Читать книгу Gunpowder, money and a glass of red - - Страница 4

April 1976.

– Everyone stand up. The trial is underway.

The courtroom was filled with the sounds of participants in the trial and others present standing up. A stocky, dark-skinned judge of average height took his place. He began to read the verdict in his firm, even voice:

– The verdict is announced. Massimo Spinazolla, you are sentenced to two years imprisonment in prison. Considering your age, as well as the fact that the act you committed is your first serious offense, the court decided to consider this sentence suspended. In view of this, I am assigning a probationary period of one year.

The judge looked into the room and said:

– Please, everyone sit down.

A couple of seconds later, until nine days before eighteen-year-old Massimo warmly hugged his lawyer and, clutching his cheeks with both hands, almost shouted: «We did it», – the judge turned to him:

– Mr. Spinazolla, I sincerely hope that you will treat my indulgence wisely. You have committed a serious crime and could spend a long time in prison. In view of this, the verdict can be considered practically acquittal. Do not let me down and prove to those present in this room that this heinous act was nothing more than a mistake that you will not repeat.

– I won’t let you down, sir… that is, your honor – Massimo said loudly in a fit of joy, jumping up from his chair.

The judge almost imperceptibly shook his head, paused, then hit his gavel and loudly announced:

– The court session is declared closed.

With a brisk gait in a business suit that looked unusual and ridiculous on him, Massimo moved towards the exit, accompanied by the lawyer. He did not pay attention to the dissatisfied grimace of the prosecutor, who was counting on at least a short but realistic sentence. They passed the threshold in the stream of witnesses to the trial.

Massimo quickened his pace, turning to the lawyer:

– Let’s go faster, otherwise this kingdom of morality is bothering me.

His interests were defended in court by forty-three-year-old lawyer Kurt Miller. He was instructed to defend Massimo’s interests in court at the expense of the state, since the teenager said that he did not have money for a lawyer.

Stepping off the front steps of the courthouse, Kurt began to speak as he continued walking with Massimo towards the city park:

– How many times should I say, «YOUR HONOR». No sirs, misters, dudes or other gags. You must understand that the judge evaluates your behavior and from there makes a conclusion whether you should be given the opportunity and left free.

– Okay, okay – Massimo said indifferently, spreading his hands. – It all ended well.

– This time, yes.

– What else does this mean? I didn’t understand. Don’t you trust me?

Kurt adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and began speaking in a more serious tone.

– You almost got away with robbing a pawnshop, but that doesn’t mean you can go back to your old ways. If tomorrow you don’t at least pay for the metro fare, the judge will have grounds to change your suspended sentence to a real one. Because you refused to rat out your friends, he might not show mercy. In general, stop spending time with them. You will meet with them again, and they will again offer you something. So that’s enough. Cut ties with them. Find a job. Earn money like all normal people. Do you even help your aunt in any way?

– I was under investigation. I’ll go back now and try to find something.

– Are there any options at all?

– There are a couple.

– If anything happens, call me. I have friends at the labor exchange. They will help.

– Thank you, but I’ll do it myself.

– OK.

Kurt paused and asked in a sad voice:

– By the way, did you find out how is…

Massimo’s face changed dramatically. The satisfied grimace after the verdict disappeared somewhere. The face took on a sour expression, and notes of sadness sounded in the voice:

– Yes. I was given only one number to call – the attending physician.

– And… what do they say?

– Next week they will operate. They said that the chances are low, but, in any case, this is the best option, because the longer they wait, the larger the tumor. In about twenty days it will no longer be operable.

– And if time is short, why don’t they operate now?

– So-a-a-a… there is a queue for a month and a half. So there’s nowhere to go.

Massimo thought for a bit and said:

– Oh! Kurt, would you mind borrowing a tenner? I would like to see the aunt.

– No problem – Kurt answered politely. – This is sacred.

The lawyer took a wallet from the inside pocket of his jacket, pulled out a ten dollar bill and handed it to Massimo, saying:

– And go ahead, find some new friends. These will put you back in the dock.

– Yes. Certainly.

They said goodbye and went their separate ways. Kurt went to the public parking lot, and Massimo to the nearest metro station. After three stations he left the subway. On the way, Massimo stopped at a flower stall. He asked the saleswoman to make a bouquet of five scarlet roses.

Ten minutes later, Massimo knocked on the hospital room door. Inside, his forty-seven-year-old Aunt Barbara lay on a cot. She was the sister of Massimo’s father. When he was just five years old, his parents, Silvio and Ramona Spinazolla, were among the eighty-three people in a movie theater attacked by suicide bombers. On that ill-fated evening Massimo was under the care of his aunt, who lived four bus stops away. Since then, he has never returned to his parents’ apartment, remaining in the care of Aunt Barbara.

