"Tri poloski" is Russian for 3 stripes and a reference to the adidas commonly worn by Russia's young and brightest criminal minds. It's also a very catchy song and that seems to have started a hardbass movement. Watch out!

x-x-x

Jailhouse Tri Poloski

The decision to leave was made in the split of an instant. To my surprise my father agreed to accompany me. We broke out in a hurry, there was no time to leave a note. Or rather, there was not enough time in the world to come up with the right words to soften the blow. So, I left Wyatt with nothing instead. Dad nicknamed it the Kai-exit. I hated how fitting that was.

While Grandpa had been trialled in Moscow, he was now held at a correctional facility, ominously nicknamed the Black Dolphin, in a city some odd kilometres North of Kazakhstan. To get there we had to pass via Moscow Sheremetyevo Airport, to get to Orenburg, the closest airport in the region. From there we caught a slow minibus that croaked to Sol-Iletsk on a one-laned highway. The road's patchy asphalt was entirely absent for some stretches, for instance as we passed the enormous salt flats that gave the town its name. In all, we had sacrificed almost a full day travelling, not arriving until late afternoon, when we found ourselves forced hitch a cab for the last leg of the journey. Some cabbies outright refused to take us there. The one that was willing, had his seats lined with cheetah print covers and was blasting Armenian music through a detached radio that was taped to the dashboard. A tin cross hung on an excessively long chain that tightly wrapped around the back view mirror, it swung back and forth with every crude turn. Whenever the driver would break, I heard the clacking sound of metal on metal, indicating the pads had been worn out of existence.

Nothing about this car was reminiscent of Grandpa's Rolls Royce, but as we pulled into the driveway, I was reminded of that fateful evening when his chauffeur had dropped me off at boarding school. How very different the circumstances were now.

An ominous aura hovered on the complex. Someone in charge had commissioned a rather good-looking statue of a Dolphin that sat in the centre of drained pond. Possibly a cruel joke. Just as the decision to go with a pale pink colour scheme. From outside the building had more similarity with a Florida retirement home than a prison, but I knew this impression was fraud. These walls contained the toughest, most notorious criminals in all of Russia.

Through Grandpa's lawyer, Dad had secured us a visitation slot that same day. Apparently, there was a month-long waiting list but there were exceptions in place for "inmates of higher standing". Nonetheless, we were instructed to arrive 40 minutes early for registration and inspection and neither of us dared to mess with Black Dolphin Guards. Their brutal reputation reached all the way to Japan.

Once inside, the inspection went rather smoothly, possibly thanks to Grandpa's special status. I was told to turn off my cell phone and to the surprise of no one but himself, Dad was made to remove his stupid dental grills.

"Why are you wearing them anyway? Judy is not here."

I hadn't seen a white guy fail so desperately at appropriating the black aesthetic, since the time we ran into a Sinterklaas parade in Amsterdam. I had been about six years old at the time, and really confused by the ladies in the windows and the fact that my father refused to share his brownie with me. Oh, the innocence of childhood. Just like those times my grandfather brought me along to meet business partners by the dry dock, only to have his meathead bodyguard Evgeni stay in the car with me. Though in retrospect that might have been more for Evgeni's protection rather than my own. I once saw him try to eat an unpeeled orange.

"I'm fully aware of how goofy I look." My Dad claimed. "But I'd rather father mock the character I play than who I actually am."

Obscurely enough, it made sense to me. Unwittingly I had been pulling the same shtick with everyone I met.

We chose to go see him together. Inmates were only allowed two family visitations per year, but that was not the reason. While I was anxious, Dad was jittering, he kept his head down, obsessively mumbling to himself, repeating mantras to calm himself.

When I offered him my hand he hesitated. Yes, it would look stupid, but who cared? His solid grip told me he had come to the same conclusion.

