Clan Dominance - the Sleepless Ones 2

by Dem Mikhailov

“Oh, you haven’t been drinking, I can see that. But there’s something wrong with you — my, look at your face, it’s all gray. Did you snort something, by any chance? Or, perhaps, you shot up some of that nasty smack? Should I call you an ambulance, dear?”

  “You wish!” I snapped. “Ms. Bobrikov, really, have you got nothing more pressing to attend to other than spying on your neighbors and sticking your nose into other people’s business? Isn’t it time for your next series? Actually, it’s well past your bedtime!”

  That old hag! Always on the lookout for free entertainment. Bread and circuses with a side order of blood. She’d be delighted to call someone an ambulance — and a black Maria to boot. Then she’d wail about the youth of today being nothing but drug addicts and drunkards, and that Stalin would definitely have known how to set us straight.

  “How dare you talk to your elders like that?!” I seemed to have made the old woman’s day — she was loud enough for all the other neighbors to hear.

  Reluctant to engage in further hostile activity under such unfavorable conditions I sped up and ambled downstairs at the pace of a pregnant tortoise, my head already pulled into my shoulders. I really wanted none of that! I was simply intending to take out the garbage and get some blood flowing through my muscles.

  “They just keep coming! And people like me have lived their whole life here!” The old lady was on fire. “And I had been working hard for a living in my day!”

  What did that have to do with anything?

  “I won’t take any lip from unemployed idlers!”

  The old lady certainly was up to date, I thought as I reached the next floor.

  “A drug-addled parasite!” The voice echoed from the concrete walls for all the neighbors to hear. They’d show their faces soon enough — it was evening, after all, and most of them would be back from work by now.

  “Grandma, really!” I gave in at some point, mid-diatribe.

  “Don’t you ever call me grandma! May the good Lord never curse me with a grandson like you! That would be the death of me!”

  “You have no grandchildren, anyway!” I roared as I took a few more steps. “Or children, for that matter!”

  I regretted that instantly. The last thing I’d wanted was to trigger a lonely old lady that way. Her only son was killed in some war, leaving no offspring.

  On the other hand, I’d been at the end of my tether. I’d never intended to get in an altercation with her. Damn! Why did it always have to be that way?

  “You little... I’d rather have no children than someone like you!”

  “Well, you don’t have any, do you?” I muttered under my breath. However, the old woman’s advanced years did not make her hearing any less keen.

  “How dare you! My son died a hero! He gave his life for his Motherland! They decorated him posthumously! And you... You...” Suddenly, she sobbed, and I felt like the very scum of the earth. I really should have kept my big mouth shut.

  A door creaked open as someone else decided to “break on through to the other side.” It’s always the doors, one way or another...

  “Ms. Bobrikov, did anything happen?” A low voice from upstairs sounded concerned; I recognized it as belonging to Nikolai, a forty-year-old pillar of society — he was an excellent plumber, well-loved and respected by the whole neighborhood and a paragon of virtue. He didn’t drink, stayed loyal to his wife, was always ready to help, and could fix virtually everything. The only thing he’d lacked was a pedestal.

  “Oh, Nicky, my dear boy,” the old lady started weeping. “You won’t believe what’s happening... I am being humiliated one step from my own apartment! My beloved dead son is being mocked... They say I didn’t look after him enough. Had my dear Alexei been here, he’d never have let anyone talk to his old mother like that. Oh, my poor heart is breaking...”

  Crap. We were in for a real show. The real thing, with other people’s words put in my mouth.

  “Who would dare to say something like that?” There was some ire in Nikolai’s booming voice now. Judging by the sound, he’d already been on the landing.

  “My neighbor! The drug addict!” The old lady didn’t waste this opportunity to spill whatever beans she’d had, real as well as imaginary, while I groaned in anguish. “That Rostislav! My goodness! Such a good and decent Russian name... wasted on a scoundrel like him! There he was getting out of his apartment, all pale and blue, and, of course, I just had to ask him whether he may have needed any help — you know, he might have been ill, or had heart trouble... And what he said to me... Oh, what he said to me was... He’s a drug addict, I’m telling you! The likes of him are best off behind bars! Nikolai, love, leave him well alone, you know how those meth fiends are. He’ll stick a knife in your back just as well as look at you... I’ll call the constable this instant, let him take care of it! My son was nothing of the sort! He had a real moral compass! He treated his elders with respect!”

  That old battle-ax!

  I hissed curses as I ambled into the streets and headed toward the garbage container, twitching nervously. That’s how people no one would ever suspect committed murders right in their neighborhood. And speak of brain-addled neighbors...

  I hurled the bag of garbage toward the outside container, and missed — little wonder there. I could barely control my hands, and my fingers and elbows felt like there were ants living there. On the other hand, my legs and the rest of my body were beginning to feel more or less normal.

  I didn’t feel much like going back to my flat. I moved away from the garbage containers and started to do push-ups vigorously — thankfully, my tracksuit fit the activity. I kept at it until my muscles felt alive again and started to hurt in a way that was completely different from when they hurt as a result of inaction.