Eight months ago, Barbara Spinazolla was diagnosed with stomach cancer. After several courses of chemotherapy, her condition did not improve. The tumor continued to grow in size. Six weeks after the last course, her attending physician recommended that she agree to surgery. She agreed without hesitation.

– Massimo? «Well, finally,» Aunt Barbara said weakly. Despite the passivity in her voice, her face expressed indescribable joy at the appearance of her nephew.

– Hello – said Massimo. He approached his aunt, kissed her forehead, and then carefully placed the bouquet on the edge of the bed.

– Here. This is for you.

Barbara pulled her head towards the flowers, smelled them and said:

– How fragrant they are. – She looked at her nephew and asked: – Why were you gone for so long?

Massimo took a chair near the wall, brought it closer to the bed, sat down and answered:

– I just found some part-time work. So I lingered.

– Part-time job? – the aunt asked with suspicion.

– Yes. What surprises you? I needed to buy flowers. I couldn’t show up to you after so many days, and even empty-handed.

– You are my golden one – Aunt Barbara said with a smile.

– How are you? Hurts badly? – Massimo asked anxiously.

Aunt Barbara took as deep a breath as she could.

– The nurse comes in thirty times a day. I have enough painkillers to last me a lifetime.

Massimo put his hand on her aunt’s arm, encouraging:

– But don’t you dare lose heart. The doctor said that soon it will be our turn.

Aunt Barbara exhaled loudly.

– God willing. God willing.

Massimo sat by the bed for almost three more hours, after which he kissed his aunt again and took the return route to the metro station.

With one change, Massimo drove forty-two minutes to the station, which was a few minutes walk from the house where he and his aunt had an apartment.

They lived in an area that the city dubbed with a special name: «Little Rome». The quarter owes this name to the fact that everyone settled in it, just as once upon a time all sorts of rabble gathered in Ancient Rome at the dawn of its emergence, among whom were foreigners, runaway slaves, criminals, refugees and exiles. It seemed that Little Rome was becoming a haven for everyone without exception. The quarter was more than ninety percent composed of immigrants and their descendants, such as Massimo himself. Mostly Latin Americans, Spaniards, Irish, Portuguese, French, Germans and, of course, Italians lived here. The bulk were Latin Americans and Italians. People from Eastern Europe were rare. Even more rarely, migrants from the Middle East settled in these places. Many local residents made money by opening their own small businesses. For this reason, on each street there were dozens of newspaper stalls, clothing stores, supermarkets, hairdressers, equipment repair shops, bars, snack bars and pawn shops. Robberies were no longer uncommon in the area, and the fact that many goods were in plain sight kept petty theft rates high. Recently, points of distribution of counterfeit alcohol and alcohol of elite brands at a reduced price have begun to appear, which was facilitated by the import of goods across the border illegally. Over the years, prostitution began to gain momentum. According to official statistics, among the cars stolen in Little Rome over the past four years, zero cars were returned to their rightful owners by police officers. Each stolen car does not survive longer than five hours, after which it ends up being dismantled for parts in one of the local auto repair shops.

The street, on which Massimo and Aunt Barbara lived, was constantly filled with the smells of local grocery stores, the loud voices of indignant customers who had become owners of defective goods, the cries of sellers luring buyers among passers-by, the roar of running engines and the horns of passing cars.

The sun disappears behind the horizon of residential high-rise buildings and the streets of Little Rome pass into the power of bribe-taking policemen, racketeers, speculators, pimps and the working class, working to maintain the corrupt bureaucratic hierarchy that has been developed over the years. Bar visitors carefully dry the establishments’ alcohol stocks. Prostitutes line up in an even formation along the curb under the shadow of the overpass. Somewhere, a group of teenagers is cleaning out an apartment temporarily abandoned by the owners. Someone in the VIP room of a nightclub is being undressed by a certain sharper with marked cards. In the same establishment, an emboldened and drunk client persistently pesters a busty stripper moving to the beat of the erotic blues. And somewhere, a couple of dozen tough heroes with knives, bats and brass knuckles came to a business meeting, where for some of its participants death was almost guaranteed. At the same time, a convoy of Colombian producers of laughing powder drives up to the back entrance of the nightclub, which a whole crowd of customers is waiting inside the establishment. A suitcase with cocaine inside in exchange for a suitcase with stacks of Benjamin Franklins.

With tired movements of his knees after a long day, Massimo walked up the stairs of his entrance, passing graffiti with inscriptions of various contents:

«Puerto Ricans rule!»

«Lucas! Nit! Pay back the debt!!!»

«Manuela is a whore»

«Republicans FORWARD!»