My grandfather was led into the room by three guards, he was made to walk hunched over, with a blindfold covering his eyes. I'd been told this was so that the inmates would not memorise the lay out, making it harder to escape. One of the guards uncuffed his hands, that had been strapped tightly to his back, and retightened them at the front. To allow for more motion. Or the illusion thereof. There was no way he could flee in this position; his ankles were still in shackles as they led him to our table. They commanded him to sit before removing his blind fold.

"Good Lord! Danila, you look like a dirty hippie." Was the first thing he said once he laid eyes on us. His menacing voice having lost none of its authority.

Even his uniform, simple black shirt and pants with three white stripes on the sleeve, looked crisper and more saturated in colour than those of the other inmates.

"Lovely to see you too." Dad said casually. He didn't let himself be thrown off, even rising from his chair to plant a cheeky kiss on my grandfather's forehead, who promptly recoiled.

Having long written my dad off, he turned his attention to me.

"Kai, you have grown so much." He threw a side eye at my father. "He's gotten skinny, though. What are you feeding him?"

"Nothing, really. He's old enough to do it himself."

"I went through a growth spurt." I explained.

How absurd was it that I had to defend myself for going through puberty?

"Heard you are getting divorced. I knew you would screw it up."

I flinched, but it wasn't me he was addressing. How could he? Preposterous to think the Smithwrights would make a public announcement.

"That girl was way too good for you. So, tell me, what did it? Did you cheat or did she finally realise what a loser you are?"

"The latter." He muttered shamefully. "Thanks for the support, father. Means a lot."

"Danila, you are my greatest disappointment." Grandpa continued.

"Score!" Dad shouted, punching the air. The moment that followed could only be described as awkward. Grandpa waited for him to put his hand back down and align it orderly on the table.

"How is that a compliment?" He asked coldly, making even the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight.

Dad was standing his ground.

Generally, my grandpa had the upper hand. Always. But being in jail he could hardly claim to have a white vest. To us he had seem unbeatable. Until he was beaten, by the justice system no less. And I'd played a part in it. I wondered if he knew but no interaction of his had led me to believe so. The BBA had kept my name out of it, as I was a minor, but I knew he had avenues of getting it. So why had he not pursued it? One would think he'd seek revenge on everyone who betrayed him. There were two options.

One. He was waiting it out.

Two. He had already decided on a suspect.

Come to think of it there were multiple people who could have disclosed the same information. Through the BBA, I had heard the police had conducted a thorough investigation of the abbey. Many orphans had turned on Boris and reported the cruel circumstances. But less than a handful would know about Voltaire's involvement. Boris -I could see him turn informer without any persuasion, sleezy bastard- and Yuri. Oh no! He had been a minor too, so his statement had remained anonymous.

None of the Demolition boys had attended this year's Championship, I had no way of knowing if my former teammates were safe.

"Never expected you to call me your greatest anything." Dad flogged.

Grandpa rubbed his temples, rattling the shackles at his wrists. This was all so surreal.

"Where did I go wrong with you? I have let you down. You came out such a gigantic screw up."

My father continued butting heads with him, entirely unaware of how dangerous this man was. Or was he? It was hard to tell how much my father knew, I wasn't sure if he had full grasp on the consequences. Or the concept of circumstances.

"I'm sure saying stuff like that was one of the reasons." He spat.

His whole demeanour, world view and vernacular were that of a teenager. In many aspects even I was more emotionally mature than he was. I hadn't noticed it when I was younger, how could I? But now that I was maturing beyond his means, I could see he was emotionally stunted.

Was it my birth, or what my mother did to him?

"I should have been harsher on you."

Maybe everyone had babied him after it happened. He was denied the responsibility of raising me, sent back to boarding school instead, inadvertently told to regress mentally.

"You really shouldn't have. My confidence is all sorts of messed up."

"That's how the Military does it. When they are sent brats, they break them down, then rebuild them."

Dad made an over encompassing gesture with his arms.

"You are literally describing an abusive relationship there."

