Private Zordon of Żelazny & McVay reported for duty, raring to go. It had taken him half an hour to get from Parade Square to the National Theatre, and by then he expected to see Chyłka completely legless. But when Kordian crossed the threshold of the Mexican restaurant, he saw she was still in fine form.
‘You’re slower than a cross between a tortoise and a snail, Zordon,’ she declared as he sank into the chair opposite her. ‘And you’re sitting in Rejchert’s place.’
Kordian shrugged his shoulders, not understanding what the seating arrangement problem was.
‘How did it go?’ he asked.
‘Like shit through your nose.’
‘An excellent comparison, bearing in mind I’m about to eat.’
‘You’re either overly imaginative or oversensitive,’ Chyłka replied, taking a sip of her drink. As someone intent on getting hammered at the speed of light, she didn’t seem in any particular hurry. ‘I recommend Tequila Rapido. It’s rapido as fuck.’
Kordian ordered a drink and they got down to conversation. Joanna gave him a blow-by-blow account of the meeting with Rejchert, calling him the ‘Kim Jong-un of the Polish justice system’. The outcome of the confrontation didn’t especially surprise Oryński – the prosecutor was in a considerably better position, and there wasn’t much Chyłka could do about it however skilfully she manipulated him.
‘So what now?’ asked the trainee.
‘We drink and see,’ replied Joanna. ‘Personally, I don’t think we have much choice, apart from making fools of ourselves in the courtroom.’
After a careful study of the menu, Kordian predictably chose salmon, although he expected it to come swimming in a sea of jalapeño peppers, and have as much to do with the fish he knew so well as an ayatollah with an Orthodox priest.
The waiter brought over his dish. It didn’t look too bad, and smelled delicious. After a while, Oryński realised that the man was still standing over him, as if waiting for a tip. He looked up.
Suddenly he froze. The man standing over him was none other than Gorzym.
The Bald Man contorted his face into a smile – the situation gave him immense satisfaction – while the victim sat on his seat and the salmon on his plate got cold.
‘Long time no see,’ he said, pulling up a chair.
Oryński looked to his mentor for help, carefully ignoring his survival instinct, which screamed at him to get up and run.
‘What’s all this about?’ asked Joanna. You could see in her eyes that she’d realised who he was.
Kordian swallowed with difficulty. He kept repeating to himself that he was safe, that he was in a public place and if anything happened, someone would call the police immediately. It was the Bald Man taking the risk.
Chyłka glared at Gorzym. The trainee comforted himself with the thought that he was the one who should be scared.
‘I don’t think I need to introduce myself,’ said the Bald Man.
‘You’ll do time, you bastard,’ said Joanna in greeting, narrowing her eyes.
She looked like a sprinter in the starting blocks, awaiting the signal.
Gorzym raised his eyebrows and leered at her as if she were potential prey. ‘I like you,’ he said. ‘Roske told me that you were special. Special tits, special ass. In other circumstances, I’d take it—’
‘Shut your filthy mouth,’ said Oryński.
He instantly felt a whole lot better, as if the weight of the world had been taken off his shoulders. His words were a feeble demonstration of heroism, but what more could he do? Chyłka smiled wanly, the Bald Man just looked indifferent.
It did not bode well.
But before they could exchange any further courtesies, Kordian spotted another meathead out of the corner of his eye, standing very close to their table. Clearly the Collective were determined to bring the two lawyers round to their way of thinking.
Joanna reached for her phone, and Oryński felt a wave of heat come over him, as if he had drunk all the Tequila Rapido in one go. He looked up at the newcomer, and realised he may have misread the situation. The second meathead was looking down at Gorzym as if he was something on the bottom of his shoe.
‘Any funny business and I’ll fuck up your septum,’ said the newcomer.
In his mind, Kordian thanked God first, then McVay. He remembered that the latter had promised him protection.
‘A bodyguard?’ asked the Bald Man with a smile. ‘Quite understandable. Every pussy who can’t protect himself should have one.’
The newcomer approached Gorzym and looked at Oryński questioningly.
‘Just say the word,’ he said.
Gorzym laughed. ‘If not for the Glock under my jacket, I might even be scared,’ he said, shaking his head indulgently. ‘But perhaps we should get to the point before that fish gets completely cold?’
‘Go on then,’ said Chyłka. ‘What do you want from us?’
‘First, I want to repeat the offer I made to you, Oryński.’
The answer was silence, and the Bald Man did not wait for the trainee to change his mind.
‘In that case, the offer’s expired. The second matter is just as simple. Your careers are at a crossroads, and you’re in danger of making an unwise choice.’
‘You’re begging us to drop the case?’ asked Chyłka.
‘I expect you’ll be doing the begging at some point.’
A waiter appeared at the table and the Bald Man fell silent. Only now did Kordian realise they were attracting the attention of other clients and the restaurant staff. A waitress taking an order from a nearby table was so engrossed in the conversation between the two heavies and the young couple that she had to ask the guests to repeat their order.
‘Would you like anything else?’ asked the waiter hesitantly.
‘A large beer for me,’ said Gorzym.
‘Is that all?’
