Kitabı oku: «Gunpowder, money and a glass of red», sayfa 3
Pablo’s hands left the bag and reflexively reached for the gun. At these moments the girl turned sharply in the direction of the ladder. The barrel of the pistol was already looking after her, but the trigger refused to budge, allowing the girl to take an extra few steps. Pablo removed the safety with his thumb. The bolt got rid of the obstacle in its path and the weapon ceased to be safe.
The girl began to run towards the ramp, leaving behind traces of crumbling sand. Soon the lead pierced the skin on her back. The wild cold emanating from the forty-five caliber filled the blood.
BANG!!! BANG!!!
Two crimson holes on the golden tan.
Her body collapsed onto her stomach.
After two deafening bangs, Massimo shrugged his shoulders in fear and ducked away from the two flashes. Pablo ran up to the girl’s immobilized body. His cool gaze went through the sight on the bolt to the back of the victim’s head. Another shot. There was a ringing noise of a falling cartridge case.
Screams began to be heard from the beach.
Massimo picked up the pistol and the bag with the last unfinished knot, which was no longer urgently needed.
Somewhere overboard the roar of the running engine was heard. Jorge looked for friends on the edge of the deck. A second later Massimo appeared. He dropped the bag of loot, which splashed into the water, swaying on its surface. Jorge swam closer and threw the bag into the boat.
– Let’s jump! – Massimo said in a restrained half-cry.
He and Pablo ran to the edge of the deck and walked a few meters beyond where the boat was. Holding tightly to the handles of their pistols, they jumped off.
The screams of the yacht’s passengers grew louder. Separate words were heard. It seems that these were male voices. Someone plucked up the courage to run up to the ship with his head down.
Jorge swam to the place where Massimo and Pablo dived. They surfaced a few meters from the boat, inhaling deeply through their jaws open wide. Jorge turned on the weak speed, swimming as close as possible. Massimo swam a couple of meters, threw the pistol into the boat, and then stretched out his arms and grabbed the edge of the side. He pushed with all his might and fell over the side. Meanwhile Pablo held tightly with both hands to the oar that Jorge handed him. As soon as Pablo plunged his body into the boat, Jorge pressed the lever all the way, the engine roared and the boat rushed at full speed away from the shore.
When the pulse returned to normal, Massimo rushed to ask Pablo how the girl knew his name. Everything was very banal. The murdered girl turned out to be the one who told Pablo about these weekly secret cruises to the beach. She slept with him for two long months. In bed she became very accommodating. And even too much. She gave him everything. She told about all the details, down to the little things that concerned the place where things are left, who is in this club, who is how old, the time of arrival and departure.
– What were you waiting for!? – Massimo shouted, turning to Jorge. – Why did you let her on the yacht!?
– At first I ducked down so that she wouldn’t notice me, and when she climbed the ladder, I had to row to the pier because the boat drifted a little. I needed time and… Sorry guys.
Massimo immediately waved his hand, urging Jorge to stop making excuses.
Along the way, they took off their wet clothes, took out towels, dried themselves and put on dry clothes. They tore the bags and poured the loot into the backpack, and then threw in pistols, tape, knives and everything else. Meanwhile Jorge was peeling off the vapor barrier tape from the sides, leaving it lying inside.
The boat stopped off the coast a couple of kilometers from the boat station. Massimo and Jorge rolled up their jeans to their knees, picked up their shoes, the backpack, torn bags with pieces of tape wrapped around them and went out into the vacant lot.
Pablo started the engine and rushed to return the boat to the boat station.
Massimo and Jorge dried their feet and then put on their shoes. They carefully collected the used tape into one lump, which they wrapped in torn bags. Massimo threw his backpack over his shoulders, Jorge took the crumpled bags, and both slowly walked towards the railway tracks.
Less than an hour later they met Pablo at the train station. Jorge threw the plastic with tape inside into trash cans half a block from the station. They waited for the nearest train and returned to Little Rome on it.
Over the weekend, Jorge borrowed his father’s car. On it they went to the other end of the city. There they found one of the pawn shops and pawned half of the jewelry. The second part was pawned at another pawnshop located in a neighboring city. Everything else – the watches, necklace, smoking pipe and other goods – went into the hands of traders who made deals on the black market.