«Lucas! Where’s the money!?»

«Democrats are crap!»

«Down with General Videla! Long live President Peron!»

«Fortune telling using coffee grounds. $10 per session. Contact apartment 25»

«Lucas! I’ll kill you!»

«Size 38 jeans. Inexpensive. Apartment 26»

«Alessandro was here».

On the third floor, Massimo Spinazolla walked along the corridor in the direction of his apartment. As he approached the door, an unfamiliar middle-aged guy in a leather jacket approached him. The stranger worked his jaws endlessly over the chewing gum.

– Hey, guy? Where is Lorenzo’s apartment?

Massimo drew a grimace of misunderstanding on his face.

– Lorenzo? Who is this?

– One rascal of this height – said the stranger, holding his open palm at the level of his ears. – Almost bald.

Massimo shook his head and answered in an indifferent tone:

– I don’t know such a guy.

The guy looked at him suspiciously for a few seconds, then headed down the stairs.

Massimo followed the stranger with his gaze until he disappeared behind the stairs, then he inserted the key into the keyhole, turned it and the door was pressed away from the frame. There was no need to turn the door handle, since the tongue in the door lock had not worked for a couple of years. Because of this, the front door was always locked.

At the moment when Massimo pulled the door towards himself, someone was leaving the neighboring apartment. A twenty-two-year-old guy appeared in the corridor. Massimo said sympathetically, turning to his neighbor:

– You should move out of here, Lorenzo. Sooner or later, they will find you. Not here, but on the street. You can’t sit in your apartment all the time.

– Fuck them – Lorenzo said with difficulty in a trembling voice.

Lorenzo did not graduate from school and had been speculating in stolen household appliances for five years. Televisions, tape recorders, radios, electronic watches, mixers, electric ovens, cassette and microcassette voice recorders, cameras. Lorenzo owned an old garage a couple of kilometers from the house. This garage was a compact market for the latest home appliances. He took the goods, bargained over the amount that was due to the supplier, then set his own price, sold and kept for himself everything that was over the price that the supplier asked. But greed is a destructive feeling. Not long ago, another client approached Lorenzo at the garage. He brought for sale five latest model tape recorders, which were still in boxes and remained unpacked. Brand new. Among them was one Sony VCR of the Betamax standard – a real exotic. There was also a Soviet-made tape recorder «Jupiter-Quadro», which, if it gets onto the local market, will only be through illegal means, which is why it was not easy to get it. Such a product cost astronomical money. The only people who didn’t want to overpay for the right to own such a tape recorder were someone who was weak-minded. Lorenzo could not resist the temptation. He secretly sold the tape recorders, held a sale for the remainder of the goods in the garage (only two old electric stoves, a black and white TV, a refrigerator and a couple of irons remained unsold), collected the money and locked himself in his apartment. He did not even pay those whose goods had sold on the clearance sale. He sold them at prices, on average, lower than those requested by suppliers, just to get rid of the goods and quickly fill the cash register. When there was a burning smell and dissatisfied suppliers found out which building his apartment was in, Lorenzo left his apartment and settled with his girlfriend, who lived on the same floor.

He stood in the aisle, dressed in a wrinkled white T-shirt and blue jersey trousers. A wide gold chain with a weighty cross sparkled around Lorenzo’s neck. His feet were bare.

– Doesn’t it bother you that they… – Massimo didn’t have time to finish.

Lorenzo interrupted him, but did so in a slightly bolder voice:

– What can they do? Come here for a day or two, poop and calm down.

After that, Lorenzo took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lit it himself, then offered it to Massimo, but he refused. Lorenzo expressed respect to him for not using this poison.

While Lorenzo was exhaling a cloud of tobacco smoke, a thought occurred to Massimo:

– Listen, can you borrow a ten? I’ll give it to you as soon as it’s available.

Lorenzo turned sharply, looked inside and shouted:

– Manuela? Manuela!?

A girl’s weak, barely audible voice came from the apartment:

– What?

– Bring my jacket.

After a long pause she replied:

– OK.

After a few more seconds, Manuela asked:

– Who are you talking to there?

– No one – Lorenzo answered irritably.

– I hear someone’s voice.

Lorenzo said in an even more irritated tone:

– Shut up and bring me the jacket!

After some time, twenty-year-old Manuela Pellegrini, the heroine of the graffiti on the walls of the entrance, approached the threshold with short, sluggish steps. She was wearing a nightie or something, her eyes were sleepy, and the dark red hair on her head was disheveled. Her state was close to autopilot mode. Lorenzo’s leather jacket hung from her right arm, the cuff rubbing against the floor.

He picked up his jacket, looked at Manuela’s frozen body and said:

– Are you waiting for something?

