Real and Phantom Pains: An Anthology of New Russian Drama. John Freedman

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      POLICEMAN: So, Mr. Q. Public, I should take you downtown?

      (POLICEMAN grins. BLACK GUY grins and lifts the sofa.)

      BLACK GUY: Go ahead. Arrest me, Dick Tracy. Look. Anything under there?

      POLICEMAN (Looking): No. What’s the cleaning rag doing there?

      BLACK GUY: Where?

      POLICEMAN: Here.

      (BLACK GUY drops the sofa.)

      BLACK GUY: Was it there before?

      POLICEMAN: No.

      BLACK GUY: Could’ve been the family cleaning up. In Africa they would sell all the personal...effects. Magicians buy the trinkets of the dead men –

      POLICEMAN: That’s some kind of inheritance. (Laughs.)

      (BLACK GUY twirls the cleaning cloth.)

      BLACK GUY: This particular inheritance would bring good money back home.

      POLICEMAN: Why’s that?

      BLACK GUY: Blood. See the blood? Someone wiped up blood with this.

      POLICEMAN: Under the rug?

      (POLICEMAN picks up a corner and peers under the rug from one side. BLACK GUY does the same from the other side. There’s nothing under the rug, but bloodstains seeped into the back of the rug near the nightstand. POLICEMAN looks at the nightstand and opens it—blood covered books fall out.)

      BLACK GUY: Bingo!

      POLICEMAN: Fuck-a-duck! There’s no fucking thing in here either, fuck –

      BLACK GUY: Looks like we gotta case of “find the rat.”

      POLICEMAN: Whaddyou mean rat?

      BLACK GUY: It’s a child’s game. Anyone can see that.

      POLICEMAN: Look, think what you want, but for the past two days, none of our boys were here.

      BLACK GUY: Not even you?

      POLICEMAN: Why the hell would I come here? We said we’re comin’ today –

      BLACK GUY: But the family. You said –

      POLICEMAN: Yeah, I think so. Someone took away the bodies, right? They’re going in the ground today.

      BLACK GUY: Well, let’s go.

      POLICEMAN: Are you fucking nuts?

      BLACK GUY: What do you suggest? We hide here?

      POLICEMAN: You’re a real lump of clay, aren’t ya? Full of shit.

      BLACK GUY: Full of shit?

      POLICEMAN: So you think...what? The two of us – whoop! – jump in the car and go. With no warrants, with nothing. We say, “Hey there, grieving family, you go on over to that funeral, hang out, mourn, and then go to a restaurant, we’re going to tear your house apart.” Look, it ain’t gonna happen.

      BLACK GUY: Not even close.

      POLICEMAN: What then? Break down a door? Call the fuckin’ cops? We should call the loony bin about you instead.

      BLACK GUY: You’ll pressure them and they’ll talk.

      POLICEMAN: Me? You’re nuts.

      BLACK GUY: Who? Me? If I do it, it’s a crime!

      POLICEMAN: Moron!

      BLACK GUY: You have an idea?

      POLICEMAN: Get the hell out of here! If it’s here – it’s here, if it’s not – it’s not! End of story!

      BLACK GUY: For you! I have to tell Jamal about it! Then that’s the end of my motherfuckin’ story!

      POLICEMAN: That’s not my problem.

      BLACK GUY: Not your fucking problem? Let’s go get this family! Jamal gave me until this evening cause he thinks I took the shit!

      POLICEMAN: Then you’re already dead.

      BLACK GUY: Yeah! Tell me about this family.

      POLICEMAN: Just some old woman. One of their mothers.

      BLACK GUY: And you think she took it?

      POLICEMAN: Fuck knows ‘bout retirees these days... could’ve been her. With the chump-change they get, you’d sell not just dust, but your own fucking guts. Then again, who’d need the organs after fifteen years of chasin’ dragons.

      BLACK GUY: Let’s go to her place.

      POLICEMAN: And what if it’s not her?

      BLACK GUY: You give her a little heat and we’ll know.

      POLICEMAN: You a whack job? If I go over there, all I can do is sit in the car and wait.

      BLACK GUY: You won’t come in with me?

      POLICEMAN: Fuck no. Where you from again, friend?

      BLACK GUY: Somalia.

      POLICEMAN: How could I forget? That may fly in Somalia, where cops and drug dealers tap grandma for horsey, but this is the real world. You go and do what you need to do. I’ll wait in the car.

      BLACK GUY: Wasn’t there a boy?

      POLICEMAN: Yeah.

      BLACK GUY: What if he took it?

      POLICEMAN: The kid? He’s a fucking zombie after all... this. Why’d he take it? Where would he take it? He’s just a kid. He wouldn’t even know what he had.

      BLACK GUY: How old?

      POLICEMAN: Somethin’ like ten.

      BLACK GUY: Then he knows. Trust me.

      GIRL (Signs to boy): “Why aren’t you at the funeral?”

      BOY (Signs back): “I wanted to see you.”

      (GIRL kisses BOY on cheek.)

      POLICEMAN: Doesn’t matter, he’s with his grandma anyway, poor kid –

      BLACK GUY: That’s it. Let’s go. What’s their address?

      POLICEMAN: Seriously? You wanna go over there?

      BLACK GUY: Just fucking imagine, for a moment, that your goddamn drug Czar knows about the package. Imagine that your drug czar told you to bring him this package. BRING IT TO HIM PERSONALLY, UNDERSTAND?!? Personally, СКАЧАТЬ