The total profit from the case was over fifty thousand dollars.
Massimo bought a new TV, refrigerator and tape recorder, refreshed the furniture and made minor cosmetic repairs. He hired workers who replaced the parquet and tiles in the bathroom, updated the plumbing, painted the walls and installed new interior and exterior doors. Now the apartment looked quite respectable.
Jorge stopped asking his father for a car because he now had his own silver 1967 Ford. Now he moved on wheels every day, and not just on weekends.
And Pablo… nothing was heard from Pablo for about a week. After his sudden appearance to the people, he explained his absence by a prolonged stay in the apartment of some Italian woman who lives a couple of blocks away.
After two months, everyone still had a considerable amount left so as not to worry about anything. But Massimo was worried. He couldn’t bear to sit still. When they were just developing the robbery plan, his mind was already cleared of oppressive thoughts. This attracted him. A little time has passed since the robbery on the yacht and passions have subsided. The blues began to return. He needed to do something else. Any adventure could bring him out of this state. Some kind of outing in search of robbery is the best and only acceptable therapy for Massimo.
It was late evening. Massimo was walking down the street. Thoughts about Aunt Barbara couldn’t leave his head. He urgently needed to chat with someone. He went into «A glass of red». As he approached the bar counter, he was greeted by the owner.
– Who came to us? – Murillo said enthusiastically. A black shirt fit him well and, as usual, the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. A pair of buttons undone at the end revealed a thick gold chain on which hung a cross with the image of the crucified Jesus Christ. – I haven’t seen you for a long time. How are you doing?
Massimo sat down on a chair in front of the bar, waved his hand languidly and said:
– So-so. The other day it seemed to feel a little better. And now my soul feels bad again.
– You know, it’s normal. You don’t have to think that this has a bad effect on you or that it shouldn’t be this way. This happens to many people. I know she was the only close person. But believe me, there are a great many people like you all over the world. So just be patient. Time will heal everything.
After a few seconds, Murillo placed a glass of water in front of him.
– Here. Have a drink.
Massimo wrapped his fingers around the glass, but things went no further. He looked at the bottom of the glass through the water, imagining how he landed on the same bottom of life.
– Crap. How bad I feel – Massimo muttered under his breath in a bitterly trembling voice.
Murillo placed his wide hand on Massimo’s shoulder and said carefully:
– Don’t worry. Believe me. It will let go after a while.
– It depends how long it takes. I’ll be gray before sclerosis comes to my aid.
– My niece works in a hairdresser. Do you want me to make an agreement? She’ll quickly turn you into an old man. You’ll be old as mold. You won’t have to wait for gray hair.
Murillo’s efforts at this moment were in vain. Massimo did not react to such a joke. Then Murillo added:
– Well, or I can ask someone to get on your nerves. They say that nerves can make you grow old quickly.
Massimo’s face remained stony. Only the eyes moved a few times.
Murillo surrendered. He lowered his eyes and returned to wiping the glasses.
Massimo continued to sit at the counter, surrounded by dozens of customers. His right palm lay on his forehead, and after a while it began to shake. From under his hand, through his open lips, it was noticeable how he clenched his teeth.
– Hey? Massimo? – Murillo said cautiously. He carefully removed his hand from his face. A tear slowly fell down Massimo’s left cheek.
Murillo raised his voice slightly:
– Listen, dude! Maybe stop playing out the drama. Yes, we are not all soulless machines. We are all humans. Everyone suffers, experiences pain, loses loved ones. But are you a man after all or what!?
From such words Massimo covered his face with both hands. His shoulders shook even more.
Confused, Murillo again placed his hand on his shoulder.
– Sorry. This is not what I wanted…
The Cuban stopped his speech, not understanding how to continue it.
– Just be patient. You will see. Everything will be alright.
Massimo took his hands away from his face and said without hesitation:
– Maybe you could pour me something? I think rum or cognac will definitely do the trick.
– Oh-oh-oh-oh… – said Murillo, removing his wide, hairy hands from the bar counter. – And you need to be careful with this.
– And what is wrong?
– You are still too young. At your age, drinking in this state is dangerous. You will feel better. But as soon as you sober up a little, your hand will reach for the drink again. You’re too upset. This way you won’t feel the limits, but you need to know the limit. So slow down.
– Murillo… – Massimo’s voice was still trembling -… please. I feel so sick. I can’t get over this.
Murillo looked at the boy puzzled. He didn’t want the boy to drink out of grief. But it was painful for him to look at the young man like that. The Cuban closed his eyelids, as if he was trying his best to restrain himself from doing something bad. When his eyes opened, he directed his gaze under the bar counter and looked somewhere for a long time. His long gaze was soon interrupted, he lowered his hand under the counter and took out a half-empty, barely transparent bottle.
– Is there anything stronger? I’ll pay – Massimo said languidly.
Murillo’s voice sounded firm and insistent:
– No. For your case, this is the most harmless thing. It is not so strong that it hits the brain, but it is quite capable of overcoming depression.
Murillo placed a clean, polished glass in front of Massimo. There was the sound of a cork coming away from the neck. The bartender tilted the bottle, almost resting the neck against the rim of the stemmed glass. The walls of the glass were enveloped by a crimson stream of wine. The pressure of red gracefully raised the boundaries of the contents, bringing them closer to the edges of the glass. When the glass was almost full, Murillo plugged the neck and returned the bottle to its original place.
Massimo’s fingers eagerly clasped the top of the glass and brought it to his lips. Without stopping, he poured the contents into himself. The glass was emptied in one continuous gulp. The stem of the glass came into contact with the bar counter. The remains of wine flowed down the walls, forming a cluster of several crimson drops at the bottom. Only now, when Massimo removed the glass from his lips, did the receptors on his tongue assess the quality of the liquid that slipped past. It tasted like real wine… and something else. This is not an ordinary wine. Murillo said nothing about this, and Massimo was not interested enough in this question to ask. It seemed to him that most likely this was wine, diluted with some other drink, but in a small volume in order to preserve its original taste. That’s why there is a strange aftertaste.
Murillo picked up the glass and said:
– Don’t leave. I’ll be right back.
The bartender retreated to the back room. During his absence, Massimo more than once wanted to drink more, but this desire somehow suspiciously became weaker. With every second, the craving for drink faded. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to drink at all, but he stopped seeing alcohol as a way to get bad thoughts out of his head. If he wanted to take a sip or two, then this desire was no stronger than on any day, regardless of his mood.
Murillo has returned.
Massimo asked a question:
– Where is your cook? I can’t hear him for some reason.
Murillo answered, keeping his gaze on the boy’s face for a long time, as if he was trying to make out something:
– His father fell ill, and he went homeland to see him.
– So your kitchen is not working now?
– Not really. The kitchen is working. Before he left, he found a person to replace him for a while.
– Really? And how does he cook?
– At least the food hasn’t lost its taste.
Taking a deep breath, Massimo said in a calm voice:
– Well, that’s already great.
Murillo was satisfied with this form of answer, but his face remained carefree.
– And I see you have a new waitress.
Murillo made a small correction:
– More precisely the second one. Karla asked to be released early. There are too many clients. It’s hard for one.
Massimo fell silent for a while. It was clear from his furrowed eyebrows that he was thinking deeply about something. Soon his thoughts were interrupted by his own voice:
– Listen, I’ve been wanting to ask for a long time, but I keep forgetting. Do you have any relatives left in Cuba?
Murillo shook his head.
– In 1955, my brother and I buried our father, and two years before that, our mother. We had no one else in Havana. We immigrated here and settled in this area. Already here my brother got married in the first year. Immediately nine months later my niece was born. A year later – the second niece. That, in fact, is all the relatives I have. True, there is another one. As a child, he helped me in the bar, and in return I would pour him lemonade or treat him to a hot dog.
With a grin, Massimo added:
– Or pour him some wine.
They both smiled casually.
Murillo continued to carry on the conversation while serving customers at the bar. The conversation lasted for almost an hour, after which Massimo decided to leave. When asked how much he owed for the wine, Murillo politely asked him to go to hell for an answer. In response, Massimo thanked the Cuban again and went home.