With a stony face, she silently turned around and her legs dragged her back into the apartment.

Lorenzo slapped his palm on Manuela’s buttock and said:

– Better get your ass ready. I’ll be back soon.

Lorenzo pulled out from his inner pocket a stack of bills so thick that Massimo had only seen in the movies. He pulled two ten-dollar bills from the stack and handed them to Massimo. He took it, but did not have time to open his mouth when Lorenzo added:

– You don’t have to return it. This is for not ratting me out.

Massimo addressed him immediately:

– Thanks. But still, think about my words. At least get something for self-defense.

Lorenzo slowly took a cigarette from his clenched lips, maintaining a thoughtful look.

– By the way, this is a good idea.

After these words, Lorenzo hit Massimo’s shoulder with his palm, after which he added:

– When I entered the house, some suspicious guy was sitting across the street and carefully watching our porch. He’s clearly not local.

– Great. The next time you see him, say: «Lorenzo asked me to say: «Fuck you». Now excuse me, man, but I have to go. I’m going to send a part of myself into that ass – Lorenzo said, pointing to Manuela in the back room.

After his impassioned speech, the speculator slammed the front door, and before that he said, pointing his finger at Massimo’s suit:

– Awesome outfit.

Massimo stepped over the threshold of his apartment. He pressed the door against the frame and turned the key, leaving it in the keyhole. It was a two-room apartment, which was once furnished with only the most necessary things. The only household appliances were a refrigerator made in 1965, a used black-and-white TV and a non-working washing machine. In Aunt Barbara’s room there was a bed, next to it a bedside table with a lamp and a small wardrobe with a mirror on the door. Massimo always slept on the sofa in the living room.

He stepped over the threshold and the first thoughts in his head were related to the fact that this place had not been cleaned for a long time. Aunt Barbara has been in the hospital for a long time, and Massimo had to stay in the company of representatives of the judicial and law enforcement system. But he barely had the strength left to crawl to the sofa and collapse with incredible bliss on its soft upholstery.

Massimo was awakened by the doorbell. He turned his sleepy gaze out the window. It was already past dusk. Rubbing his face with his palms, he moved towards the front door. The second call rang. Massimo grabbed the key, turned it twice and pulled the handle.

Jorge Gomez and Pablo Inzaghi stood on the threshold. Mexican and Italian, both eighteen. Massimo had a stormy friendship with them from the very moment his aunt took him in. Pablo and Jorge were the first people Massimo met when he moved into the new house. They participated in any affray together. If one got into something, then it directly affected all three, so they received bruises in the same way as they gave to their offenders – all together. They spent every day doing something together. It is therefore not surprising that for each of them two friends had more influence than home and family. Their life views and principles coincided, and their characters were not much different, especially Massimo and Pablo. Everyone was indignant at the lack of justice: some get everything, while others get nothing. They agreed that if you belong to the lower class of society, about which the authorities do not care, then morality and ethics have the right to be revised unilaterally. Now YOU decide what is right and what is wrong; what’s good and what’s bad. The reasons for such a position in life seemed more than compelling: since someone at the top decided that it was fair to divide people into first and second class, then let these politicians wipe themselves out with their decrees and constitution. The second class will live by their own laws, since general civil rights do not apply to them.

Among them, only Jorge had a full-fledged family and had a less explosive temper, succumbing to the absolute influence of Massimo and Pablo. He lived in a typical Mexican immigrant family. In addition to him, there were four more children in the family: two brothers and two sisters. But, as is usually the case, life for immigrants was extremely difficult. Hard physical labor was poorly paid and very exhausting. So poverty was inevitable. It was especially difficult for Jorge’s parents. The father had to keep up with several jobs to feed his five children. Only later, when the eldest son began to be interested in cars and was stuck all day long at the car service station across the street, did the family get a car. Brother Jorge bought a broken sedan cheaply and began repairing it, replacing damaged parts with those found in old cars that were brought to the service as scrap metal. Jorge helped his older brother, which significantly speeded up the process. When the swallow was completed, the father of the family was moved by the gift he received for his birthday. Old painted body on the move. It was an incredible event for Sergio Gomez’s family. Although Jorge helped his brother assemble the car and watched his work, he still could not understand all this mechanics. He wanted to find something simpler. That something turned out to be a yellow farmer’s pickup truck, which he stole and took for dismantling to the first auto repair shop he saw in Little Rome. The pickup truck turned out to be old and they didn’t pay that much for it, but this was more than enough for a sharp increase in self-esteem and for Jorge to feel that he could take care of himself.

