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"What kind of occupation?" "Contraband."
"What do you mean, we don't do that sort of thing, it's against the law (either he really is a cop and wanted to catch me in a "clean confession over the phone" or he's a headless horseman).
"But…"
I hung up the phone and called back (actually, I could, like LaSkoltza, forget the whole thing, but he had already passed it to me (but I have no one to pass it on to here), and
then they might inadvertently ask me: "Faust, and why the hell did you refuse the "easy" 15 million? And what will I answer: "The mood was bad…" or something even worse.
In short, no matter how it's done, but I'm not going to be patted on the head for refusing). The hoarse one.
"Hello?"
"Meeting July 22 at four o'clock." "It's late."
"Explain."
"Can't on the phone." "Your Difficulties."
"The goods are already in place. We need protection, and you're the only ones we can trust here."
"What makes you think that?" "Your reputation…"
"Our reputation is worth 50 percent." "But that's robbery, isn't it?!" "Goodbye, then…"
"Wait!"
"What?"
"45%".
"We don't bargain, goodbye…" "Okay, okay, come on over…" "Where to?"
"You know that."
"It wouldn't hurt to refresh your memory." "Petrska ul. 7".
"He's all yours?" "Temporarily rented." "When would that suit you?" "On the hour."
"I'm doing you a favor." "Thank you…"
"You do realize that if even a small part of what you said is not true, someone is going to get hurt badly."
"Yes."
I hung up the phone and decided to get some more sleep before fifteen minutes past one so I wouldn't fall asleep at an inopportune moment in the meeting. When I woke up, the brief dossier was already ready: Jose Morten was born in 1971 (you can't tell by the voice, although my husky baritone in my fifteen everyone accepted as in thirty) in the city of Kladno, near Prague, moved with his family to the capital six years later, studied medicine, but after graduation became the personal doctor of the local mafia, slowly rose through the ranks, starting to carry out torture with enemies of the organization and finally seized power in his own hands in 2002. Appearance (a nice picture was
attached, with a BMW and several eagles nearby): tall, sturdy, brunette, square-shaped face. Special data: hates Jews. Methods: thinks everything is good, so he is unpredictable. Count: according to our calculations, six murders with firearms, edged weapons, explosives, poisonous and narcotic substances, as well as electroshock (so much for "he thinks all methods are good"; a real amateur; one thing is clear – he is not a plant agent).
"So," I barked, gathering six men (Galanzio, Cepino, Garibaldi, Gento, Reynato, Penzalla (the last three also bodyguards)) around me in a small hall, "gentlemen, we have an unpredictable man to deal with (it's always best to re-insure the morale of your men against shocks), so arm yourselves to the fullest, we'll go in three cars. Which ones do you have?" Replied Galanzio, "Two Skoda's and the boss's Mercedes."
"Alright, first group: me, Galanzio, Garibaldi, second: Cepino and Reynato, third: Gento and Penzalla, all will ride the Skoda."
"Nah, well, we kinda only have two of them," Cepino objected. "And Garibaldi's car."
"Ah, yes."
"So, your next assignment is to not ask stupid questions. Does everyone know where to go?"
"Yes," replied all but Garibaldi. "Where to?" – I asked Cepino. "D. 7 on Petrska Street."
"You're a fast learner!!! – At the moment of my speech, the mustachioed man vigorously tapped his fists, reminding me of King Kong – "We leave in 13 minutes.
Under the cover of night.
0:55 July 22.
"What exactly do you want?" – I asked Morten, standing ten meters ahead of the car, after the whole Skoda group, having passed the red gate of the garage d. 7 on Petrska Street, drove onto its yellow sand with clean tires. "Escort those trucks over there to d. 3 on Jeremenkova Street," he pointed to three KAMAZs, two of them with two people in each, the third with only one (obviously the second seat was for the main smuggler himself). "Let's go in three groups on different roads," I commanded.