"It did wonders for Kai. Sending him to Russia was the best decision I ever made for him." Grandpa trilled on.

"I really wish you hadn't." I admitted cowardly. "I think it messed me up, actually."

Watching my father fight him gave me the strength to stand up to him too.

"Nonsense. Look at you now. You developed the cunning craftiness of a true leader. Marrying that faggot to use his connections to bail me out was a genius strategic move. I am so proud of you."

"Don't call him that, please."

My heart was pounding and with every beat my brain cried "He knows".

"You don't have to worry, it seems you have successfully convinced his entire family. We will get that divorce sorted as soon as I'm out of here, before he will demand anything disgusting of you. You will just have to hold him off bay for a little while longer. Doing it during tournament season was a brilliant tactic to keep him at arm's length. I will get my lawyers working on it right away. I owe you a big one there, grandson."

I looked at my father, pleadingly.

"It will be Kai's decision when and if he wants to divorce him."

"I understand now, you are planning on holding out for a bigger settlement. I wasn't going to demand this of you, since you already did me a solid, but I had my lawyers look into it."

Dad imitated his antics, dragging a genuine laugh out of me. Grandpa caught onto it but did not deem it worth pausing his speech over.

"The lawyer informed me that if you stick it out for two full years you are entitled to 50% of his assets. Technically you would have to consummate the marriage, but we can hire people for that. Have someone drug him and get a body double to take your place. He will be none the wiser. I hear he is a drug fiend, so it won't be hard to cover our bases."

I impulsively kicked my chair away from the table, to figuratively distance myself from him as far as possible.

"What the hell, no! That is really fucked up. Even by your standards."

"You are right. It won't be necessary. Nobody can ever prove whether you had sex or not. We will just roofie him, that should suffice."

"No, just no! Stay the fuck away from him." I shouted. My voice broke midway through.

"He's one of the good ones." I said whimsically.

By all means Grandpa should have felt his power slip, but he sat stoically, upright posture, occasionally twirling his moustache,

"Aw, you have grown fond of him? Now don't turn soft on me. This is to ensure your own inheritance, Kai."

"I don't need it!" I insisted. "I don't. For god's sake keep your people away from him."

I love him. I wanted to say. But the words got stuck in my throat. Not like it would mean anything to him anyway.

My emotions were in turmoil, that was clear to everyone who saw. Grandpa however kept his composure, never even raising his voice. It frightened me more than anything.

"I see the appeal; he is a billionaire and in line to run his father's company. From a purely financial standpoint, it's better for everyone if you stay together. You will have a very comfortable life. Plus, this will open a lot of trade opportunities for me, and for you down the line, once you take over the family business."

Was that him telling me he was okay with me being gay? Did he even care?

"I genuinely like him." I admitted.

"Yes Kai, I gathered that much from your shouting. I am just trying to rationalise it."

He did so by the only metric he cared about.

"And you are okay with it?" I pressed, my voice was hiccupping and my chest banging.

He sighed. "I am not thrilled that you are a homosexual, but I am willing to accept it. You have proven yourself to have great intuition. Unlike your father you act with foresight. You married up, the way you are supposed to. You got cursed by this queerness and yet you were innovative and made the most out of it. I respect that. Even if I would have never wished it upon you."

It was the most confusing approval ever. I was taken aback by how easy it had been.

"Um, thank you?"

He put a hand on my shoulder. "You did well, Kai. I see a future in you."

"I don't think I want to take over your company." I confessed.

Better to rip the band aid off now, while he still felt indebted to me.

"Hey, it's my gift to you. You can do whatever you want with it. Sell it, keep it. That's business. I'm not emotionally attached to it. You have earned more money in a few months by seducing that little rich boy than I have in a lifetime. I trust you to make the right decisions."

"Okay." I said hesitantly.