Pablo grew up in an orphanage, from which he escaped when he was barely sixteen. It was then that he committed his first robbery. Shortly before this, he tried alcohol for the first time. This happened when he got a job in one of the bars. He delivered orders, wiped dust, washed floors and dishes. He worked hard, which is why he completely gave up on school, running away from the orphanage early in the morning and returning closer to midnight. Being surrounded by drug dealers, hucksters, pimps, smugglers and other elite of Little Rome, of which there were many among visitors, he heard enough stories about how easy it is sometimes to get big money. One day he firmly decided to do something loud and risky. In the morning he boarded the subway car. It was peak hour. His thin and short body easily squeezed between the standing passengers. The eyes ran around and soon found the victim, who was a man of average height, about forty-five years old in appearance. He wore a business suit, tie, perfectly polished shoes and a solid-looking watch on his wrist. All this spoke of his high material security. And this was also indicated by the leather bag that the man held under his arm. Pablo waited until the man reached his station and began to exit the train, disappearing into the noisy stream of passengers on the platform. When the victim began to approach the escalator, Pablo quickened his pace and, before reaching the man, snatched the bag from behind his back and rushed off in the opposite direction. The robbed stranger ran after him with indignant screams, shouting: «Hold him! Thief!» Someone from the crowd grabbed Pablo’s T-shirt. Pablo fired a kick to the groin and continued to run away. It was announced: «Caution. Doors are closing». There were only a few meters left to the carriage. Pablo jumped, covering the rest of the path and dived into the carriage. The former owner of the bag loudly hit the glass in the doors with his palms, and that was the end of it. The train started moving. Pablo got off after several stations. He found enough money in the bag to rent a room and live for a while on the salary that was paid at the bar. He saw no reason to return to the orphanage. This is how his adult life began. After some time, he, Massimo and Jorge did several worthwhile things, after which Pablo left work and finally felt free.

– MASSIMO!!! – Jorge and Pablo shouted loudly and at the same time in full voice. They took turns greeting Massimo and hugging him tightly. Massimo himself instantly woke up from such a meeting. He invited his friends inside.

Pablo took a few steps, after which he turned around, spread his arms and said in bewilderment:

– What kind of clothes are these? Are you pretending to be a governor?

Having not yet recovered from the joy of such an unexpected meeting, Massimo ignored this phrase. Instead of Massimo, Jorge answered Pablo’s sarcastic question from the far end of the corridor:

– He didn’t go to prison, so he can wear anything: even a toga, even stilettos. He’s allowed.

– And that’s true – Pablo agreed pliantly. – But only without stilettos. We’re not fags.

Massimo called his friends into the kitchen, froze for a while in thought and still asked:

– You won’t throw up from coffee in this mess? I haven’t had time to clean up yet.

– No. Pour it,» Pablo continued enthusiastically. «But I’m in such a mess in my head right now that I don’t know what to ask.»

– Yes, what did those assholes tell you? – Jorge asked.

Massimo poured ground coffee into the cezve, while simultaneously saying:

– Two years condition. The judge made allowance for the fact that this was my first offense. More precisely, this is the first time the cops caught me.

– Holy shit – Jorge muttered. – And this would be my third drive.

Pablo continued, laughing slightly:

– And I would have a fourth. Suckers.

– You won – Jorge answered sarcastically.

Massimo suddenly froze in the middle of the kitchen. Several seconds of silence gave way to a sluggish remark:

– Crap. I’ll be right back.

He examined himself, remembering that he was wearing a suit and went to change into his home clothes.

Massimo returned at the time when Pablo picked up the cezve from the stove, and Jorge took out cups and laid them out on the table.

They sat on different sides of a small square table, one side of which was adjacent to the wall.

After walking around the apartment for a while, Massimo looked a little more awake. This was noticeable even in his voice:

– Well, tell me. What new happened here while I was away?

Pablo and Jorge exchanged glances. Pablo began:

– What’s new? A new gas station has opened near the overpass. A Rolls-Royce was dismantled in the workshop behind our house. The Bolivian baker’s daughter, they say, got pregnant.

– Come on? – Massimo said. – Is this the one with big tits?

– Yes. The eldest.

– So, who knocked her up?

– Who knows? She lay under so many men that she probably herself doesn’t know whose wealth she is carrying.

Jorge added:

– Marcello is addicted to weed.

– Milkman?

Jorge nodded a couple of times, taking a sip of his coffee.

– Yesterday I was going to the pharmacy, and he was standing near the service entrance. I see some smoke coming out from behind him. I approached, and in his hand he had a rolled-up cigarette, like my phallus.

Laughter was heard throughout the apartment.

The laughter subsided a little.

– Shhh… – Pablo said, putting a finger to his lips.

He listened for a while, then picked up an empty glass from the tabletop, put it against the wall and put his ear to the bottom.

