The Boy Who Stole from the Dead

CHAPTER 33

A CURTAIN SHIELDED the light from the kitchen window. Victor finished watching the video of the boy everyone called Bobby Kungenook for the third time.

“That’s enough,” he said. “I’ve seen all I need to see.”

The Gun’s fingers flew over the keyboard. A few seconds later he closed the electronic notebook.

It was amazing, Victor thought. The communists would have never had a chance if these gizmos existed in the days of the Soviet Union. They couldn’t have deceived the population the way they did. Information would have travelled too easily.

“You were right all along,” the Ammunition said.

“The locket must be money,” the Gun said.

“Any idea what’s in the locket that makes it so valuable?” the Ammunition said.

“What’s inside the locket isn’t what makes it valuable,” Victor said. “There’s nothing but a dream inside the locket.”

“A dream?” the Ammunition said.

“Yes. A dream you are both living, though you probably don’t even realize it. Forget about the contents of the locket. I have seen the contents of the locket. The money is not inside the locket. The money may be the locket.”

“How can that be?” the Gun said. “Gold, platinum. It’s not big enough for the metal to be worth that much.”

“It doesn’t look like a queen’s treasure or an antique,” the Ammunition said.

“The locket was supposed to contain a priceless formula,” Victor said. “That I know because I was one of the men who chased it halfway around the world. That’s what the boy’s father told Nadia Tesla. It didn’t. But I saw a piece of jewelry recently that made me think. What if it was somehow inscribed under the gold? What if the boy’s father was actually telling the truth? What if there really is a formula? Two things we know for certain. First, his father was the greatest thief I ever knew. If there were a man capable of stealing such a treasure, he was the one. If there were a man devious enough to hide it in such a way, he was the one. Second, we need to acquire the locket.”

“But where is it?” the Gun said.

“We know it’s not in his apartment,” the Ammunition said.

“Indeed,” Victor said. “If it were yours, where would you keep it?”

The boys answered in unison and without hesitation. “Around my neck.”

“Which means what?”

“It’s in storage in prison,” the Ammunition said.

Silence fell over the table for a moment. Victor allowed the boys to digest the implications of what had been said.

“We have to get it out of there,” the Gun said.

The Ammunition said, “Which means we have to get him out of there.”

Victor smiled. “And how are we going to do that?”

“We buy a few more cops,” the Gun said.

The Ammunition frowned at him. “This is America. You may be able to buy your way out of some things but not a murder charge. Be serious.” He turned to Victor. “No. We have to get him out the hard way.”

“And what way is that?” Victor said.

A light flickered in the Gun’s eyes. “The legal way,” he said.

“We have to play chess,” the Ammunition said.

Victor put his hands together slowly and clapped three times. “Bravo.” He stood up and headed toward the closet.

“Why did you tell the reporter that Iryna is dating Bobby? Why would you risk letting her get close to Iryna?”

“It’s public information. Iryna and Bobby are on this Facebook abomination together. I told Lauren Ross what she already knew, or was going to find out. By doing so, I won her trust. And his name is not Bobby Kungenook. He is Damian Tesla’s son from Korosten. Born in Chornobyl to a prostitute from Alaska. His real name is Adam Tesla. He is Nadia Tesla’s younger cousin.”

Victor slipped into his light overcoat. It was made from virgin wool. He stole it from an American oil tycoon named Hammer in a hotel lobby in Kyiv forty-two years ago.

“Where are you going?” the Ammunition said.

Victor frowned. Just as they showed evidence of progressing, one of them asked a moronic question.

“Not me,” Victor said. “We. We are going to offer the boy’s lawyer our services, of course. How else are we going to get him out?”