Crow's Nest [✓]

Chapter 35

Despite the warnings from Harry and William, Thomas was determined to see this through. He arranged a meeting with Flint on his own, not bothering to ask for Harry's help or opinion. Flint told him to meet him at one of his abandoned warehouses when the sun was down.

Thomas was waiting at the meeting spot, a small, abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. The dim lights cast eerie shadows over the cracked concrete and rusty machinery.

A few moments later, the creaking metal door opened and Flint walked in, looking relaxed and nonchalant. "You're here early. Got impatient?"

"Yeah, well, you take too long," Thomas shot back, standing up from the crate he'd been sitting on.

Flint chuckled, clearly enjoying the situation. "Calm down, kid. I don't bite. Unless you want me to."

Thomas scowled, not appreciating Flint's teasing tone. "Cut the crap, Flint. You said you had information about the Doc. Spill it."

Flint held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No need to get all worked up. I managed to track down the old man. He's gonna meet with us, but on his terms. You up for it?"

"On his terms?" Thomas repeated, already wary. "What does that mean?"

Flint shrugged, lighting up a cigar. "He's a paranoid bastard, always has been. Doesn't like meeting in public places, too exposed. He's got a safe house not too far from here. That's where we're meeting him."

Thomas wasn't keen on the idea, knowing it meant going to a place where the Doc would have the upper hand. "And you're sure he'll show up? Not planning some kind of ambush, is he?"

Flint let out a snort of laughter. "You're really getting paranoid, aren't ya? The Doc's one of my oldest contacts. He won't try anything funny. He's just... cautious, that's all."

Thomas wasn't entirely convinced, but he also knew he didn't have many options. "Fine, lead the way."

Flint nodded, already moving toward the door. "Good. Let's go. But leave your gun here. The Doc doesn't like visitors packing heat in his territory."

Thomas hesitated for a moment, not wanting to give up his weapons. But eventually, he reluctantly removed his gun and holster, setting them down on a nearby crate.

Flint shot Thomas a smirk, noticing his reluctance. "Don't worry, you'll get your toys back. But the Doc's got rules, and we gotta follow 'em. Let's get moving."

The drive to the safe house was quiet. Thomas felt uneasy about the whole situation. He kept staring out of the window, trying to convince himself that this was a good idea. They stopped outside a small but quiet neighbourhood signalling the end of their ride.

Flint led Thomas to the safe house, a small, unassuming building tucked away on the quiet street. The exterior appeared abandoned, with boarded-up windows and a creaky front door. Flint rapped his knuckles against the door in a specific pattern, clearly a code.

A moment later, the door creaked open, revealing a man who was obviously the Doc. He was an older gentleman, with grey hair on the side of his head leaving the top bald. His face was wrinkled and had a suspicious gaze. He nodded at Flint, then looked at Thomas with a critical eye.

The Doc studied Thomas without saying a word, sizing him up. After what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice gravelly and low. "You brought a cop."

Thomas tried to keep his expression neutral, but the Doc's words sent a chill down his spine. He was clearly not happy with the situation.

"He's here to ask you some questions," Flint explained, trying to ease the tension. "He's trustworthy, I promise."

The Doc didn't look convinced, eyeing Thomas warily. "Trustworthy, huh? I don't trust cops." He let out a gruff chuckle. "Then again, I don't trust anyone. But fine. You want to ask me somethin', kid, make it quick."

"The Russians...Are they forcing you to sell Syflocyl to them?" Thomas asked, immediately jumping to the point.

Before coming here, Flint had given Thomas the run down of everything. Yes, the Russians were forcing The Doc to produce more Syflocyl and sell it to them for below the average price. The Russians started expanding to other countries and Norway was one of them. The closer to Russia, the better.

The Doc's expression darkened further. "The Russians. Bunch of no-good sons of bitches. Yeah, they're forcing me to sell 'em the stuff. They got me in a tight spot."

The Doc leaned against the doorframe, his eyes narrowed. "They got leverage on me, you see. I've made some mistakes in the past, and now they're holding it over my head. They know I need money, so they're taking advantage of it. I can't say no to them."

"That past leverage wouldn't happen to be about what happened while you still worked in the Brooklyn Hospital Center, would it?" Thomas said. "The police are still looking for you."

The Doc's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed sharply, realization dawning on his face. "Huh. You sure know how to dig up dirt, don't you, kid? I'd be careful if I was you, sticking your nose in places it don't belong."

Flint cut in before Thomas could respond. "Hey, take it easy, Doc. The kid's just doing his job, that's all. Can't blame him for his curiosity, can you?"

The Doc grumbled and reluctantly nodded, clearly still on edge. "Fine, fine. Just get to the point. You here to arrest me, officer?"

Thomas shook his head, maintaining his professional demeanour. "No, Doc, I'm not here to arrest you. I just want to know how you ended up working with the Russians and why they're forcing you to sell them Syflocyl."

The Doc let out a dry laugh, clearly bitter. "You think it's that simple? The Russians aren't the kind of guys you say no to, not if you value your life. And as for how I ended up working with them, that's a long story. One I ain't particularly fond of sharing."

Flint seemed to understand what Thomas was thinking. "Alright, alright. Enough backstory. Let's get down to business, huh?"

Thomas nodded, glad that they were finally getting to the point. "Yes, now that we've established that the Russians are forcing you to work for them, I need to know where their headquarters is located and who their leader is. As well as how much you're selling to them."

The Doc suddenly looked around, his paranoia showing. "Not out here. The walls have eyes, as they say."

Flint and Thomas exchanged a look, understanding that they'd have to continue the conversation inside.

Flint gave the Doc a reassuring nod. "We'll be careful, don't worry."

With that, the Doc grumbled and reluctantly stepped back, allowing them to enter the safe house. He led them into a small, cramped living room, littered with newspapers and empty bottles of cheap alcohol.

Flint settled into a worn armchair, while Thomas looked around the room, trying to take in every detail. The furniture was old and battered, with a distinct musty smell hanging in the air. The place was obviously not well-maintained, and it seemed like the Doc hadn't bothered to clean up in a while.

As Thomas made his way to the couch he felt a sudden, sharp pain at the back of his head, causing him to stagger forward. His vision blurred, and everything seemed to spin as he tried to stay on his feet.

The last thing he heard before blacking out was Flint yelling out, "Damn it, Doc! What the hell are you doing?"