Chyłka raised her hand. ‘Could you spit into that beer please?’ she asked.
The waiter looked confused, and didn’t move for a moment. Then he smiled, just a little, to ease the tension.
‘Go away,’ said the Bald Man.
They were alone again, but the heavy silence persisted. Gorzym transferred his gaze from Chyłka to Oryński, waiting for them to broach the subject. But neither spoke.
‘You think you can guess what I want to say?’ he asked. ‘You imagine you know what I am going to tell you?’
Joanna gulped her drink and Oryński shrugged his shoulders.
‘And you think that this guy here will protect you?’
The bodyguard folded his arms, and his biceps bulged.
‘Pumped up with supplements, but he’s also worked hard, I’ll grant him that,’ continued the Bald Man. ‘There are plenty like him, but he does look better than most. They usually just work on their beer guts. But mention my employer’s name and he’ll run away in a panic.’
‘Will you get to the point?’ asked Chyłka.
‘Gladly,’ said the Bald Man. ‘Let’s put all our cards on the table.’
‘Well, do it quickly, because by the time your beer arrives, we’ll be gone,’ said Chyłka. She had no intention of staying a second longer than was absolutely necessary. Whatever Gorzym wanted to tell them, it would inevitably boil down to making a deal. Organisations like the Collective preferred to stay in the shadows and not attract unnecessary attention.
‘As you know, all your witnesses have disappeared . . . hold on, you’re not recording this by any chance?’
‘No,’ replied Joanna.
‘You?’ said Gorzym, looking at the bodyguard. ‘No? Just as well, because it’d only get me seriously pissed off. And out of all you lot, only Oryński knows what that means. To make sure I stay calm, everyone should put their phones on the table.’
There was a moment of consternation, but no one moved.
‘OK, I’ll let it go,’ said Gorzym. ‘Anyway, you can’t use those things as evidence in court, can you?’ He looked at Chyłka. ‘Under which article is that?’
Joanna thought of the twenty-third article of the Civil Code, but she wasn’t about to share her knowledge with the Bald Man. Even conversations such as these had protected status, and if it could be proved that confidentiality was breached, any evidence would be rejected by the court. What the rules actually were was another question. Hundreds of pages had been written on the subject, each work offering a different opinion.
‘You’re not very talkative. You’re forcing me to do a fucking monologue.’
Now no one spoke because the waiter had returned with a mug of ice-cold beer, which he placed in front of Gorzym. This time, he retired swiftly. Gorzym downed the beer without stopping to wonder whether something had been added to it.
‘Witnesses,’ said Oryński.
‘Ah, yes. Powirska has been given a cosy apartment far away from here and, unfortunately, she’s not planning to return any time soon. She’s happy where she is now, and enjoying the climate. Her neighbours think she’s been kidnapped, but that’s not my problem. I’m not going from house to house explaining everything to them like some fucking hawker.’
‘Get to the point,’ urged Chyłka again. She was preparing to leave.
The Bald Man licked his lips.
‘Our lawyer doesn’t know what you’ve based your case on. But he’s convinced you have no chance of getting Langer out of prison. Ah, yes! I know what I wanted to say.’
Chyłka and Oryński looked at him expectantly.
‘He’s doing OK in prison, isn’t he?’ asked Gorzym, turning the beer mug on the table. He’s in a one-man cell, probably spends all day choking the chicken, no one there to disturb him. With his orange overall, he doesn’t have to worry about his arse in the exercise yard. After all, he’s a high security prisoner, right?’
‘What are you driving at?’ said Chyłka.
‘What I’m trying to say is that it can all change, and very quickly.’
The lawyers didn’t respond, as if they didn’t care – but Gorzym knew that wasn’t the case.
‘If news was spread in that boarding house that Langer wasn’t high security but just an ordinary lag, the boys will soon make him their bitch. They’ll ride him from morning till night.’
‘You know from experience?’ said Joanna.
The Bald Man looked at her appreciatively.
‘The situation might change very quickly for him if you carry on playing games,’ he said. ‘Am I making myself clear?’
‘No,’ replied Chyłka.
‘In that case, I’ll say it in words that even you can understand: Langer will be thrown into a cell with plenty of others, and we’ll make sure our people have a chat with your client’s new roommates. He’ll take it in the mouth so often that he’ll get a reputation as a master of his craft. And as for his arse . . .’
‘Enough,’ cut in Chyłka. ‘I haven’t come here to listen to your reminiscences from prison.’
Gorzym smiled again. ‘You think we’ve got no influence inside? Just one message will do the trick.’
She didn’t doubt it. The prison was its own world, and the Collective was bound to have plenty of contacts there.
‘Your bosses must be quaking in their boots,’ she said after a while. ‘Does Langer know something he shouldn’t? Is that why they’re so scared of us?’
‘As far as I know, my paymaster fears only his wife, and God.’
‘He’s trying very hard to silence us,’ answered Chyłka.
‘You should treat this as a gesture of goodwill.’
‘Why are we such a threat to him?’
Gorzym looked at her indulgently.
‘Why does he want us to let go of the case?’ she asked.
‘That’s not for me to say.’
‘In that case, we’ll have to speak to him directly. Face to face.’