Nolan stood outside Apartment 403, a black baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. A well-packaged box was tucked under one arm.
He knocked on the door. Three solid raps.
No answer.
He waited, patient, then knocked again. Three more times.
A cautious voice finally came from inside. "Who's there?"
Nolan's eyes narrowed slightly. His voice was calm. "Me. Nolan."
The instant he spoke, footsteps scrambled away from the door in a panicked retreat.
Nolan sighed. Clearly, Dmitri had developed some serious psychological trauma from his previous visits.
Tens of seconds passed.
The footsteps returned, slower this time. Hesitant.
The door cracked open just a sliver. A single eye peered through the gap, alert and frightened in equal measure.
"I, I really haven't done anything bad recently!" Dmitri's voice cracked. "I've been staying home recovering!"
A smile tugged at the corner of Nolan's mouth. "Dmitri, I'm not here to cause trouble. This is business."
The eye in the doorway blinked with obvious doubt. "Business?"
Nolan's expression darkened. "Open the door."
The chain rattled free instantly.
Dmitri pulled the door open, revealing himself in all his battered glory. A medical collar encircled his neck. His right arm hung in a cast. His left foot was similarly wrapped in plaster.
He nodded and bent forward in an awkward half-bow, his smile forced and strained. He gestured weakly for Nolan to enter.
Nolan nodded and stepped inside.
Before he could explain his purpose, Dmitri spoke first, sweat beading on his forehead.
"Nolan, I haven't told anyone about you. Not a word. Ever since I found out those gangs were kidnapping children..." He swallowed hard. "You could beat me to death, and I still wouldn't betray you."
"Thank you, but I'm not here about that."
Nolan glanced at Dmitri's injuries, noting each one. Then he pulled out the box from under his arm.
It was a phone case with the Iron Man logo emblazoned across it in red and gold.
"I came to give you a new phone. Do you believe me?"
Dmitri stared at him. "Uh, no. I don't believe you."
There was uneasiness in his expression. He looked at Nolan, noting how much taller and stronger he'd become. The muscles visible beneath his clothes were more defined than Dmitri's had ever been, even before the injuries.
Not wanting another beating, Dmitri quickly forced a laugh. "Nolan, do you need my help with something? Don't worry. I know what I was like before. I know how much I'm worth..."
Nolan shook his head. He looked at Dmitri with surprising sincerity.
"I was a little too heavy handed in the past to you." His voice was steady. "So I bought this Iron Man edition phone as an apology. To make things right."
The forced smile on Dmitri's face gradually faded. He studied Nolan carefully, searching for deception.
Then he shook his head, a genuine smile replacing the fake one.
"I never thought you would come to make things right." He chuckled softly. "But I'm still sure you need something from me."
He limped over to the sofa and lowered himself slowly onto the cushions.
Nolan raised an eyebrow and followed, sitting across from him.
As soon as he sat, he handed the phone box to Dmitri.
Dmitri frowned slightly as he took it, but he didn't open it. Instead, he set it gently on his lap, his cast-wrapped right hand pressing down on the box as if to keep it from escaping.
He hesitated. "Nolan, if you need something, just tell me. I'll help however I can."
"Alright. Then I won't be polite."
Nolan's eyes narrowed slightly as he nodded. "Do you have a wide network? Do you know people in the gray market industries? I need information."
"Ah, I'm not bragging when I say I have friends all over New York." Dmitri blinked several times, suddenly cautious. "Gray industry? Which one are you talking about? Counterfeit money? Forged documents? Something else?"
Nolan didn't hide his intent. "I need guns. Lots of guns. The more, the better."
Dmitri's eyes widened.
"If you can't get large quantities at once, I need at least a hundred per week." Nolan leaned forward slightly. "Since it's a long-term purchase, the price needs to be favorable."
"Officer! I'm a good person!" Dmitri suddenly shouted, his voice jumping two octaves. "I'm not in a gang! I don't participate in smuggling!"
He looked toward the door as if expecting armed police to burst through.
Nolan blinked, momentarily stunned. Then understanding dawned. He waved his hand and sighed.
"I'm not wearing any listening devices. I'm not a cop trying to set you up."
He explained several more times before Dmitri's panic subsided.
Then Dmitri frowned, his expression shifting to confusion. "Nolan, you hadn't even graduated high school when I got expelled, right? Why do you need so many guns? That's enough to start a small war." His eyes narrowed. "Are you planning to become a black market dealer?"
Nolan smiled slightly but said nothing.
Dmitri stared at him, his face darkening. His expression changed several times as he wrestled with some internal debate.
Finally, he spoke cautiously. "I can't promise anything. I can only try my best. After all, I'm just a street punk who hasn't even joined a gang. But I do have a wide network of friends..."
Nolan nodded, showing he understood. He wasn't relying entirely on Dmitri. If it worked out, excellent. If not, he'd find another way.
They discussed details for a while longer, agreed on contact methods, and then Nolan stood to leave.
The door closed behind him.
Dmitri limped back to the sofa and collapsed onto it. His eyes drifted to the phone box with its eye-catching Iron Man logo.
Emotions he'd been holding back finally surfaced.
"It's been a long time since anyone gave me a gift..." he murmured.
His expression complicated, Dmitri reached into his arm cast and pulled out an old keypad phone. He planned to contact his friends, start asking around about gun sources for Nolan.
At that moment, someone knocked on the door again.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Dmitri froze.
Nolan was back? Did he regret giving away the phone? Was he planning to take it back?
Grumbling silently, Dmitri struggled to his feet again. He limped to the door and pulled it open.
The person standing there wasn't Nolan.
A tall figure loomed in the doorway. Over 1.9 meters tall. Slavic features: fair skin, blonde hair, blue eyes. A woman, but with a physique stronger than Dmitri's own, even before his injuries. She radiated a strange mixture of strength and elegance, like a weapon wrapped in silk.
Before Dmitri could ask who she was, the woman spoke. Her tone was cold, sharp as a blade.
"Are you Dmitri? I am Sergei's mother."
She paused.
"He has been missing for a week. Do you know where he is?"
Cold swept down Dmitri's spine. Sweat broke out across his back, soaking through his shirt.
His blood turned to ice.