  I kept track of what had been going on behind the door. The old lady was far from simmering down — on the contrary, her voice kept getting louder, occasionally verging on ultrasound frequencies. Little wonder — Ms. Bobrikov was holding a strategic position, and currently had to boost her battle morale before an encounter with a hostile neighbor, namely, yours truly. She must have been applying all sorts of battle buffs, and, possibly, picking up some epic weapon such as a “Dirty Mop.” Having noticed that I wasn’t going for a walk, but rather intended to throw away some garbage, she would stay out for as long as it would take, the hag... She could also summon a loyal familiar commonly known as Weary Constable. Wasn’t she a sweet and friendly old lady just a few years ago? I remember her treating me to some jam-filled pastries once... Could that be her advanced age?

  I had no time to get to the end of this thought. I was doing twists and taking deep breaths when I heard the roar of a powerful engine from the direction of the road that separated the elite gated community across from our row of decrepit 70s five-story blocks, followed by brakes screeching sharply and the clangor of breaking metal and smashed glass. The silence over our sleepy neighborhood was broken by the sound of a car horn that wouldn’t stop.

  “Holy crap!” I exhaled, jumping back instinctively and falling on my behind. An accident!

  I came to my senses, then got to my feet and started toward the site of the accident, obscured from my sight by the greenery.

  That was odd. Our street was straight as an arrow — who could have had an accident here? I sincerely hoped there’d be no casualties. I didn’t need to bother about the ambulance — a whole bunch of windows had lit up, and there were dark silhouettes in them now. One could rest assured that someone would call an ambulance by now, and the cops as well.

  That Ms. Bobrikov was a bad jinx. Could she even be an actual witch? I should have asked her about the location of the other parts of the legendary set of armor. Perhaps she’d know...

  My concern for stupid drivers instantly became replaced by paranoia and a sense of menace the instant I heard the motor that had seemed dead rev into action again, accompanied by the sound of metal being torn apart. I saw red lights flash through the green of the trees whe
n the car that had moved back braked all of a sudden. It looked like an SUV. Then the driver hit the accelerator, sending his enormous vehicle forward. I could hear broken glass and folding metal again. The car horn went dead. What on earth was that guy up to?

  “Hey!” I yelled, frozen in place. “Are you drunk, or what? What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  The driver must have indeed been drunk or high, trying to escape and failing to realize he was driving his car into the other one yet again, which ranked as attempted murder and not mere DUI.

  There were no signs of life coming from the other car. What was I to do?

  Should I place my mortal and rather weary body in the way of the berserk driver? Not an option. I’d be like an ant under his wheels. He wouldn’t even notice me.

  I slumped to my knees, rummaging in the roadside dust for a rock I could use, but the only thing I found was a gnarled piece of wood that weighed next to nothing. I wouldn’t be able to use it to divert the drunk’s attention or smash his glass. Just a curved piece of wood. The twilight made it look like... My, what have we?

  I grabbed the piece of wood with both hands, ambling onto the road, but prudently staying to the side of the enormous black vehicle that was already in reverse again. I pointed my find at the dark figure of the driver behind the glass and started to yell whatever silliness came to my mind there and then:

  “Stop where you are, you bitch! I shoot first and ask questions later! You are talking to Sergeant Pronin! Get out of the car, place your hands behind your head, on your knees, and your eyes at my boots! Hop to it, or I’ll shoot to kill!”

  The reaction was instant.

  The SUV revved its engine again, continued in reverse, then made a U-turn and drove off at breakneck speed, leaving a trail of smoke from burning rubber in the air. I looked at the escaping felon and yelled at him angrily,

  “You bastard!”

  The driver was definitely drunk. But how come he drove with such confidence? He managed to turn very smoothly, even though he’d had the accelerator floored. Did the adrenaline sober him up?

  I tossed away the piece of wood and rushed toward the car that had tilted to the side. Its front left side was crushed like a beer can. The silver-colored car looked like a sleek and expensive toy, even in its current pitiful condition.

  I sniffed the air instinctively. There was a strong smell of gasoline. The lights were out, and the engine wasn’t running. And not a soul in sight anywhere! No one wanted to get involved, damn them all to hell.

  As I reached the driver’s door, I realized one would need a metal saw to open it, and that it would take some time even in that case. The door glass was either down or broken — I didn’t pay much attention to that, concentrating on the driver. It was a burly man in a shirt that had once been white, his bloodied head dangling helplessly on his chest.

  “Hey, mate, can you hear me? Are you alive?” I couldn’t think of anything less silly to say as I leaned over. Once I saw the driver’s face, I jerked my head so hard I hit it on the roof of the car.

  The driver was Gosha! Sitting right there, large as life! Judging by the bloody bubbles forming at his nose, he was still breathing. I touched his neck to make sure, but couldn’t feel anything and only got my fingers bloody.

  “Gosha!”

  Damn... What was I supposed to do now? As far as I could remember, you weren’t supposed to move traffic accident victims. But what if the car caught fire?

