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

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СКАЧАТЬ balls, got it? And you’ve got two hours before you’re supposed to call him. You’d go!

      POLICEMAN: Give me your piece, first. Huh? Fine, you got no code.

      BLACK GUY: You should go, now that I’ve asked you to go!

      POLICEMAN: What did you tell me over the phone? You told me: your guys were going to such and such apartment. I should take a package over. You get the package—I get a thousand bucks burning a hole in my pocket. Isn’t that what you told me?

      BLACK GUY: It is.

      POLICEMAN: So I came here. Nothing. You ask me to bring you here. I brought you.

      BLACK GUY: After three damn days!

      POLICEMAN: As soon as I could. The boy and his grandma were here yesterday. The day before, crime scene worked here all night. And now what are you asking? For me to go help you rough up a grandma?

      BLACK GUY: We’ll just ask questions.

      POLICEMAN: You won’t be questioning anyone, understand? I ain’t one of your dealers, got it? That’s narc squad business. As for your problem – I’ve got an idea. I’ll put you in jail.

      (Pause.)

      BLACK GUY: Fucking great.

      POLICEMAN: Listen. If you’re in jail, Jamal can’t touch you. I get you a cell phone, you call your guys, friends, brothers, I don’t give a fuck. They go to grandma, rough her up, rape her, I don’t care. They bring you the dust, you split, go to Jamal, everyone is happy.

      BLACK GUY: It must be here somewhere. Shit –

      (BLACK GUY goes to the kitchen: the clattering of cans and boxes, slamming drawers, oven opening, microwave bell ringing.)

      POLICEMAN (Smiling): Make a cup of tea why don’t ya!

      BLACK GUY: You big-black-Jesus-H-Christ-on-a-cross-mother-fucker! (Curses in Arabic.) Neek Hallak! (And Swahili). Shar-mutha!

      (BLACK GUY throws a plate at the wall. Two gunshots from the kitchen. A crash, cabinet doors slamming, a pan lid rolls through the door.

      Silence.

      Something pouring. Powder pouring.

      GIRL cries helplessly. Whimpers. Sighs.)

      GIRL: They’ll kill us.

      (BOY tries to stop GIRL’s mouth with his hands. A quiet noise.

      BLACK GUY glides from the kitchen, a lion, gun in hand pointing at the storage area.

      POLICEMAN roars with laughter.)

      BLACK GUY (Whispers): Shut up!

      POLICEMAN: Fucking Rambo-in-Russia! Oh, shit, I’ll – (Laughs.)

      (BLACK GUY hoists himself up to the storage area and cracks the door. Two handfuls of heroin hit him in the face. BLACK GUY lets go, crashes from the chair and hits the floor, sniffing from the powder. BLACK GUY shoots twice at the storage area from the floor and misses.

      POLICEMAN jumps up and grips his holster.)

      POLICEMAN: Have you gone apeshit, monkeyboy?

      (BLACK GUY shoots POLICEMAN twice.

      BLACK GUY takes the gun from the dying POLICEMAN’s holster and finishes him off.

      BLACK GUY carefully aims and shoots the attic story three more times.

      BOY and GIRL pray.

      The bullets don’t hit them.)

      6

      BLACK GUY: Hey, are you alive up there?

      GIRL (Signs): “Will he kill us?”

      (BOY puts his right hand on the elbow of his left arm and flips her off without lifting his finger)

      BOY (Whispers): I don’t know what to do.

      GIRL (Whispers): Me either.

      (BLACK GUY pulls the clip out of his gun and examines it.)

      BLACK GUY: You are small. Right? You must be small... If you were big I would have killed you... or wounded you – (Aims the gun.) And you are whispering, which means there’s two of you.

      (BLACK GUY aims and shoots at the area untouched by the earlier shots.

      BOY and GIRL crawl to the sides of the area.

      BLACK GUY misses.)

      BLACK GUY: Just!

      (He shoots.)

      Throw down!

      (He shoots.)

      The powder!

      (He shoots.)

      And I leave. If you’re smart, you won’t mention the cop. You didn’t see shit.

      (BLACK GUY tries to open the storage area doors, but they are now locked. He stands under the storage area, examining the bullet holes. He pokes his finger in the holes.

      BOY pushes a straw through a hole and spits in BLACK GUY’s eye.

      BLACK GUY screams and shoots into the hiding place twice, missing twice.

      The gun clicks.

      BLACK GUY takes the butt of his gun and bangs on the storage area. He chips away at the bullet holes and they grow, breaking.

      BLACK GUY stops and goes to the kitchen. Fumbling, a clanking of drawers.)

      BOY: Quick, let’s jump!

      (BOY and GIRL jump down and hide.

      BLACK GUY returns with a knife and a cleaver. Holding the knife in his teeth, he chops at the bottom of the storage area with the cleaver, shattering boards. When the hole is wide enough, he hoists himself up into it, knife clenched in his teeth. He grabs the bag of heroin. He takes the knife from his mouth.)

      BLACK GUY: I see you got your asses out of here. Fuckin’ kids are smart –

      (BLACK GUY moves to crawl out. He is stuck. He turns, trying to twist his body out of the hole. The sharp wood pierces his body.

      BLACK GUY hisses, his face twisting. He moves in the other direction, but it gets worse. BLACK GUY grits his teeth and strains to pull himself through the jagged hole. Nothing. The wood digs in deeper. He screams and stops moving, hanging silently.

      BOY and GIRL emerge and stand by the dangling legs.)

      7

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