Petrov surreptitiously sidled over to the twin safes in the hope he might lock their doors.
I thwarted his access, which angered him. He attempted to move around me.
I dodged him.
He glared at me.
I handed him Judge Azenberg’s warrant. “You’ve been served.”
“So what? Your warrant is worthless. As are you, I might add.”
“You know what, Boris? For a self-described diplomat, you display the diplomatic skills of a cretin.”
“Let’s do without the banter, shall we, Steel? Release me.”
“You know, I was preparing to do that. Right up to the worthless comment. Now my feelings are hurt.”
“I’ve had enough of you and your wise mouth, Steel,” he said and suddenly stepped up to me and slapped me open-handed in the face.
Although it stung, I held my ground and did nothing.
He attempted to slap me again.
This time I blocked his slap with my left wrist and delivered an open-handed smack of my own. I knew the heel of my hand had dislodged something, even before I saw him spit it out.
Petrov gasped as what appeared to be all of the teeth on the right side of his mouth fell from his head, struck the floor heavily, and fragmented.
“My implants!” he screamed.
He stared horrified at the broken and scattered pieces of teeth. Then he looked up at me. “You smashed my implants,” he wailed.
“That’s what they were? Implants?”
When he spoke, the right side of his mouth revealed a gaping maw of toothlessness. “Yes, that’s what they were, you son of a bitch,” he screamed and then rushed me.
Al Striar elbowed his way between us, grabbed a pair of handcuffs from his kit belt and took hold of Petrov’s left wrist.
Still livid, Petrov lashed out at him, raking his face with the sharp stone of the ring he wore on his third finger.
Striar’s cheek sustained a slashing cut that was now leaking blood, yet he held tight to Petrov’s wrist and managed to cuff both of his hands behind him.
Petrov stood screaming at me. “I need to phone my lawyer.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Boris. You see, you haven’t actually been arrested, and you have to have been arrested before you’re allowed a phone call.”
“I’m injured.”
“Not really.”
“I require dental attention.”
“It would seem so.”
We stared at each other in silence.
“Now,” he said.
Johnny Kennerly spoke up. “Let me have a look at him.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know what good it will do.”
Johnny stepped over to Petrov. “Smile.”
“Fuck you, smile,” Petrov shouted, inching away from Johnny.
To me, he said, “You’re making another big mistake, Steel. You have no idea how well connected I am. I’ll dance on your grave.”
“Not unless I’m buried beneath a federal prison.”
I called to Al Striar, who was holding a handkerchief to his bleeding cheek. “You need to see a medic. Get things started here and then go. Arrange for all this crap to be impounded. The contents of the lab. Computers. Filing cabinets. And especially the safes. This opioid stash is what’s going to bring an inglorious end to Mr. Petrov’s illustrious career.”
“Will do,” Striar said.
“You did good out there, Al. We might have missed this completely if you hadn’t discovered the fake wall.”
“It sounded flimsy.”
“To you it did.”
“Anyone could have found it.”
“You know something, Al? Accept the compliment and go get your cheek checked.”
“I bet you can’t say that three times fast.”
“Al...”
“Copy that.”