Climbing the stairs, Massimo passed his floor and went to the roof. There he crouched on the edge of the ledge. His legs hung in the air, and his eyes rushed to examine the expanses of Little Rome under the cover of darkness. Somewhere, behind the residential high-rise buildings, it was possible to see some objects outside of Little Rome. For example, a high-rise television tower, the last few floors of the Eden Hotel, the luminous multi-colored peaks of a suspension bridge. From the east, the lights of planes taking off and landing at the city airport were often visible. On the western side, in the distance, the rays of spotlights sparkled at the stadium, where the world stars of «Disco» were giving a concert. Spending time here, Massimo imagined how somewhere outside of Little Rome life was in full swing and crowds of people were rushing from place to place. His hypnotic gaze seemed to be examining an alien planet, on which everything was arranged completely differently. Everyone is in a hurry to get somewhere. Everyone has something to hurry about. Busy everyday life of the middle class, into which the residents of Little Rome do not fit in. Yes. It was an alien planet, and it was so far away.
Massimo was mesmerized by the views from the roof. He leaned his hand on the edge of the cornice. Suddenly he experienced a strange sensation. Something crunched under his hand. He lifted the hand from the reinforced concrete covering and examined the strange object that came under his hand. They were shards of broken glass, most likely from a soda or beer bottle. Massimo noticed that his palm was bleeding. He examined the cuts in several places. And yet the feeling was very strange. He felt his own fluid spreading over his skin, but he didn’t feel much pain. It was more like a slight tingling sensation, as if a splinter had entered in five or six places.
Murillo? – thought Massimo.
He guessed that it had something to do with the glass of wine that Murillo poured him at the bar.
Out of curiosity, Massimo decided to apply pressure to the wounds to increase the pain. But there was no increase in pain. Massimo’s body seemed not to pay attention to the open wound and refused to use its protective reflexes to the maximum.
For a while he was distracted and continued to examine the lights of the night city. He thought it would be nice to have something cold or a cup of coffee on hand now, even if it was hot. He wanted to sit on the roof in an atmosphere that was at least a little reminiscent of how it is shown in the movies. His mind suddenly began to give birth to vivid pictures. He imagined how excited he would be to get behind the wheel of a beige Cadillac convertible and drive along the boardwalk, watching the crashing waves of the ocean and the clear moonrise. And he also imagined in all colors how he was sitting in a restaurant at a table that he had booked in advance. He saw how a waiter offered him a menu for review, and a head waiter came up and asked if everything suited him or if he might want something else.
Is this real?
All this happens to someone in these very minutes and in the same city, while he is sitting and humbly watching everything that is happening from the side. So YES! This is SO FUCKING real! To do this, he just needs…
Massimo went home. He took out a bottle of alcohol and a piece of cotton wool from the kitchen set. After the wound was disinfected, Massimo wrapped his hand in a bandage. In the end, he suffered for a long time, trying to tie it into a bow, but he didn’t have enough patience and he made a careless tight knot.
A loud, annoying sound filled the room. The phone rang. Pablo turned on the lamp on the bedside table and looked at the clock. The hands showed twenty minutes to midnight. He picked up the phone and the ringing that was beating through his brain stopped. A man’s voice was heard at the other end of the line:
– Hello. This is Massimo.
A second later, Pablo’s still-unawakened brain gave birth to an incomprehensible answer:
– Ah… hi.
– Did I wake you?
Pablo’s half-open eyes once again met the hands on the clock.
– Nothing. I’m all yours.
– Listen, I have a conversation with you.
– Yes, yes. Speak. I’m listening to.
Silence lingered on the phone, replaced only by the dull crackling of the communication line. After a few seconds, Massimo continued:
– Can we talk at your place?
– Now?
– Yes. Jorge left the car at my house. I have the keys too. He said he was leaving somewhere with his parents. There won’t be any until the end of the month. So I can come to you right now.
Without hesitation, Pablo replied:
– Sure.
– Great. I’ll be there in five minutes.
Massimo hung up and left the payphone booth that stood across the street from the house. He didn’t even think about calling from home. For some reason he is always drawn to the street. Even such a small thing as calling a friend forces him to choose a street phone, just to have a reason to leave the house.
He got behind the wheel and, as if by clockwork, stood at the door of Pablo’s rented apartment five minutes later. They settled down in the kitchen. In view of how animatedly Massimo started the conversation, as well as what was the subject of discussion, Pablo decided that sleep could wait and made them a cup of coffee.
