Gunpowder, money and a glass of red. Erick Poladov

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.

      2. BIRTH IN THE WORLD

      The owner of the bar, Murillo, helped with the search for a doctor who has nothing against treatment without insurance and is able to maintain absolute secrecy. He properly treated and stitched up the wounds. For a month, he came every day to give an injection. These were antibiotics. For the first week, Jorge had to regularly swallow painkillers.

      Massimo said goodbye to Aunt Barbara. In addition to him, Pablo, Murillo and lawyer Kurt Miller arrived at the cemetery. Jorge’s father, Sergio Gomez, arrived a little late. He expressed his deepest condolences and informed Massimo that he could turn to his family for help at any time.

      Without any questions or discussions, Pablo voluntarily spent most of his savings on paying for the services of a funeral agency even before Massimo began to bother about the funeral. Among other things, he ordered a tombstone with a beautiful epitaph.

      The loss turned out to be much greater than others might have thought. Massimo did not leave the apartment for more than three weeks, and when he left it, the reason was the desire to visit his aunt’s grave. Then another couple of weeks in blank walls and absolute silence. In Massimo’s mind, the family consisted of two people. He didn’t remember his parents well, but Aunt Barbara replaced them and became that same family for him. Now she is gone, and with her the whole family is gone. Massimo had barely turned eighteen when the very next day he was left alone. Discouraging feelings did not let go of him for a long time. He didn’t think for a second about the man who robbed Sergio Gomez, who also wounded Jorge. That incident was the first murder for Massimo. His hands were now covered in blood, but this did not bother his conscience at all. The mind was in the grip of completely different thoughts.

      Three months have passed since Aunt Barbara passed away. Massimo rarely left the apartment, and even less often – from the house. If he left the house, then his walk was limited to a minute’s walk to the nearest supermarket, where each of his purchases was, to put it mildly, modest. Massimo’s appetite completely disappeared. Most of what he ate was brought by Pablo when he came to visit. In view of this, even going to the store was a rarity for Massimo.

      Now СКАЧАТЬ