The New Kid on the Block~chapter 11

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

link to chapter 10: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/179127.html
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Mickey Judge finished making his preliminary report to his superiors and went in search of Illya. They'd told him to keep an eye on the Russian, but he found the idea preposterous.

Kuryakin was an agent for a prestigious international law enforcement agency that had helped the American government on several occasions and besides there was nothing of a sensitive nature kept at the field office.

Mickey ignored the order. He couldn't see what all the fuss was as Illya had access to all kinds of information through U.N.C.L.E. so the idea of him wanting anything from here was just ridiculous.

He finally found the agent walking quickly towards his quarters, loaded down with what seemed like flotsam and jetsam in his arms.

"What are you up to pardner?" Mickey asked as he watched Illya juggle his supplies.

"I have a plan to infiltrate Diamond Jim's and assist my partner while at the same time complete my own assignment."

"Well here, let me help you with that stuff."

"Thank you, that would be appreciated," Illya said.

Mickey grabbed a red and black case, walking with the Russian to his door.

Illya had found himself a makeup kit as well as a set of inks and brushes and was preparing to sequester himself in his quarters at the field office of the F.B.I. to begin his plan.

"So you won't tell me what ya'll are up to?"

"You will see Mickey as it will take me a bit to complete my preparations. I must be left undisturbed as I need to maintain a steady hand." Illya said, eyeing the box of inks that he had tucked under his arm.

"Is there anything else I can do to help?" Mickey asked. "Right now I feel right useless."

Illya paused for a second. "Yes, there is a favor you can do for me. I need a black leather suit jacket, preferably one of better quality. He eyed Mickey's silver-tipped snakeskin cowboy boots, thinking. "Hmmm, what size shoe do you wear?" The Russian smiled.

Mickey looked down at this boots, then at Illya's feet. "I reckon pretty much the same size you wear."

"Good, then if I may borrow your boots?"

"Hey whatever tickles your trigger." He immediately pulled them off and handed them to the agent. "Good thing I have a pair of loafers in my office," Mickey chuckled.

"I will also need some silver rings, heavy and gaudy please..." He gave Mickey his finger sizes.

"Okay pard, I'll get right on finding what you need, though I wish you'd tell me what you're up to?"

"In due time, my friend, in due time." Illya smiled, closing the door.

Several hours later he called both Mickey and Ronnie into his room, standing bare-chested, showing off what looked like a series of tattoos on his hands and torso. One specifically stood out, a small portrait of Lenin on Illya's left breast, on his right was a dimensional eight-pointed star. On his stomach was the image of a spider climbing up its web.

He held out his hands, showing the letters "ОМУТ" on the back of his right hand, indicating one from whom it is difficult to get away_ot menya uiti trudno, in other words, a hit man. A circle with a dot inside on Illya's ring finger indicated he was an orphan... krugliy sirota, or the saying "Trust only yourself", nadeisya tolko na sebya. This was for him, not far from the reality of his life.

"I know those letters,"Ronnie said, looking at Illya's left hand," they're part of the Vory tattoos. "МИР" means one who's murdered...menya ispravit rasstrel."

"Correct," Illya smiled, pointing to the ink on his belly. "The spider moving upwards means the wearer is still an active criminal." He pointed to the star. "This means a membership in the 'thieves in law... the Vory v Zakone. And the portrait of Lenin is a symbol of Vor as he was the leader of the October Revolution - VozhdOktiabrskoy Revolucii - Vor."

"So you're going to impersonate a member of the the Russian mafia?" Ronnie asked."That's a little dangerous, if you run into a true member, they don't take kindly to someone wearing their tattoos who isn't one of them."

"Da,"Illya smiled. "As will you, be impersonating one that is, so could you please remove your shirt. I need to give you markings as well..."

"Pretty dangerous business as the Vor like to kill anyone who pretends to be one of them," Petrov said.

"You do not wish to take part?"

"Oh no, you can count me in Kuryakin," he smiled.

Ronnie removed his shirt without a word, feeling Illya knew what he was doing. He liked the man, and trusted him, though he knew there were many in the U.S. intelligence services that did not.

"Give me some good ones, like a bull," Ronnie smiled.

"It will help that you are familiar with the Vor markings," Illya acknowledged as he dipped a fine paintbrush in an inkwell. His hand was steady as he began to mark dots to help him outline the fraudulent tattoos. It also helped that many of the Vor tattoos were crude, so these would be passable.

When Illya was done with the ink work, Ronnie not only sported the eight pointed star, but the portrait of a bull on his chest, indicating cruelty and rage. On both his wrists were the quincunx, a geometric pattern consisting of five points arranged in a cross, that is five coplanar points, four of them forming a rectangle and a fifth at its center. When worn on the wrist they indicated one who had done extensive time in prison, from the saying "the four walls and I_chetyre vyshky i ya."

Across the back of his right hand was the word the word "CEBEP," meaning North server, for one who had done time done in a Northern prison such as Siberia, or Magadan, though Vor tattoos were not necessarily a sign of imprisonment, but more of a way of life.

Illya dressed himself in his black pants, white shirt without a tie, and the silver tipped cowboy boots, he slicked back his hair with a little Brylcreem. After putting on the large silver rings, he lastly slipped into the leather jacket and put on a pair of sunglasses. He produced a cigarette and hung it from the corner of his mouth.

Ronnie wore a similar outfit with a brown leather jacket and boots He sported a heavy silver chain around his neck and a black tee-shirt. He stuck a cigarette above one of his ears.

"Well?" Ronnie did a little turn.

"Danged if you two don't look like sleazy criminal types." Mickey blurted out.

"That is the plan," Illya smiled.

"A little more details, pard, would be better?" Mickey asked.

"Once my partner has given the signal, Ronnie and I will appear as representatives of the Vory v Zakone, there to scare the hell out of Oystracher. If he thinks the Russian mafia are moving in on his operation, he will close up shop and cut his ties with Thrush as he will fear the Vor more than he will our feathered friends. You, Mickey, can pick him up at that point, as I am sure he will most likely take the plates for the counterfeit bills with him when he makes a run for it. At least I hope he will."

"We'll be ready for him either way." Mickey smiled, wringing his hands together in anticipation.