We drove a little behind the "Russian light tank" along Petrska Street, then Truhlarska, turned off at Rybna, Hybernska, Rytirska. My cell phone rang.
"Hello."
"It's Richard." "Well, what else?"
"We have another important case…"
"Hey, I need a vacation too, send someone else."
"No one else can handle it, it takes an experienced person…" "There are no irreplaceable people."
"Maybe, but we haven't found anyone."
"First, tell me, what do you want?"
"Some work needs to be done in the city of Brno…" "Which one?"
"Teach one guy some tricks…" "Take him to the circus."
"I mean it…" "Me too."
"We'll pay 500,000 thousand…" "How long is this job designed for?" "5 Days…"
"Don't tell me that's where I'm supposed to arrive at five o'clock tomorrow night…" "No, five o'clock in the morning."
"There you go…" "Yes."
"All right, it's a deal."
We were passing Spalena Street when I turned off the phone, we got onto Reslova, Rasinovo, finally we reached Podolske highway and, having passed it more than halfway, we turned onto Jeremenkova Street. "The KAMAZ stopped at the next red gate, Giuseppe a little farther on. Morten got out of the "tank", approached the gate and knocked, which made the latter open with an unknown hand. The smuggler said something, and then the barrier moved away, the KAMAZ moved inside, the Skoda too. We found ourselves in the same garage as on Petrska Street. As we went along, it became clear that the people standing in front of the KAMAZ were the buyers (three fat men in white suits) and their bodyguards (three big men in black near each of them).
The room could hold a total of six long-haul vehicles. At the end stood a couple of containers. On the sides were large crates, canisters, cylinders, and the like. There were two more men looming at the gate (one of them had opened whatever it was he was looming at in the past).
Me and Jarno climbed to the surface, Morten went inside, and the fat guys went to the truck to inspect the cargo.
"Well, show me," the fattest, and obviously the main fat man, "what you've got. Morten jumped up and opened the doors, "Here, look," and behind them was a pile of wooden crates, mostly used for gas masks or "plastic ice cream scoops" (as I sometimes call things that are not needed in the business). The white blazer waved his hand to the black, and the two (let's designate them #1 and #2) hissed, reached in, and opened the first one they found. It was overloaded with grenade launchers.....
Satisfied with the result
1:40 a.m. July 22.
"Uh-huh… okay…" the right-handed shopper steadied himself as he looked at the weapon, "Where's it from?"
"Poland, Yugoslavia, even Russia, by the way, Russian guns are more expensive. – The seller praised his goods with evident pleasure, "First of all, they are better and, secondly, they are harder to get".
"When will the rest arrive?" "Any minute now."
"My time is worth a lot."
"We arrived ahead of schedule." "Okay, you can examine the board."
Nos. 3 and 4 went to the containers and opened them more than to the limit. Fresh European Union currency was revealed.
"It's all thirty million here."
Morten was on the spot in a bullet, "hugged" the entire pile of the first container he found, grabbed a wad of bills, flipped through them, sniffed, took out the money, checked it for light, sniffed again, and put it back.
There was a knock on the gate – a second party with an escort had arrived. The guard repeated his procedure. It turned out to be Gento's crew, Penzal's. They too climbed out of the car, and their ward vehicle was also opened and the contents examined. The bosses were inspecting the merchandise, seeming to take some pleasure in it. The next five minutes passed at this pace, and I realized that something had happened to Cepino, so I turned to Galanzio almost in a whisper, "Hey, Jarno, does Cepino have a cell phone?"
"Yes."
"Number."
"954-7848".
I poked at the receiver and heard a familiar voice say, "Yes." "It's Faust, why aren't you there yet?"
"I don't know, the KAMAZ is going the wrong way." "Where are you?"
"On Ostrovskeho St "
"Wait."
I leaned over to Garibaldi and asked: "Joz, where is Ostrovskeho St.? How far is it from here?"