The coffee grounds at the bottom of the cups have almost thickened. Pablo finally woke up and was already fully involved in the process:
– In this situation, we need to unscrew the license plates from the car. Then we will definitely not be detected. There are plenty of these Fords all over the city.
– Yes. This is a good idea. But you need to remove and return license plates in a place where there is no one.
– Of course.
Massimo rubbed his finger over his lips and continued:
– So, what else? Do you have any gloves?
– No, I don’t. But we can find a 24-hour pharmacy and buy rubber ones.
– Great.
After waiting a few seconds, Massimo said decisively:
– Well, then take the crowbar, backpack and let’s go.
Pablo went to the bedroom. There he pushed a small piece of drywall from the wall, behind which lay a pistol, a box of.45-caliber cartridges, the backpack, the pocket knife and the crowbar. He checked the magazine, then returned it to the gun, which he tucked into his jeans. Pablo put about twenty rounds of ammunition in his pocket, and gave another twenty to Massimo. Pablo took the backpack and crowbar in his hands, after which both hurried to the exit.
Massimo had the pistol, knife and some clothes for business.
On the way they stopped at a pharmacy. After a few kilometers they reached a junction, where they chose the road that led to a one and a half kilometer long tunnel. Massimo slowed down somewhere in the middle of the tunnel. Everyone came out with a screwdriver in their hand. Massimo was twisting the license plate on the front bumper, and Pablo was working on the rear one. After midnight it was quiet and during the few minutes that Massimo and Pablo were stuck in the tunnel, not a single car appeared in this area.
After the car turned into an anonymous ghost, Massimo turned the car around, returning to the junction. There he adjusted his route to the east.
Fifteen minutes later they arrived at the very center of the city. Casinos, shopping centers, hotels, nightclubs, restaurants – the city center sparkled. Colorful signs of public establishments glowed everywhere. The roads looked busy, and there was nowhere for an apple to fall on the sidewalks and in front of buildings. Life here was in full swing and splashing in an ocean of powder, alcohol and sex. The smell of debauchery and temptation before wicked pleasures emanated from everywhere. At night, this part of the city became a gold mine for taxi drivers and drug dealers. Everywhere loom insane, stoned drunks and drug addicts who are unable to hobble home or hotel on their own.
Massimo and Pablo drove past the main thicket of establishments. They were approaching a less noisy area. Massimo parked near a low one-story building. Above the entrance there was a colorful sign on which it was written: «THAI MASSAGE», and just below the advertising slogan: «we relax 24 hours a day.»
Their faces were covered with winter hats, and their eyes were hidden behind wide sunglasses. They stepped aside and, hugging the window of a nearby supermarket (which was already closed by that time), crept up to the front door.
Their sudden appearance caused the guard to maintain his sitting position. Pablo tapped his pistol several times with his index finger, and then made several movements with his palm in his direction, demanding that the guard carefully draw the weapon. The security guard, a thirty-three-year-old brunette with a strong build, carefully took out a short-barreled revolver from his trouser belt and held it out in front of him, holding it forward with the hilt. Pablo pointed to the floor. The security guard lowered the gun onto the parquet floor and then pushed it with his sole in the direction of the bespectacled stranger. Pablo temporarily lowered the crowbar, picked up the revolver, moved the revolver and poured the cartridges onto the floor. He then ordered the guard to lie down on the floor and put his hands on the back of his head.
Massimo, meanwhile, stood in front of the cashier – a girl of about twenty-seven – and very delicately, putting the shutter to his lips, motioned not to make a sound. He held out the backpack, where the girl began to put all the proceeds. She did it in less than ten seconds.
Massimo was accepting the bag from the cashier when a man appeared around the corner of the corridor. He was short, thin, with short gray hair and incredibly happy. However, the smile disappeared from his face when two men with pistols appeared in front of him. He instinctively held out his open hands in front of him, distorting his face with a sudden grimace of pain caused by arthritis. Massimo looked at the visitor’s appearance: an expensive business suit, a silk tie, shiny shoes, a Tissot on his wrist, a weighty gold chain. He was definitely a moneybag. Such a person will not lose much if he forks out for the loss of his wallet. He gave it away even before such a thought came into the minds of Massimo and Pablo.
