The actor started to answer.
“Action,” Victor said in Ukrainian.
The Ammunition repeated the word in English.
The actor closed his mouth.
The Ammunition circled to the back of the chair. Leaned into the actor’s ear. “Did you really think you would get away with it?”
The actor frowned. “Get away with what?”
“The murder.”
“What murder?”
“The murder of the businessman.”
Confusion washed over the actor’s face. He wasn’t half bad, Victor thought.
“What businessman?” the actor said.
Victor stepped forward. “The British businessman,” he said. “The man who went by the name of Jonathan Valentine.”
“You speak English—” The actor grimaced. “Damn. Sorry. I didn’t know you spoke English. That caught me off guard. Can we take it from the top?”
“No need to,” Victor said. “We can pick up where we left off.”
The actor nodded. “Where was that again?”
“The British businessman in the Meatpacking District,” Victor said. “Jonathan Valentine. Why did you kill him?”
The actor blanched. Recognition shone in his eyes. “Who… who are you?” he said.
Victor remained mute. The actor was the witness to the killing. The twins had gotten his name from Johnny Tanner’s file. Victor had no reason to suspect the witness was the murderer. But the suggestion flowed with the script. It elevated the stakes and served notice to the man he was in trouble.
The actor glanced from Victor to the twins and back to Victor. He tried to stand. The shackles clattered. He snapped his wrists. The cuffs restrained him.
“You’re no director,” he said.
“But you really are an actor,” Victor said. “You seemed like a good man a minute ago. But now you will tell us the truth, won’t you?”
“Screw you, asshole. Who are you?”
“It doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is what your motive was for killing Valentine. And why you accused an innocent boy of something you did.”
“Innocent boy. Right.” Fury mixed with laughter. “Do you have any idea who you’re messing with, Trotsky? I’m an ex-cop. Did you know that? Do you know how much trouble you’re in?”
“You should look at your wrists and ankles again.”
“Listen, asshole. If you hurt me in any way, that’s witness tampering. Any judge is going to see that.”
“I’m not going to hurt you in any way. Why would I want to hurt you? I need you in perfect condition when you walk into the police station in one hour and tell them the truth about how and why you killed Valentine.”
“I killed him?” The actor sounded and looked sincerely appalled. “That’s a joke, right?” He raised his chin. “I’ll make you a deal. Stop this now and I’ll let this slide. I don’t know who you are, maybe you’re the boy’s grandfather. Or godfather. I can respect that. Uncuff me and we’ll call it a day.”
Victor smiled. “You don’t play chess, do you?”
The actor frowned. “What?”
“Chess,” Victor said. “You don’t play, do you?”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“Chess is to life as integrity is to a policeman. It helps you make the right decisions before you need to make them.”
The actor stared at Victor. “You made more sense when you were speaking Russian. And I couldn’t understand a word you were saying then.”
“Why did you kill Valentine? Why did you accuse the boy? Tell me now and I will spare you the worst possible agony a man can know.”
The actor laughed. “That’s funny. You agreed you can’t hurt me or it’ll be obvious someone tampered with me. And then you told me yourself you’d never do me no harm. So you see, that threat doesn’t carry much weight. You got no play here.”
“My play is in your wallet,” Victor said.
“Excuse me?”
“You will speak the truth in exchange for the safe return of the contents of your wallet.”
“I hate to break it to you, but in case you didn’t notice, I’m no Rockefeller. I got two credit cards, one’s maxed out, and about forty-three bucks in my pocket.”
“It’s not a matter of money.”
“Oh no? What then? The ten dollar cowhide?”
“No. The picture I am certain I’ll find inside it.”
The Gun reached into the actor’s front pant pocket for his wallet. He struggled to pull it out. The actor appeared stunned, as though processing the implications of Victor’s statement and realizing he couldn’t contemplate it. The Gun handed Victor the wallet.
Victor searched the compartments until he found what he was looking for. A picture of two teenagers. A boy and a girl. The girl had her arm around a third person who’d been cut out of the picture. The mother. Another American divorce.
“Keri and Tommy,” Victor said. “Did I get the names right?”
The actor strained to free himself. “Don’t even think of touching my family.”
“I’m not going to touch your family,” Victor said.
The Gun showed the actor a computer that looked like a child’s sketching toy. He played videos of the actor’s two children leaving school an hour ago.
“The men who took those videos will,” Victor said. “And there will be nothing you can do about it. Because it’s going to happen before you get home unless you go to the police immediately and tell them exactly what happened. If you place a phone call, try to alert a friend, do not comply with my demands in any way, you will never see your children alive again.”
The actor exercised his ego. He spat, swore, and threatened. Victor let the words float by. The outburst was to be expected. When the actor exhausted himself, Victor let a moment of silence pass.
“Before you became a part-time security guard and a part-time actor,” Victor said, “you were a policeman. A poor one, I’m told, but still you must have instincts. You know danger. I’m part of an international organization. I repeat. An international organization. Once you do what you need to do, your children will be safe as long as you forget this ever happened. Do we understand each other?”
The actor stared at Victor for a moment, and then nodded.
“Good. Why did you kill Valentine?”
“I didn’t kill him. The boy did.”
“In self-defense? Valentine attacked him?”
“I don’t know how it started. How it went down. When I first laid eyes on them, the kid was stabbing the vic in the throat. Just like I told the cops.”
Victor could sense when a man was lying. He’d been a liar and a thief his entire life. And he was certain the actor was telling the truth. At least on this point.
“So what did you lie about?” Victor said.
“What makes you so sure I lied?”
“Because I know the boy. And he wouldn’t kill unless he was provoked. If you want to see your children again, you better tell me about the lie. The lie you told the police that might end up getting you in trouble.”
The actor’s eyes widened with surprise.
“Yes,” Victor said, patting him on the shoulder. “I guessed. Of course I guessed. It was about money, wasn’t it? Valentine was carrying something valuable and you took it. You had to have it, because you need the money. Part-time security guard. Part-time actor. Full-time financial misery.”
The actor took a few breaths as though summoning his courage. He tried to speak but burst into a fit of coughing instead.
“Your throat is dry,” Victor said. “That’s to be expected. We can help you.” He turned to the Gun. “Get this father of two a glass of water.”
The Gun brought a glass of water. The actor drank half of it.
“The benefits of the truth aside, we may need to modify the script a bit after all,” Victor said. “You may have seen Valentine attack the boy. The good news is you’re obviously a fine actor. I’m sure you’ll be convincing. Now, what did you steal from the dead man?”