"On the other side of the Vltava River. "
I whispered into my cell phone, "What the hell are you doing there?! Quickly catch up with the driver and set his mind right, does he know where to go or not?"
"Said he did "
"I don't care if he gurgled, the load has to be here, not across town!" "Okay now we'll do it."
"Fly!!!!"
I slammed the phone down. What kind of people, they can't do anything humanly I
wonder where they got this fool from? We have trade going on in full swing here, and he's driving around behind a truck, saying he was told only to guard it And why do I
always have to work with such people, I should raise my salary.
If I had worked like that in my twenty-five, I wouldn't have lived to be twenty-six.....
I remembered how I was driving around Syracuse here and there, looking for some car, wanted by the police along with others like me, and still did not find, remembered how I guarded the boss, remembered that I am already forty-seven and that my son is now sitting at home with a nightmarish disease …
Suddenly I noticed the hands of the No. s reaching under their jackets, saw their faces and the glare in their eyes. Those glares are the first thing that give people away before they want to whack someone. The second thing is what they want to turn it in with.
I grabbed a Kedr (Yevgeny Dragunov's design; being in the "embassy" I had replaced the pistol with a submachine gun), which had the safety off and was set on automatic firing mode, pulled it out and opened fire. The firing began…
I took out three of them at once (the right boss and two of his #'s). On our side we shot Morten, Penzall and the trucker (he just didn't have a chance – – the cab of the truck was in front of the middle fat guy with his Nos. who had been standing there since I saw
them), Garibaldi was wounded in the shoulder, as I found out later, I was not hit (all the time I was there I was covered by the back door of the Skoda), Jarno, despite his sluggishness, survived and, following my example, opened the door nearest to him and started shooting, blasting away even more fiercely than before.
I hid with my head behind the door to at least cool down the ardor of those who were shooting at me, then I came out with a new machine-gun burst – this time only two "black" corpses (people had time to scatter), again "got behind the rock" and heard that the glass on the door shattered into pieces (this event surprised me a little, because I was absolutely sure that it was bulletproof).
Suddenly a thought pierced me like an arrow: two more men behind me. I turned around lightning fast, but saw only two corpses in their own pools of blood. I could tell from the amount of red substance that they had been killed seconds ago, that is, almost at the time of the "start" of the firefight.
"Wait. – One thing struck me about this case," The guards were killed at the beginning, or possibly before the beginning, that would explain the fact that the #'s reacted in sync…"
The bullet hit the foot of my left leg: my body started to roll to the left (away from the car), but I managed to catch the wounded part and put my knee in its place. This brought me to my senses, because, jumping out and shooting from behind the door with a brutal murderous scream, I ran out the last three "competitors" (one fat guy and two #'s). The battle was over…
It's not clear to everyone
1:48 a.m. July 22.
I stepped away from the door, looked at her (shot up in a flash) and shouted: "Who among us is still alive?" Gento and Garibaldi answered.
I waddled over to Jarno – forehead shot through (obviously shot from a Yugoslavian "monster" "Zastava" (a six-shot revolver, if you can call it that)), Morten – three holes in his torso (he didn't even have time to move), KAMAZ driver – head, neck, shoulders (hands on the wheel), Penzalla – torso, arms, legs, in a word, got the most (hand with a gun pointed towards the garage door).
"So. – I stretched out, turning to Gento – Who's been slaughtering the gatekeepers?" "Penzalla…" – he replied.
"Jos, you saw Penzalla shooting at the guards at the gate."
"I didn't see anything, I hid here in the car… You know… I'm just a chauffeur…" "Nothing, nothing…" I reassured Garibaldi and continued with Gento, "And why should I believe you? Maybe you couldn't stand it yourself and then blamed it on Penzalla." "See for yourself the position he's in… The hand with the gun is pointing toward the gate…"
"Who knows, maybe you were the one who put him in that position while I was walking around inspecting dead bodies."
"Yeah, no, he laid down like that right away…" "We'll figure it out…"
