“Yes, he’s here.” I go for the bottle of scotch in my drawer. It’s already feeling like a buzz before dinner type of day.
“He is myson, Ivory…”
“So what? I have lots of people’s sons here. Yours is no different.” I take out a glass and pour brown liquor into it.
“I think Magnus might not agree,” he grunts. Now my blood is boiling. “He has sons too… Afamily man. So, if you want your business with him to keep running smoothly—”
“You know, I can’t remember a time when you weren’t passive-aggressively threatening me.” I toss back the glass and pour another.
Alexander Reznikov exhales audibly in my ear. “I am worried about him. We have all heard what that facility of yours is like…”
I shrug and nod.Because, yea… It’s truly an awful place.
“I told you before, he is not well…”
“Yes, yes, I recall our conversation about your pretty, broken boy,” I hum, thinking back to about nine years ago…
When I met Alexander in Vegas, where he’s been living and working since he left Brooklyn and his son behind in order to spare him from the potential repercussions of his business dealings. At least, that’s what hesaid…
Maybe it worked, in a technical sense, but he couldn’t protect Dascha from the many other issues he’s now facing.
That was when Alexander first began regaling me with his family woes, over glasses of vodka in one of Magnus McDarling’s many casino bars, as if I could in any way sympathize with his fatherly tribulations.
Yea. Sure… He’d have had better luck confiding in the bartender.
“I have known for many years that my wife is sick,” he’d said to me, vulnerability in his gruff tone. “And she passed those genes onto our son. He will suffer greatly from this. I only hope that one day he can move past it. Retire from his life of crime and go somewhere peaceful. Like I always dreamed, but never could…”
“He is not broken,” he barks at me now, and I chuckle. “He just needs some help.”
“Oh, well, that can be arranged.” I grin. “You know, we have a nice little area of our facility dedicated to—”
“If you lay a hand on him, I swear to God…”
“Keep going,” I snarl. “Please do, tell me about what you’ll do to me,Papa.”
He pauses, taking a breath to compose himself. “I am only asking for a simple favor, Mr. Blanco. Keep an eye out for him, and I will handle things here, with Magnus. Please?”
The mere fact that he sounds so broken up over this gives me an odd sensation in the empty socket where a heart issupposedto be.
Alexander Reznikov is not a good father. Even so, it’s clear that he loves his son.
It’s such an interesting concept to me… The unconditional love of parenthood.
It reminds me of…
Shaking it off, I sip more booze.
I suppose there’s validity to it. Causing someone pain doesn’t necessarily mean you don’t love them…
Sometimes we hurt the ones we love.
“It’s already being taken care of,” I sigh, irritated and not hiding it.
I’m not in the business ofcaringfor prisoners, nor do I enjoy making exceptions. But I also don’t usually interfere with the process of inmate commissary, because I like to see how things play out.Let the chips fall where they may, and such.
If Joy Jameson wants to bring Dascha supplies on behalf of Kellan Kemper, it really doesn’t affect me. And if it keeps Alexander off my back as well, great.
Who are we kidding, anyway? He’s going to be miserable here regardless of whether he has a toothbrush and some panties to wear.
