with a cocky smirk. He unbuttons the front of his shirt and tugs it to the side, showing a star tattooed on his left clavicle. "I am a Vor, Anton. While you were driving old rich men around Moscow, I was earning my place. You don't have stars and you never will. They don't give them to sons of whores." He spits at me and adds, "Fuck you and your idle threats. Get out of my car."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"As you say." I reach for the door, but instead of opening it, I hit the lock button. He opens his mouth to scream out, but the words get cut off when I yank his loosened tie, dragging him towards me, to his knees at my feet. I twist the tie around my right hand until it cinches around his throat and squeezes his larynx. He struggles until I put the tip of the glass to the side of his neck. A thin line of blood runs down and stains the open collar of his shirt.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"This is the vagus nerve," I tell him, quiet-like. "I cut that you go limp. You won't be able to move, but you'll still feel it when I carve those stars out of you. Then, after I slice the bleeder under your arm and watch the light leave your eyes, I'll mail your stars to Moscow with a note telling them it was me that did you in...Now tell me you believe me."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"I believe you..." His words are choked whispers. "I fucking believe you..."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]His bloodshot eyes look over through the tinted glass, to his driver standing outside the limousine in the rain. Danilo strains to speak, but he can't get the words out loud enough to matter, and his hands can't free his neck tie from my white-knuckled grip.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Danilo, look at me."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]His eyes pull back to mine, bulging from the sockets of his face fat, swollen, red face.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I say to him real low, "I fought in Kirill's circus, now the bill comes due. I want what was promised—information. I want everything you have on Petrov. Everything, you understand? And I don't want to have this conversation again, because next time I won't be so nice."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Okay, okay," he hisses, like air being slowly released from a balloon. I let go of his tie and he nearly falls over. The blood drains from his face and he is sucking in long, deep breaths while wiping sweat from his forehead and eyes with his jacket sleeve.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"He fled America," he says, coughing the words out. "For a bit, he bounced around from continent to continent. We were always a step behind. He's used a dozen passports, making it difficult to track him."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"The girl?" I ask, looking down at him.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"She's with him. Always a different name, same as him." He tries to sit up. I let him. He says, "Then they disappeared off the map. This was early March. Not a sign of them in any country I can see into, until three weeks ago when he was caught in a photo taken by a cell phone."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Where," I press him, tired of the story.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Cairo," he says. "It makes sense really. He knows the Egyptian President from some dealings we had with him years ago. He has given Petrov military protection. There's is no better place for Petrov to hide. I've had resources on the ground for the last two weeks and so far all we know is he is staying in the Heliopolis Palace. And yes, before you ask, Mila is with him."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I lean back, crossing a leg over the other, and fish my cigarettes out of my jacket. "I want you to send me everything you have."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]After pushing himself back into his seat, he grabs a towel from the liquor cabinet and presses it to the nick on his neck. "Ditch the flip phone. Get a new one with a touch screen. iPhone, android—either is fine. Do that and I'll send you all of it. If you want to get yourself killed—"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Give me yours," I tell him.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]He looks at me. "Give you what, my phone?" He laughs. "Fuck no, I'm not doing that." He shakes his head, still laughing, and buttons his shirt up.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I nod to the window. "What about him?" Before Danilo answers, I knock on the window and use the button to lower it. The fat man bends down until his face sticks through the opening. When he sees Danilo roughed up, he panics.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Are you okay, boss?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]Danilo croaks. "Do I look fucking alright? Give the Blackbird your phone."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The driver stutters. "But boss, that has all my pictures on it."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Give him the fucking phone, you fat fuck."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The driver hands the phone to me through the window and then stands there, hunched over, until Danilo waves his hand at him and says, "Fuck off." As the driver's head disappeared above the door frame, Danilo says to me, "Can you believe that? You could have been killing me in here and he's probably thinking about his momma's syrnikis." [/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I look across at him and say, "Send me what you have and hook me up with whoever you have down there on surveillance. I want updates until I land."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"You can't just rush down there with your Russian passport," he says to me with a smart-ass sneer. "Petrov has all Russian IDs flagged in the system. He will know you are there the moment you try to pass through Customs. If you're going to Cairo, you will need fresh papers from another country. I can provide you with these for a price, but they will not come cheap."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"My payout for tonight's fight is fifty thousand dollars. Take it all. Get me what I need." I crush the cigarette butt on the seat. Danilo sucks in a chestful of air and whines, "not on the leather..." as I exit the limousine.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I retrieve my duffel bag from the fat man and tell him, "Your boss. World class asshole." He cracks a knowing smile. I walk off into the rainy night and don't look back.[/div]
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