– What’s up there? – Jorge asked impatiently.

A satisfied smile slowly began to appear on Pablo’s face. He began to speak in intermittent phrases, continuing to listen to the sounds coming from the other side of the wall:

– Someone is fucking from the bottom of the heart. Those are the moans… Hot woman.

Jorge wanted to take the second glass and join in, but stopped after Pablo said:

– Looks like the finish line.

– Who is first? – curiosity did not let go of Jorge.

– The guy groaned. Yes, he came first.

Pablo returned to the table, asking Massimo:

– Is it always this hot there?

– Every day.

– Your neighbors are funny.

After the coffee in the cups ended, and with it the talk about the latest news, Jorge turned to Massimo:

– Listen, it’s only thanks to you that we are not behind bars, but you, on the contrary, got into such shit because of us.

Pablo continued:

– Yes. Forgive us. It’s Jorge’s and my fault. We were supposed to leave with the proceeds from the cash register, but instead we decided to also open the safe.

Pablo pulled out a package from his back pocket.

– In general, we decided not to divide everything into equal parts. The total was 1,940. Jorge and I each kept 420 for ourselves; before that, we gave a hundred to Aunt Barbara’s attending physician so that they would move the line and perform the operation a couple of months earlier. They said that it would be impossible to move the queue by more than two months and that was the maximum. And this is the rest – Pablo said, placing the remaining money in front of Massimo.

Massimo put his hand to the stack of bills and pushed them into the center of the table.

– Hey-hey! What are you doing? – Jorge almost shouted.

– In short, I didn’t even suspect that you somehow helped with my aunt. So this action of yours is more valuable to me than money.

– Yes, that goes without saying. Just take yours. You’re without funds.

After much convincing from his friends, Massimo said:

– Listen, guys, I’ll take it only on one condition. I won’t be able to help you until the probationary period expires. One year will pass and you can count on me.

Massimo said the last phrase firmly, decisively and with enthusiasm.

Pablo spoke indignantly:

– Of course. Forget it. We’ll manage somehow ourselves. We’ll hold out for a year. Just take it. The main thing is, as soon as they start to run out, you let us know, and we’ll give you more. In general, whether you say it or not, we will still throw it in at the first opportunity. We don’t abandon our own people.

– Thank you, guys. I do not forget.

Jorge replied:

– And you forget it. That’s an order!

Laughter filled the kitchen.

They left the apartment and spent the whole evening until late in a bar called «A glass of red». The owner was a stocky forty-two-year-old Cuban named Murillo, with whom Massimo had a special relationship. He often visited the establishment and took a place at the bar, where he and Murillo had heart-to-heart conversations. This has been the case since early childhood. From the age of eight Massimo was a special customer at the bar. Here Murillo constantly treated him to soda or fruit cocktail. If Massimo undertook to carry out some errand, took an order home, ran to the grocery store for another package of napkins, helped collect empty bottles from tables, Murillo paid him generously for this, fed him a hamburger or a hot dog, and in addition offered him a free choice of any drink. The bar was located half a block from Massimo’s house. In the evenings and on weekends, the establishment was always full of customers, and during the day it was a quiet and peaceful place, a time when you can sit at a table with a plate of fried chicken, potatoes and a full glass of beer or Coca-Cola. But in the evening, vodka, wine, rum, whiskey, cognac and other alcohol are consumed, so actively approaching the moment of separation of the brain from the rest of the body.

By morning Massimo had slept well and a very atypical day began for him. The first thing he decided to do was tidy up the apartment. In the absence of Aunt Barbara, chaos reigned inside on a universal scale. He washed the floors, wiped dust wherever it could accumulate, collected and took out the trash, washed the dishes, washed and put some clothes in their places. It soon dawned on him that he would never do laundry by hand in the future. This decision was fueled by the amount that Jorge and Pablo gave.

Massimo went to the door of the neighboring apartment. After the first ring, Lorenzo opened the door. He had an apple in one hand and a short-barreled revolver in the other.

And yet he followed Massimo’s advice.

– Hello.

Clutching the apple, which had been bitten several times, in his teeth, Lorenzo put the revolver behind his back in his jeans, extended his hand and said, taking the apple out of his mouth:

– Salute.

Without further delay, Massimo got down to business:

– Listen, Lorenzo, I know you don’t sell anymore, but can you tell me where I can get a washing machine inexpensively?

– Just a moment.

Lorenzo went somewhere deeper into the apartment. He returned half a minute later with a piece of paper, handing it over and saying:

– Here. Call this number. Just ask Rodrigo. He is a first-rate nit, but he will help solve the issue about washing machine.

– What did he do?

– What do you mean?

– Well, you said he’s a nit.

