Viktor
My heart is beating out of my chest.
In so many words, Stepan informed me that Nikolai had been gunned down on one of his routine collection runs. He was attempting to obtain payment from the owner of a bar that my organization protects, but the bar had changed ownership without informing any of my men. The new owner attempted to intimidate Nikolai and, when faced with the first sign of provocation from him, ended up shooting Nikolai in the stomach.
Stepan convinced me to hire a doctor under the table to circumvent police involvement in incidents like this, and for once, I think he was actually correct in doing so.
Unfortunately, this arrangement leaves a smaller margin of error for Nikolai’s survival and recovery. The unit that my doctor has available for emergencies is stocked and run to the best of the ability of his staff, but it’s not a hospital. All I can do is hope that this doctor has dealt with gunshots before.
From the way it sounds, we still don’t know exactly what organs were impacted directly by the gunshot, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that being shot in the abdomen spells disaster almost always.
I doubt Nikolai has ever even been in a fight, judging by his timid reaction to Millie. He’s probably scared shitless.
When I arrive at the abandoned warehouse where the rogue doctor has set up his base, I’m immediately met with the sound of screaming coming from inside. The desperate wailing penetrates the brick walls of the building with ease, causing my blood to run cold in my veins as I nearly begin to retch from empathy.
I’m led to the back door by a few stray spatters of blood, obviously Nikolai’s, and I enter the door into the near pitch blackness of the dimly lit hallway. Nikolai’s screams ricochet from one wall to the next, assaulting my eardrums as I steel myself to see him firsthand.
Having lost my younger brother in a drive-by shooting when I was twentyfive, I feel a pointed sense of protection over Nikolai and consider myself responsible for his demise if he doesn’t pull through. I knew he wasn’t ready to be out on errands like this on his own, but I needed a new body to carry out the menial tasks of running a mafia organization. If Nikolai dies, it’ll be difficult to forgive myself.
Stepan meets me in the room that leads to the basement, where Nikolai sounds like he is being eviscerated by rabid wolves.
“Okay, tell me again what happened,” I command as we both descend down the crumbling concrete stairs into the grey oblivion of the basement.
“He went to collect from the owner of The Bombshell, and that guy isn’t known for causing issues, so I thought it would be fine to send him. Apparently, that guy split and hired some asshole to watch the place for him, and he decided to cop an attitude about the payment,” Stepan explains as we round the corner into the main area, simultaneously laying our eyes on the grim scene before us.
The doctor, a tall, thin man in his mid-forties, labors over Nikolai’s lower abdomen as two assistants rush to hook him up to a series of IV drip bags. Even watching them prick him with needles sends a nauseating chill up my spine.
The realization that he likely can’t feel it because of the gunshot fills me with unease that I can’t put out of my mind or breathe myself through. I have to sit here with this feeling and deal with it until it passes.
If Nikolai dies, it might be here to stay.
Despite the hysteria and constant motion of the situation, the doctor carefully removes pieces of the bullet from Nikolai’s abdomen with long forceps, injecting local anesthetic when he can.
Stepan and I assume our position against the wall, watching as the underground medical team acts swiftly to preserve whatever chances that Nikolai has of survival.
When I look closer, I see a pile of bloody rags on the floor around the doctor’s feet, and I shudder, wondering how much blood Nikolai has lost already.
It’s a true horror show. The flickering yellow lights hanging above the makeshift gurney illuminate Nikolai’s bright red abdomen in the most heinous way. The sticky blood forms a pool on the filthy concrete floor, and I’m reminded that even if Nikolai survives the gunshot itself, he could very likely die from an infection just by being in a place like this. I swear you could pick up tetanus just from blinking the wrong way. A hospital would have been more appropriate, and I’m kicking myself for that now.
Once the screaming and writhing have ceased considerably, either from relief or shock, Stepan and I decide to step out for a cigarette as we wait for the doctor to finish.
“So, obviously, this new guy at the bar is a problem. Not only did he shoot Nikolai, but he didn’t pay him either,” Stepan remarks, lighting a cigarette and offering me one as well.
While I’m annoyed with Stepan for even commenting about the unpaid debt in the face of Nikolai’s near-death experience, I know he’s correct in seeking revenge as quickly as possible. This isn’t the kind of thing we have time to think over and execute perfectly. This is going to be messy the longer we wait.