They backed towards the exit. Once outside the threshold, Pablo threw the empty revolver into a flower bed in front of the building, and then stuck a crowbar through the door handles. They rushed away from the building. The Ford was parked twenty meters away.
A series of sounds rang out.
SLAM! – one door.
SLAM! – second door.
The whisper of a starting engine, which began to develop into a hum, subsiding with every second and every meter of the journey. Massimo somehow heard rumors about this establishment. They practiced massage only formally. Although… how to say. What they did is also a kind of massage, only of the erogenous zones.
Massimo expected to rob only those establishments that were doing something illegal. At the very least, no one in the police will search for them. This cannot happen in principle. Who would expose their illegal activities to the police just to get their daily earnings back? And the police, no matter how corrupt they are, will not look for those who punished the owners of illegal businesses. There will be no reward for solving such a case.
Inspired by how easily, without saying a word and without hindrance they took the entire cash register, Massimo and Pablo decided not to slow down. On the contrary, they stepped on the gas and began to remember places where the owners would do something similar. No one will be tormented by their conscience for stealing earnings from such persons. But Massimo didn’t just want to continue his criminal adventures. He felt some kind of unhealthy thirst. It was as if something had come over him. It was only after ten minutes had passed that he noticed that he had not flinched at all when he entered the building with the gun. He doesn’t remember that during the time spent in the massage parlor, his heart was pounding inside. It didn’t even bother him that he took that old man’s wallet. He turned out to be just a random witness and walked by. But this did not cause him remorse. There is no doubt that the visitor did not care about the wallet and its contents. The main thing is that the skin is intact.
Massimo had not slept for almost a day and did not experience any drowsiness. The blood was running through the body. He wanted more. He had already forgotten about the cut on his hand. Over the past time, he had not been visited by a feeling of pain.
No pain. No nervousness. He had never experienced such courage and determination since his birth.
Murillo! – thought Massimo, pondering what kind of wine it was.
They hurried to their next target, disappearing from the city center with frequent turns. The criminal business was present everywhere, just few people were aware of where exactly its representatives carried out their activities.
For three hours, Massimo and Pablo walked through two drug dealers’ outlets, one underground sewing workshop and a dealer’s shop that sold exotic breeds of birds smuggled from South America.
The night turned out to be FABULOUS! Everything went smoothly, without a hitch. This didn’t happen before. Either Massimo would go to the dock, then Jorge would be shot, or Pablo would kill a girl who just wanted to sunbathe naked. In all cases, there was panic, shots fired and other associated moral and physical damage.
The revenue couldn’t help but rejoice. There were $27,408 in hand.
Days passed. Pablo lived in grand style. Massimo continued to spend as before. His purchases were limited to groceries and household goods. After the raid on shady business locations, Massimo did not sleep for more than a day and looked very cheerful. He felt as if the energy inside did not dry out. Thoughts about the loss of his aunt visited him only occasionally. When he heard from someone on the street that someone across the street had died, or that a couple of days ago there was a funeral for someone local who lived on the next street – talking about someone’s grief brought him back to thoughts about Aunt Barbara.
But this did not last long. After a month, his seemingly cleared mind returned to thoughts of grief. The feelings were not as tormenting as before, but, nevertheless, Massimo could not think of anything good.
In this state, the first person he thought of was Murillo.
And so, he returned to the bar. He’s been coming here every day for the past few weeks. But every time his orders included nothing but lemonade, coffee, tea and other harmless drinks.
– Salute – Massimo said restrainedly, sitting down on a chair at the bar counter.
– Hey – Murillo responded cheerfully, clapping Massimo loudly on the palm.
Before he had time to sit properly on the chair, Murillo immediately placed a cup and saucer in front of him and said:
– Yesterday I experimented for a long time and came up with a new recipe. Take a sip, try it.
Massimo looked at the contents in the white ceramic cup. The shade was pleasant. An abundant dark foam floated on the surface, covering the entire area so that the coffee itself was completely hidden under it.
– And what’s in there?
Murillo grinned:
– Ha! You think that now I’ll just tell you everything just like that. Take a sip and try to guess.
Massimo raised the edge of the cup to his lips and took a small sip. The coffee was not very hot. The aftertaste seemed unusual. He liked it and took five more sips, and then looked at Murillo, who was wiping the glasses and not taking his eyes off him, waiting for a reaction.