Continuing to stand on the threshold, Lorenzo said, waving his hand:

– Forget it. Former competitor.

Manuela’s voice came from the apartment:

– Who are you talking to?

– Okay – said Lorenzo. – Sorry, I have an emergency there.

– Thank you – Massimo said goodbye, after which he heard Lorenzo’s loud voice even before he closed the door:

– How many more times to repeat!? Shut up and take off your panties!

During the day, a used washing machine was delivered to Massimo’s apartment, but in very good condition. The workers provided free services for connecting to sewerage and water supply. Rodrigo himself turned out to be not such a nit. He offered to sell Massimo the faulty washing machine for parts for ten percent of the cost of the one he brought. Massimo agreed without hesitation. In a couple of starts, he washed all the dirty laundry.

Towards evening the apartment took on a neat appearance. Massimo visited the grocery store and shopped for the week ahead.

For a week he went to the hospital every day. Every day he took Aunt Barbara strawberry peanut ice cream, which was her favorite. In the evenings, Jorge and Pablo dropped in to visit him. Following a certain ritual, they invariably, according to a set schedule, went to have fun in local latitudes. On weekends, Jorge occupied his father’s Volkswagen and they had the opportunity to get out of Little Rome to travel around other areas of the city.

On the ninth day after the trial, Massimo had his birthday. He bought a small cake at a pastry shop, which he took to visit his aunt. By seven o’clock Pablo and Jorge appeared on the threshold of the apartment. From the very beginning, fanfare thundered, after which, with congratulatory words, Pablo shook the birthday boy’s hand, pushing three $100 bills into his palm. Jorge gave a marble money box in the shape of Jesus with a lid at the bottom. Massimo later found another three hundred under the lid.

The birthday has passed. The next morning, Massimo was getting ready to go to the hospital. Aunt Barbara had an operation scheduled for nine o’clock. He was already planning to leave when someone rang the doorbell. Massimo turned the key twice and pulled the door out. Pablo stood in front of him. His T-shirt was stained with fresh blood. It was the blood of Jorge, whom he struggled to hold, keeping his hand on his neck. He dragged him three floors up the stairs and who knows how many more to the house.

In a hurry, Massimo helped drag Jorge inside and then slammed the door.

Jorge lay on the couch, wincing in pain from the open wound left by a twenty-five-caliber shot in his left shoulder.

– What happened!? – Massimo asked, feeling his heart begin to beat in his chest against his ribs.

The apartment was filled with Jorge’s loud, painful moans.

With a shaky breath, Pablo replied:

– His… his father was robbed yesterday when he was driving home from work. We… found out what kind of scum it was… We caught him and started pressing him. Who knew this SON OF A BITCH had a gun!

– Where was it?

– Three blocks from here.

Massimo looked at Jorge, who was doubled over in pain, and asked, spreading his arms:

– How did you drag him?

– This scum stole the car, which we took back. DAMN! We thought we would return it to the father!

Massimo froze for a moment. His face froze, retaining a grimace of fear. His next question sounded frighteningly wary:

– And where is it now?

Pablo’s response came without delay:

– At the entrance.

Massimo rubbed his face with his palms, but was still able to snap out of his stupor. First of all, he rushed to get bandages and alcohol. While the wound was being treated, Jorge’s moans intensified slightly. Having felt the hole on the back side, Massimo was convinced that the bullet had gone right through. He hastily sealed both holes with several layers of vapor barrier tape.

– Didn’t you see the cops? – asked Massimo.

Pablo replied, still in shock:

– No. But this bastard took someone’s car and chased us.

Massimo did not react at all to Pablo’s words until he glanced at the floor. His eyes ran along the trail of blood smeared on the floor, which was visible from the very threshold. Massimo rushed to the exit and looked out into the corridor. A few seconds of silence were followed by the sound of a door slamming shut. He went into the kitchen, took a knife out of the drawer, then went to Pablo.

– What does he look like?

Pablo was sitting on the floor, leaning his back against the sofa. For some time, with tension, he examined the blade clutched in Massimo’s hand, and then, swallowing a lump of saliva, he said:

– I’m with you. I won’t let you in there alone.

As soon as Pablo lifted himself off the floor, Massimo pressed his friend’s shoulders and said:

– He saw you. But he doesn’t know me.

It didn’t take long to persuade Pablo. He told Massimo about the thick black beard of impressive length, short hair, red and white checkered shirt and glass eye. He pulled a Makarov pistol from his belt.

Massimo said, shaking his head:

– Keep it for yourself.