  I straightened my back, confused, rubbing my face with the palms of my hands. Then I swung about and shouted like mad into the twilight,

  “You bastards! Why are you hiding?! Call the ambulance at once! And the cops!”

  “Ros... You...” I heard a mumbling from the car and turned back to the window.

  “Gosha, are you alive at all? Where does it hurt? Just make sure you don’t move, man! Don’t move! You’re stuck! Remain where you are and wait for the ambulance! Got it? You’ve had... You’ve had an accident. That bastard in the SUV has already made tracks.”

  “Ros...”

  “I read you loud and clear, Gosha! Just hold on, bro! All right?”

  “Ros... Shut up...”

  “Say what?”

  “Take Kyre away... Right now,” Gosha said in a hoarse voice, barely managing to lift his chin from his chest and looking at me with terrifying bloodshot eyes.

  “Who?! Gosha, you’re alone in the car! Besides, we’re not in Waldyra, we’re in real world. Don’t worry, just stay put, will you?”

  “I know we are... She’s on the back seat... Moron... Take her away at once if she’s OK...”

  “You’re a moron yourself!” I roared angrily, feeling an adrenaline rush I could barely control. Hold on a second... “Where? Did you say the back seat?”

  I pulled myself back, grabbed the other door’s handle, and swung the door open. The back seat was empty, but there was someone wrapped up in a checkered quilt on the floor of the car, lying motionless.

  I threw caution to the wind as I got in, grabbed the lifeless body, then took a few steps back and slumped to the ground. The body landed on me, knocking the air out of my chest. Damn... I sure was no superhero. The quilt opened and I saw it contained a dark-haired girl, her face right against my neck. I felt her breath on my skin and sighed with relief. I’d been thinking the body might have been dead. Well, hello there, Kyre...

  I freed myself from underneath the girl’s motionless body, got to my feet, and shouted, rubbing the elbow I’d hurt falling,

  “Gosha, it’s all fine! She’s alive! I’ll drag her to the side right now, don’t worry! There seems to be nothing wrong with her. No blood. But she’s unconscious. I’ll drag her away in a second...”

  “No!” My burly friend’s voice sounded more confident — he was definitely coming to his senses. Speak of the benefits of bodybuilding! I’d have been dead if it was me driving, and wouldn’t you take a look at this gorilla, who could already think and talk, by the look of it. “You can’t just pull her sideways.”

  “What do you mean, I can’t?” I was completely baffled, since none of what he’d been saying made any sense. “What am I supposed to do with her? Stuff her back in the car?”

  “Take her with you,” Gosha said clearly and distinctly, still sitting in the driver’s seat motionlessly. “Take her to your place.”

  “Gosha, are you serious? Or delirious? You’ve just had an accident. You need to get to a hospital soon! She’s unconscious! She might die any moment!”

  “She’s all right... Just drugged... She’ll come to her senses soon... I’ll explain later. Just take her away from here, Ros. Do it right now.”

  Drugged?!

  “Gosha?”

  “Take her away!” Gosha yelled, spitting out clots of blood as he twisted his body. “Quick! Don’t argue!”

  “You assholes, the lot of you!” I shouted, grabbing the girl in a fireman’s hold without even feeling her weight. “That’s way over the top, you hear me? Once you’re back on your feet, I’ll break your legs again! Damn!”

  Once I was done, I shuffled off to my apartment, followed by Gosha’s voice.

  “Thanks, Ros...”

  “Go to hell!” I said, without turning my head.

  I could hear a gurgling laugh followed by a groan. Gosha’s initial shock would wear off shortly, and he’d be in a lot of pain very soon. I should know — I had an accident once, at a much earlier age. I could only hope my friend wouldn’t kick the bucket.

  As I got into the apartment block, I started up the pockmarked concrete steps, the only thoughts going through my head being, “What are you doing, you idiot? What if she dies on your hands, leaving you with a dead body to explain? In your own apartment! You’ll be done for!”

  I reached my floor’s landing with many a hoarse sigh and heavy groan, driven by fear and blind frenzy, and instantly ran into Ms. Bobrikov standing in the doorway of her apartment with Nikolai standing right next to her, munching on a pastry. S
o it’s pastries for some and curses for others. That old hag... The two of them must have wanted to have a word with me so hard they’d even missed the accident.

  “Now, Rostislav, look here. How could you...” Nikolai started talking first, but instantly checked himself, his eyes bulging as he saw the arm hanging out of the bundle.

  I opened my door with my shoulder, turned to my neighbors, made an ugly face, and yelled,

  “Shut up! Both of you! And get the hell away from here — you both have homes to go to. Am I clear enough?!”

  Ms. Bobrikov disappeared instantly, slamming the door behind her. Nikolai’s hurried footsteps followed shortly, then another door slammed. They must be trying to beat each other to calling the cops, I thought.

  “Well, Ros, you’re in deep shit now.” That was my conclusion as I entered my flat, closing the door behind me with my back.