Interrogation
Jun. 9th, 2008 01:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
taras_oleksei"I don't get it," Taras said.
He was frowning as they walked, using the time to think. He actually lagged behind Isaev a little.
Ilarion never hurried anywhere, though today he strode down the hall, bootheels ringing with a clarity of purpose. Only Taras wasn't clear.
They passed a window. Outside, it was still foggy, a thick white mist that enclosed the MVD building like mountains of snow, insulating and isolating, as if they were in some remote place up north, not in civilized Leningrad. Taras didn't like not being able to see across the street.
He looked away, turning back to Isaev.
"This guy is under suspicion of..."
A secretary approached, clutching a stack of files to her chest. She stepped aside to let them pass, squeezing so close to the wall it seemed like she was afraid they would knock her aside. She murmured something as they walked by.
Taras glanced behind them, to make sure she was out of earshot, though he wasn't sure why.
"...muzhelostvo. And some other political shit."
Their destination loomed. The doors to the interrogation rooms were simple, marked with numbers, but nothing else. Almost benign.
Taras stopped at the first door, then imposed himself physically between it and Ilarion, putting his hand on the frame to block Isaev's entry. Ilarion looked at him as if he had finally noticed Taras was there. His eyes were narrow, slivers of ice. Taras stared back.
"This isn't a violent crime, Isaev. So what gives?"
He was frowning as they walked, using the time to think. He actually lagged behind Isaev a little.
Ilarion never hurried anywhere, though today he strode down the hall, bootheels ringing with a clarity of purpose. Only Taras wasn't clear.
They passed a window. Outside, it was still foggy, a thick white mist that enclosed the MVD building like mountains of snow, insulating and isolating, as if they were in some remote place up north, not in civilized Leningrad. Taras didn't like not being able to see across the street.
He looked away, turning back to Isaev.
"This guy is under suspicion of..."
A secretary approached, clutching a stack of files to her chest. She stepped aside to let them pass, squeezing so close to the wall it seemed like she was afraid they would knock her aside. She murmured something as they walked by.
Taras glanced behind them, to make sure she was out of earshot, though he wasn't sure why.
"...muzhelostvo. And some other political shit."
Their destination loomed. The doors to the interrogation rooms were simple, marked with numbers, but nothing else. Almost benign.
Taras stopped at the first door, then imposed himself physically between it and Ilarion, putting his hand on the frame to block Isaev's entry. Ilarion looked at him as if he had finally noticed Taras was there. His eyes were narrow, slivers of ice. Taras stared back.
"This isn't a violent crime, Isaev. So what gives?"
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-06-11 05:32 am (UTC)He raised his ungloved hands, unadorned except for a few thin white scars that crossed his broad and callused knuckles. Taras wore a watch around his wrist, but no other jewelry. He worked with his hands too much, and a heavy metal ring was almost as dangerous to the person who wore it as the person who was getting punched.
His MVD ring was a sign of status, but Taras kept it in his drawer.
He stepped forward, closing the distance, standing as close to Barshov as Ilarion was, though slightly more to the side. Barshov looked at him again, and again, the man's regard held no particular fear.
It reminded Taras of the Zone.
There were some men who lived in an in-between place, neither the ones who offered themselves to any man, nor the ones who took any man they wanted, but a third class altogether, the ones who made careful offers, negotiating what they wanted to give in exchange for their alliances.
Those were the smart ones, the ones who knew they would never be dominant, so they controlled the circumstances of their submission.
Taras thought this Barshov must be smart. Somehow, his gaze held no challenge even though he didn't look away.
"I don't think the major likes it when you lie," Taras said.
He reached out suddenly, the way Ilarion had, gesturing toward the cut on Barshov's cheek. Touching the suspect was all right, since Isaev had crossed that line first, so Taras grazed the man's face with his knuckles, though only glancingly, not even a blow.
Barshov's flinch was telltale and reflexive, but gratifying.
Taras regarded him, leaning closer.
"I also don't think you've said one true thing since you opened your mouth."