Massimo walked out the door, having previously asked Pablo to lock himself from the inside. Drops of blood could be seen all over the corridor. There were no residents of the house. Someone’s footsteps were heard somewhere on the stairs. A few seconds later, the figure of a Mexican living on the floor above appeared. He went up to his room. Massimo looked at him and moved towards the stairs, pressing the blade to the inside of his forearm. As he approached the stairs, he noticed traces of blood on the steps. His feet passed the last step to the second floor. Empty. A familiar voice came from somewhere below:

– Thank you.

The sound of a door slamming was heard.

Massimo continued to descend with leisurely steps. Having descended half the stairs between floors, a stranger by name, but familiar by appearance began to climb in front of him. It was the man with the glass eye. With his other eye – his own eye – he peered at the crimson traces on the steps, following them. He looked to be about forty. Noticing a boy walking towards him, he examined Massimo for several seconds without taking his eyes off. The look was insolent and caused bad feelings inside. He held one hand close to his back and the other dangled in a natural position.

Having gotten half a meter closer to the man, Massimo turned to him:

– Do you have a cigarette?

The man with a strong movement pressed his hairy hand to Massimo’s shoulder. He pushed him away with his palm. Massimo was noticeably turned around by this push. A little more and he would have hit his back against the wall. He noticed how tightly the stranger’s hand was pressed to his upper thigh, and the handle of a pistol protruded next to him behind his jeans.

It was the right moment. Massimo unfolded the handle of the knife in his palm. The man was already seven steps above him. Comfortable height. Very comfortable. With a sweeping movement, the tip of the blade Massimo cut the Achilles tendon, immediately after which the man froze in place. Massimo took advantage of this and thrust the wide blade into the back of the thigh of the same leg. With his free hand, the stranger managed to pull out the pistol from behind his back. The man screamed at the top of his lungs, spreading his jaws as far as possible and exposing his teeth. Massimo crept up from behind, hastily pulled the pistol out of the man’s hand and covered his mouth in order to muffle his scream. He pulled the blade from the thigh and brought the blade sharply to the stranger’s neck. The blood-covered steel began to slide across the skin and burrow deep into the throat, cutting arteries. For the first few seconds, the splashes scattered around, hitting the wall and railings. A powerful crimson stream gushed out from the cut. Blood flowed down the steps.

Under the influence of reflexes, Massimo pushed away the stranger, who stubbornly refused to fall, clinging to the railing. Massimo picked him up by the leg and threw him over the railing. The stranger flew down the flight of stairs, colliding with the tiles at the end of the path, causing blood to splash several meters around.

Massimo rushed back in a hurry, but soon became stuck in place, remembering the pistol that had his fingerprints on it. He began to return and stopped a few meters before the place where the weapon lay. Someone came out into the corridor and shouted something obscene, and then added:

– Lola! Call the police!

From the stomping, it became clear that the one who shouted ran down the stairs, from where fresh screams were heard, even more hysterical.

Taking this opportunity, Massimo jumped out, picked up the pistol and ran up the steps, returning to the apartment.

Having reached the door, he wanted to knock with all his might, but he remembered his hands stained with blood. He pressed the bell button with his chin. Pablo opened the door. Massimo ran into the kitchen like a bullet, threw the knife into the sink, then ran into the bathroom. There he found a rag, soaked it generously and ran into the corridor to wash away the traces of blood left by Jorge’s wound, which led to his apartment.

It was great luck. No one appeared in the corridor during those half a minute.

Massimo returned to the apartment. Pablo locked the door and hurried to Jorge, who was trying to say something through unceasing moans.

His hands hung over the bathtub. Drops of blood flowed from the fingers to the bottom, dissolving in a weak stream of water. Massimo somehow wet his hands under the tap, from under which water flowed into the bathtub, heading towards the sewer hole. Hands were shaking. His lips and chin were trembling. He closed his eyelids and held his breath in an attempt to slow down his pulse, suppress the surge of adrenaline, calm the trembling of his limbs. From powerlessness, Massimo collapsed onto the tiles, pressing his back against the wall. The blood was still racing through the body, the heart was rushing out, and the thoughts were confused.

The phone rang in the living room. Massimo heard the bell only the sixth time. He went to the bedside table, wiped his hands on his T-shirt and picked up the phone. To someone’s question from the other end of the line, Massimo answered in a trembling voice:

– Y… yes.

He didn’t make another sound. His eyes, staring somewhere at the wall, maintained their position, and only the eyelids gradually began to twitch, falling lower and lower with every second. The corners of the mouth widened as much as possible. Massimo bared his teeth, his eyelids closed, and the telephone receiver slipped from his hand. His legs could not bear the mental burden. He knelt down, pressing his hands to his face. The eyes disappeared under the fingertips with poorly washed away traces of blood. The room was filled with loud crying, accompanied by a cry of despair.

The call was from the hospital.