Unbeknownst to him I was the one holding the cards. Nobody would arrange his pardon if Wyatt and I split. I felt a little woozy, for the second time in the same year I was in the unique position of being in the know when he wasn't. I had learned from the many years of observing his mind games, it was to hide what you know, until an opportune moment arises. Like a predator in the night. As tempting as it was to announce my position to him just so he knew I was winning, I resisted.

Still, it made me a little unruly. What if I would lose my upper hand.

Is that why people liked to play tenga with other people's lives? Because they could? And that's what they wanted you to know?

How frightening,

-x-x-x-

Neither Dad nor I spoke a word as we passed through all the redundant check points. Too entranced, too occupied, still processing the surreal experience.

Not until passing through a meek looking gate topped by coils of barbed wire, that looked wholly uncapable to keep out the winds never mind contain its own reality, did the tension that had been holding me hostage release.

The mental fog stood no chance against the polar wind. It felt like getting punched in the face by reality.

"Man, that was weird." Dad said, as though he was itching to say anything to fill the void.

"Do you really think he is okay with me?"

"In his own way. I don't think your sexuality is something of a priority to him. You gave him an in with the European aristocracy. You have already exceeded his expectations."

That was fine and dandy but what would he think about it when it fell apart? Would he even remember praising me once it became a failed venture.

"Do you think he loves us or only what we can do for him?"

"In his own way." Dad contemplated. "At least I hope so." He laughed, but in that anxious way, like there was nothing funny about it.

"Do you sometimes wonder if it is okay for us to love him? Considering what he did? I finally read up on what he's been accused off. It is downright diabolical. Human trafficking, child endangerment, weapons trade."

He was the only person who I could speak to about these things. The only one who would be equally conflicted as me. Surely if I asked Takao or Wyatt, they would respond with disgust at the idea that I had any ounce of affection for this man.

Seeing him on a human level made me realise how little I had questioned his judgement. I trusted him to be wiser than me, always a few steps ahead, doing nothing without reason. It was easy to justify his actions as long as you thought there was a reason. Any reason, not necessarily a valid one.

Most people aspire to be a nonconformist, but they are missing out on that all-encompassing peace that only comes with being a follower.

Dad affectionately ruffled my hair, and left his hand to rest on the back of my neck. He wasn't good at scaling the level of touch that was appropriate, though he had gotten better at sensing when I needed it. Which put me in a better position than his girlfriends, I had seen him kiss Judy, he was definitely using too much tongue.

"It's a tricky one. We are probably the only people in the world to experience his loving side. All those small kind acts, like taking you to the playground when he should be working, just so I could study for my finals, that I failed, mind you, but he even got the school to concede it was their fault and let me graduate." His cheeks glowed as he recalled this with genuine fondness. "He can be a beast, but when he's your beast, you feel unstoppable."

That's how I had felt after he gave me Black Dranzer. Only later did I realise it was a crutch, to compensate for a lack of confidence in my skills.

Dad's voice took on a sing-songy tune as he reminisced, he even folded his hands like a Disney princess, as to recall some magical memory. Or rewrite existing ones.

"Even though, no, because those moments were rare, they seem all the more vivid. It is hard to abandon him when he has always been there for us, even when we kept disappointing him. And then there is the fact that we are biologically programmed to love him. Nonetheless he did horrible things, but does us hating or loving him make a difference to the victims?"

"Keeping him on this pedestal would be like rubbing salt in the wound, wouldn't it?"

"Forgiving him for the atrocities he committed against other people, yes. That is not our place. But we are allowed to forgive him for whenever he wronged us, right?" He asked me as if he needed my approval.

In an instant he nearly stumbled, not over his thoughts but the patchy asphalt we were walking on. There was no streetlamp in sight. We were in the middle of nowhere, guided only by moonlight and our guilt. Not like we had any set destination in mind.

"I did not realise that he was always this cruel to you." I remarked, as it seemed the polite thing to do.

"It's no big deal." He lied. "I'm just glad he treats you better."

Only to be flaunted in his face as the golden child. It wasn't right how grandfather was trying to pit us against each other. Even if he believed competition to be our motivator.

