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Gunpowder, money and a glass of red
Erick Poladov
Sometimes a hard life makes a person forget about the letter of the law, morality and compassion. The question is how long it will be before he remembers it. Here is the story of a man who did not flinch under the pressure of cruel circumstances. He does not believe that fate is predetermined, and therefore he decides to rewrite it, despite constant threats, the bitter loss of people close to him and the risk of losing the last thing that he values most in the world.
Gunpowder, money and a glass of red
Erick Poladov
© Erick Poladov, 2024
ISBN 978-5-0064-1907-0
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
There is an angel and a demon living in each of us. We cannot choose which of them to be friends with. The circumstances surrounding us themselves determine in whose guise a person will go along the path of life – a demon or an angel.
PROLOGUE
He often wondered this question. What awaits beyond the threshold on the other side where death hides? Apparently, he will find out the answer very soon. The forty-five-caliber shot right through his throat. With the last of his strength, he tries to utter farewell words, but instead of phrases, blood gurgles from his mouth, flowing down his cheeks on both sides. A friend – the only person who was not indifferent to his fate – holds his head in his lap, tearing his own throat in an attempt to call at least someone for help.
Soon. He didn’t see his parents. A meeting with them is coming. The one who supports his drooping head has replaced his family. In such a short life, he decided on at least one thing – he would never return to the past, in which he could find a family and a carefree future instead of those criminal cases that he had to deal with since childhood. Having such a friend is the greatest luck and what more than covers the moral damage that life causes. He is glad that he had the opportunity to spend his whole life shoulder to shoulder with the one in whose arms he now meets his agony.
The sounds of police sirens intensify and drown out the mournful cry of the friend. Unable to say anything, he began to push his friend away from him, urging him to run away. No one will pull him out of the other world, and it would be stupid to fall into the clutches of the police just because he wanted to spend more time with a half-dead corpse.
The last wish has been fulfilled. The only person close to him left him. Surrounded by seven corpses, hot shell casings and broken glass, he heard the loud friction of car tires braking near the curb. Inside, everything was filled with the flashing glare of police sirens. Someone entered, trampling crunchy shards of broken glass with their soles.
After a couple of seconds, the figure of a policeman was reflected in his tear-stained eyes, but was not reflected in his mind. He crossed the threshold beyond which death met him.
1. LIFE IS BULLSHIT
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:
