"Sorry," said Blin. "I do not remember. I wish I could help."
Buster shrugged, and Buddy smiled and let out a small squeal of a sound that might have been a laugh.
Karpo blinked once.
"I do not have time for this," he said. "I believe you are lying."
"I am offended," said Blin, now playing to his men.
' 'You will tell me what you know about Yakov Krivinos and a man, possibly an American, named Jerold."
"I know nothing," said Blin.
Karpo turned away and looked at the people at the other tables. There were not many, and they were all looking back at him. Near the door, the Busted Revolution were packing their drum and guitars and still arguing.
"You will all leave now," saidKarpo. "Policebusiness."
At the nearest table were two very young women, possibly still in their teens, and a dark, thin man with graying temples. He looked at Blin for an idea of how to respond. He got no answer. The dark man with graying temples stood up to face Karpo. Their eyes met, and Karpo repeated, "You will all leave now.''
The dark, thin man laughed, showing rather bad teeth. He muttered something he was careful to conceal from Karpo and escorted the girls to the door. The remaining few patrons had no teenagers to impress. They left. The lead singer of the Busted Revolution smiled at Karpo and departed with his band.
There were now only the four of them in the Billy Joel, Karpo, Yuri Blin, Buster, and Buddy.
"There are no witnesses," Blin said, looking at Buster and Buddy. ' 'And the word of a policeman is not, I am sorry to say, as important as it was once in such situations, especially when the policeman is dealing with a person with connections. Are you understanding what I am saying?"
In answer, Emil Karpo reached under his jacket and came out with his pistol. The massive Buster let out a rush of air. Buddy ignored the weapon, folded his arms, and leaned back to see how the policeman would get himself out of the corner he was backing himself into. Karpo placed the weapon on the table, where only he could reach it, and said, "Yakov Krivonos and the man called Jerold.''
He got no answer. He expected none at this point.
"Put your left hand on the table, Yuri Tripanskoski."
The smile left Yuri's face when he heard his name, a name he had not heard uttered in more than four years. For an instant, he felt vulnerable, but he rallied quickly, not completely, but quickly.
"What?" he said, looking at Buster and Buddy.
"I do not break the law, Comrade," Karpo said, leaning forward to speak in a near whisper. "I would not ask you to do what I would not do myself in pursuit of crime in the Soviet Union, but I would not hesitate to insist that any citizen do as much as I would do."
Yuri didn't know where this was going, and he didn't like it.
"Yuri?" Buster asked, looking for direction.
' 'If someone attempts to interfere with an officer investigating an economic or political crime or murder," said Karpo, "I am empowered to stop that interference with whatever force is necessary.'' "It's nothing, Buster," Yuri said with a confidence he did not feel and a knowing look at Buddy, who continued to watch.
"Left hand on the table," Karpo said,
Yuri Blin put his fat left hand on the table and felt the first touches of sweat on his brow. He could neither wipe it away nor admit it.
Karpo's movements were matter-of-fact, efficient without being hurried. With his right hand, he grasped the small finger of his own left hand. His eyes never left those of Yuri Blin, who watched warily, ready to call Buster into play if Karpo pulled a knife from his pocket. But Karpo kept his right hand around his small finger, and Blin wondered if he were about to see some bizarre magic trick.
Karpo bent the little finger back, bent it back until it would bend no more, and then he bent it just a bit more, and a nauseating crack snapped throughout the Billy Joel. Buster went pale and felt as if he were going to pass out. Buddy's arms dropped to his sides, and Yuri Blin felt very sick as he tried to pull his eyes away from the finger that dangled loosely and off to the side. There was silence as Yuri began to hyperventilate.
"You're crazy," said Blin, looking up at Karpo, whose eyes were fixed back upon him. Karpo's face, eyes, showed no pain.
"Where can I find Yakov Krivonos and the man called Jerold?" Karpo said evenly.
Yuri Blin was trembling now. It was a scene he had never wanted to play. He did not want to be Dan Seymour, begging, whimpering, but he could not stop. He said nothing, not because he was determined but because he was too terrified to respond. His eyes went back to the little finger that lolled about.
What if he touches me with that hand? Yuri thought. What if the finger falls off? And, thought Yuri, he shows no pain.
Karpo reached for Yuri Blin's hand with his right hand. Yuri tried to pull back, but Karpo moved too quickly, grasping his wrist, and held him fast.
"Stop him," Yuri said, his mouth prickly dry.
"I will shoot them if they do," said Karpo.
Neither Buster nor Buddy moved as Karpo's fingers crawled to Yuri Blin's little finger and grasped it firmly.
There was nothing to do about it now. Yuri had no control over the little sobs.
His chest heaved. His eyes danced. He felt Karpo's fingers tighten on his little finger. Yuri started to pull his hand away, but Karpo had already begun to bend the finger back, and Yuri's movement caused a sudden shock of pain.
It would soon be worse. He knew it. This mad vampire before him would soon break his finger. Then what pain would come?
"You know the apartment building on Kalinin Avenue, the big one behind the Metelista Cafe?" Blin blurted out, and held his breath, waiting for the awful sound of the crack, the shock of pain.
"Yes," said Karpo.
"They have a place in the apartment building. I don't know where. I don't know what name. I… I heard them talking," said Blin. "And I saw this Jerold there, in the outdoor cafe, under one of the umbrellas.'' "You saw him?" Karpo repeated.
"Twice," said Blin, eager now to help, feeling his finger was within a hum of agony. "It's on my way in each morning. Buddy, you've seen him."
"I don't remember," said Buddy.
"Buster?" Yuri asked, almost begging.
"Yes, maybe," Buster said.
Karpo released Yuri Blin's finger. The fat man sank back in his chair, his suit moist with sweat, his eyes turning to Buddy, who looked disappointed.
He wanted to see it happen, thought Yuri Blin. He wanted to see this lunatic break me. He wanted to look into Buddy's eyes, to convey an unmistakable threat, but he couldn't, for he knew that Buddy and Buster had witnessed Yuri Blin breaking. He knew that his relationship with the two would never be the same, and for the first time in his life Yuri Blin seriously considered murder, not the murder of the vampire policeman who had just put his gun away and backed toward the door, but the murder of the men he had created and named Buster and Buddy, the men who had witnessed the total humiliation that Yuri Blin had fled his family to avoid.
"Do not call or try to warn Krivonos," said Karpo, his right hand on the door handle. "Or I will return/'
Yuri Blin said nothing. He had no intention of telling Krivonos or the American that he had betrayed them because he was afraid of a broken little finger. Yuri had no doubt that Krivonos or the American would do far worse than break a finger if they knew what he had told this insane policeman.
When Karpo went through the front door of the Billy Joel into the street, he resisted the pain throbbing through his finger, up his arm, and into his elbow, where it felt as if someone were jabbing him with sharp, thick needles of electricity. He walked slowly to the nearest corner, assured himself that he was not followed, and made the turn.
There were people on the street, but they did not stare at the pale man who grasped the little finger of his left hand, that is, no one stared but a small girl being pulled along by a woman so worn by work and worry that she could have been the child's mother or grandmother. The child stared as she moved past the man and watched him move his finger and grit his teeth. She was disappointed to see that the man had no fangs.