Chapter 194 - 8

"You know, Mr. Marczak, it's really…" Kwieciński seemed very disgusted.

"It's really a life here and now."

"Well, thank you for the advice then," he stood up. "I'll try to remember about it."

"I guarantee that you will not get bad if you will remember it."

Kwieciński bowed slightly but did not shake his hand to say goodbye. He left with the foot of the officer he was playing, erect, haughty, head held high.

That's what he should do, Marczak decided. Go on like that, look like that. Bold and daring, like a conqueror, not like a victim. This world is full of wolves like Marczak, wolves that sense weakness and feed on it until they get bored. Then they spit out the chewed remains of fur or fleece.

Eat it or get eaten.

***

The fact of Iwo's death reached Marek Marczak slowly. He started noticing him when the sweet, enthusiastic texts stopped reaching him. He felt that something was suddenly missing in his life, or even someone - that stupid, naive, pretty face that was happy every time they met.

The boy really liked him, Marek realized. Suddenly he was gone. He didn't just go to someone else. He has gone, but farther on, to a place from which there is no return. He did not go alone, he was dragged there by violence so brutal that when its enormity began to reach Marek, anger also came.

Iwo Mężyński was his man. His lover. He died when he defended himself against r*pe. It's as if his body was intended only for special people.

For him.

If he hadn't defended himself so much, that idiot. If he hadn't fought so hard...

His apartment was empty and quiet. Usually, Marek didn't notice it. He usually worked late in the city, maybe a bit unconventionally, in clubs and restaurants, but that was where he held most of his meetings. In such places, it is best to talk to, in a relaxed atmosphere and over a glass of something delicious. When he returned home, it was usually late and he went to bed right away, or he was not alone and ended up in bed for a slightly different purpose. For many years it was mainly Dominik Śliwiński, then a mixture, and recently Iwo. That little, silly smiling kid who clung to him as if he was grabbing God by the legs. Dumb puppy wagging its tail.

He had him on this bed, in this tub, on this table. He took his as and when he wanted. The boy was willing. Not as sweet as Dominik, but he had his charm, otherwise Marek wouldn't have chosen him. Not for long. The kid was supposed to fill the void left by Śliwiński there, after all, at first glance, he resembled him very much. He was good, he was at every call, eager and smiling. Little whore.

Marek clenched his fists.

It was his little whore, not the scum who had done this to him. This carcass, this dung...

Marczak in anger threw away everything that was on the kitchen table with one sweeping movement of his hand. The cup and saucer, the teaspoon and the saucer clattered against the wall, splashing it with coffee and splashing the porcelain into a handful of crusts.

Iwo shouldn't have ended up like this. Why did this happen? Did he, Marek, actually not protect him when he should? He failed another of his pupil, but while Dominik found Andrzej for himself, Iwo was then quite alone...

Marek imagined a Warsaw evening, a dark alley from which suddenly hands come out to catch the passing Iwo. The boy was short, thin, just tiny, so he was easily overpowered. The attacker covered his mouth with his hand, the other twisted his arms and pushed him against the wall. He whispered something gross in his ear.

Marczak gritted his teeth. He didn't want to imagine what happened next, hard fists landing on the struggling, scared boy. Had he done so, he would have been flooded with hatred that was already at its highest level of flood prevention.

This animal, this carcass that murdered Iwo, has to pay. Pay fairly, adequately to the crime he has committed. For such a bastard, prison is not enough. Even if these idiot policemen catch the murderer, the inept justice system, instead of murder with particular cruelty, will condemn him for beating him with a fatal result. Halfway through his sentence, he will be released for good behavior. He's going to serve six years or less.

No, Marek will not agree to it. This is not why he has files for all ministers, better than the entire Institute of National Remembrance, he has not spent millions on bribes to leave justice in the hands of corrupt officials. He had money and he had enough influence to get things done faster than the police and more efficiently.

So he chose a number to one of his people.

There was no hesitation in his heart.

He was ruled by justice.

***

The media briefly jumped on the topic of the young actor's death, but Marek did not want to read about it, so he quickly closed the topic. He didn't have to threaten anyone and never asked. It was enough for him to express his will. Someone stubborn might try to make a scandal out of this death, but he did not find such a thing. The boy's fate was too tragic and Poland has not yet reached the level of media collapse, where the victim's pain is not respected. Journalistic ethics still existed. At least for now.

Every day Iwo's death touched Marek more. More and more he saw the emptiness left behind him. The boy was only a filler of space after Dominik left, a distraction from Andrzej, but at one point - and Marczak was unable to say exactly when - he gained his own value. But it wasn't until he was gone that Marek realized it. Too late, of course.

The police stopped bothering him as soon as they analyzed his genetic material. This definitely excluded him from the group of suspects. Marczak did not feel relieved. He didn't kill the boy, it was a fact, but he couldn't help but think that if he had picked up the phone from him then, maybe he might have saved him.

Why did Iwo call him? Did he want to meet? Was he going to tell him something? Or maybe he noticed that someone was following him and was looking for someone to help him? If so, why did he choose him? He knew he didn't count for Marek. He had to know.

He decided to find out as much as he could. The people he sent were supposed to find the murderer, not the reason the boy called him. These things were not connected - probably - so he didn't want strangers to enter his privacy with their shoes. He knew that Iwo did not live alone. He shared an apartment with a roommate named Jakub. Marek did not know him personally, he had only heard of him a few times. The boy was a year older than Mężyński, he studied and worked in some call center. He might know something. Maybe Iwo told him about something on purpose or by accident. Marek wanted to ask him about it.

Marczak had no idea if Jakub was at home now, but he had no phone number to ask, so he went without warning, hoping for a stroke of luck.

He actually got lucky, because he did not wait long when a curly bespoke in a brown sweater opened his door. He looked like the seven misfortunes, or a member of the student cabaret "dotsomething". He recognized Marczak immediately, clearly surprised by the visit.

"Mr. Marczak? What brings you here?"

"I would like to talk about Iwo for a moment. Do you have a moment?"

"Yeah, come in, please..."

The flat was small and showed signs of disorder typical of young men. It didn't bother Marczak.

"Would You like to drink something?"

"Thank you, I won't be long. Do you remember the night Iwo died?"

"Yes," the boy darkened. "That day he found out that he got the lead role. He was very happy and wanted to drink it, but I had a night shift at work and I had to be sober."

"Was he planning to meet someone?"

"Iwo didn't have many friends. Ever since he started seeing you, he has lost contact with his former colleagues."

Just like Dominik, Marek thought. When I entered his life, the past ceased to matter, and neither did the accounts. Only that he wanted to have Dominik exclusive to himself and forced him to make such decisions, Iwo was not so important to him. The boy gave up his old life on his own initiative.

"Then how do you think he wanted to spend the evening?"

The student looked uncomfortable. Does Mężyński have a secret? Maybe he had another lover?