"Our family is weird." He concluded. "We were raised more like brothers than father and son. It wasn't right. But it's too late now, we can't just retcon those years and go be proper from now on. I don't even know what normal parenting is supposed to look like. It's on me, just like you always say. When he offered to take that burden off me, I just let him. Sure, he had claimed it would be better for everyone, and I think even then I knew it was bullshit, but he gave me an out and I took it. It didn't require a lot of convincing, just enough for me to do the mental gymnastics to still think of myself as a decent human being. I never expected it to make everything harder later on. I didn't even think that far ahead."

His voice was cracking. Never had I heard him sound this defeated before.

I wanted to tell him it was okay to make him feel better, but that would be a lie. And he would know it.

"I love you." I tried.

I meant it, of course I did, yet I could not fathom why it sounded so phony?

He lounged his arm around my waist and kissed my temple, anticipating that I'd flinch.

"Aw, thank you, tough guy. I know that must have been hard for you to say."

"It was, actually." I replied dryly.

"You are a riot. I'm so happy you are my kid. Not just saying that as a father who is stuck with you. You are very much not boring to hang out with, as far as children go anyway. Take your friend Ray, for instance, talking to him is like pulling teeth."

Of all my former teammates, Ray had been the least impressed by his antics. Just as he was the least willing to forgive my own shenanigans. Of course, I liked and appreciated the guy, but we had never really clicked. He was the most independent out of all of them. He did not need me and made that very clear. That is why I respected him so much.

"I think I should move in with you." I said, surprising myself.

"For real?" He jumped to hug me, squeezing me like a tube of toothpaste on its last legs.

That familiar commitment-regret washed over me.

"It would not be for long. Only until I graduate. I don't want to miss out on the chance, that's all."

As he rubbed his face into mine, the unkept stubble scratched my cheek.

"Fuck yes! This is going to be awesome. We are going to have so much fun bro-ing it out."

"No." I said firmly, as I wormed my body out of his grip.

"No?"

"No bro zone. I want to know what it's like to live with you as my father."

He pulled a face.

"You want me to set rules, ground you, and all that shit?"

"Yeah. And scorn me. Like you did after you caught me cumfaced in the club that one time."

"Oh dear, you're not developing a kink, are you?"

"No." I lied. He wasn't entirely wrong about that. It did turn me on when Wyatt talked down on me. "I just want to know what it's like, that's all. Feels nice to know you give a shit how I turn out."

"Aw, Kiki. Of course, I care, even if I will love you regardless." He insisted, then with a firm tone added: "But you better get your act together, get promoted to regional manager and buy a house by the time you are thirty or you're out of my will."

"You have no money."

"And I want you graduating cum laude. I would pressure you to get married but you're already ahead of the class in that regard. Nice form."

"I won't make cum laude. My grades are shit."

He shrugged, clearly not too heartbroken about it.

"Oh well, school is for nerds anyway, who needs books when we have the internet?"

"Good enough."

"Being cruel to you won't mean I love you more, you know." He remarked.

It should have been obvious, but it came as a revelation to me. Of course, he was right. I grew up associating assault with affection since that had been my normal. I had equated care with criticism, insults with intimacy. That was why being around my father had confused me so much.

In that moment I realised I was a lot more fucked up than I ever expected.

Dad noticed I got quiet, so he laid a comforting hand on my shoulder. I hated how he was that much taller than me.

"It's okay, we have all got baggage. Everyone carries the trauma their parents projected on them. No person is ever fully formed, it is a work in progress."

"I think living with you will be good for me."

He bent down and pressed two sloppy kisses on my cheeks, similar to how he had greeted my grandfather, the only difference being that I welcomed this act of closeness. Not entirely willingly, I had to keep telling myself it was genuine affection, not him taking the piss.

"Fuck yes! This will be great. You won't regret this."

I wished I had his confidence.