Clan Dominance - the Sleepless Ones 2

by Dem Mikhailov

  I took a few short steps and dropped the girl onto my bed. Then I landed heavily on the floor, gasping for air. That was sure some workout.

  Not bad for someone who’d just intended to take out the garbage.

  Kyre groaned barely audibly, and I hastened to rise and look at her face. Her skin was pale — too pale, in fact — but the color of her lips was normal, they weren’t anywhere near blue. My father always told me that blue lips were the worst symptom. Her eyes were shut, but I could see her eyeballs move behind the lids.

  Did Gosha say she’d been drugged? Was I stuck with an addict? I gingerly felt her head with a trembling hand for bumps and cuts. Everything seemed fine, although I was no doctor, and acted like a total dilettante. Still, her head seemed okay. There was some blood on the forehead, but it came from my hand. Gosha’s.

  I’d forgotten all about him!

  He must have still been sitting there in his smashed-up car, bleeding...

  I groaned dejectedly as I rose and hurried for the door again, peeking into the bathroom en route and grabbing a few towels from the hanger. I’d toyed with the thought of taking a few aspirins along, but I swore at myself the instant I realized how stupid that was. I grabbed the keys and slammed the apartment door shut behind me. Getting down the staircase was much harder now — my feet were shaking and my knees were wobbly.

  I took a shortcut across the thick decorative vegetation grown by the first-floor neighbor, treading on some flowers on my way. Another thing to answer for tomorrow.

  I got through and stopped instantly, my feet digging up the soil. I could see blue lights flashing through the least. It wasn’t the ambulance — the cops had gotten here first.

  I leaned forward and managed to see a police officer inspecting the inside of the car, saying something to Gosha, while two others were contemplating the asphalt, shining their flashlights on the road, and yet another one was reporting something on the car radio. About a dozen spectators had gathered nearby, dressed in whatever they could find and were looking toward the smashed-up car with fascination. Damned vultures. On the other hand, one of the men was holding a portable fire extinguisher, which, fortunately, wasn’t needed, so I guessed some of them must have been all right.

  I could hear the sirens wail from a long way off. The ambulance at last. I took a few steps back, getting out of my hiding place, the towels I had no use for still clutched in my hands. I stood there thinking for a second, and then set off again, taking a wide detour around the place of the accident and coming to the glass entrance of Gosha’s condominium. I didn’t have to knock or ring the bell — the huge frame of a guard stood right behind the door. As soon as he saw me, he flexed and reached for the strange baton hanging on his belt.

  “What do you want?!” the man yelled through the glass, taking a good look at me and clearly finding me wanting.

  I didn’t blame him — after all, I was wearing an old tracksuit and muddy slippers, and had a bunch of washing in my hands. There must have been blood on my hands and my face, too, so I probably looked suspicious as hell.

  “There was an accident!” I interjected. “A little to the side. About a hundred yards away.”

  “So?” The guy said in a somewhat less agitated voice, looking sideways at his colleague, who had joined him to investigate the commotion. “The police have just got here, as well as the ambulance. How can I help?”

  The ambulance passed behind my back just then, turning a corner, its wheels screeching. The siren went silent after a second, and I could hear doors slamming.

  “There’s not much you can do, I guess,” I shook my head. “However, one of the people involved in the accident lives in this building. He’s on his own now, since his wife is away. Could you notify his next of kin? I don’t have any of their contacts.”

  “Name?” The other guard said in a low rumble, taking a step forward.

  “Mine?”

  “Not yours! The accident victim’s!”

  “I don’t know his surname,” I admitted, hurrying to recollect everything I’d known about Gosha. “He’s a friend of mine, name of Gosha. He definitely lives in this building. Fourteenth floor, left of the elevator, dark brown door of polished wood. I can’t remember the apartment number... He works in a bank, and he drives a silver sports car... Or, rather, used to — it’s all smashed up.”

  “Gosha? Georgy, you mean? Georgy Panteleyev? Serge, will you check whether he’s back?”

  “It must be him,” I nodded, adding. “He’s a big guy. Over two hundred pounds. No fat, all muscle.”

  “That’s definitely him,” the older guard said gruffly. Damn! Serge, what’s the situation?”

  “He left at half past ten in the evening, and he hasn’t returned yet,” the younger guy shouted, looking up from his computer screen. “Definitely him, by the looks of it.”

  “Stay here,” the older guy ordered. “I’ll go and take a look.”

  I took a few steps back, letting the guard through, and pointed in the direction of the accident spot.

  “Over there. Thanks, guys. Don’t forget to contact his next of kin.”

  “We’ll take it from here,” the guard rumbled as he took a look around, satisfied to see I was alone and there was no gang of thugs around the corner. Or was I imagining things? The guard seemed like an okay guy.

  “Anyway, it’s over there,” I repeated, and then trotted off, holding the towels close to my chest.

  “Hey! Where are you off to?”

  “Home,” I replied, without turning back. “I still have some washing to take care of!”

  That was that. Enough good deeds for a single day. I must have been taken for a crazy do-goodnik, but I didn’t care much.

  I no longer paid any attention to anything that was happening on the road. I just entered my block as fast as my feet would carry me, and somehow managed to get to my apartment door, supported by the railings. I found the key in my pocket with shaky hands, heard the lock squeak shortly, and tumbled into the flat, shutting the door behind me soundlessly. I dropped the towels right onto the floor, kicked off my muddy slippers, took a few uncertain steps down the entry hall and peeked into my room. My jaw dropped. Neither the quilt, nor the girl were present. The bed stood empty.

  “I wonder what the punchline is,” I said, and that must have been the silliest phrase of the day. Then I shuddered as I felt someone move behind me. I turned around quickly, almost catching the doorway with my face, and stared at the sight that had presented itself standing right there next to the kitchen door.

  It was Kyre. Her dark hair looked matted, she was still wrapped in her quilt, her eyes were on me, and she had a knife in a shaky hand. The knife was my own — the one I used around the kitchen, the dull blade still covered with specks of bread crust.

  “Kyre, it’s me,” I said softly, slowly showing her my empty palms. “Ros. Remember me?”

  “Ros?” The girl whimpered, pointing the knife at me. “Prove it!”

  “How?” I grunted angrily, taking a step back. “On the other hand... The Crèche, running from the Graver... Look! Isn’t it enough already? It really is me. The door is right there, if you don’t believe me. The key is in the lock. You’re free to open it and go wherever the hell you like. I’m sick of the lot of you already! First this moron Gosha demands that I take you to my flat, then I run around like a rabbit on amphetamines taking care of his business, and now that I’m home, I’m being threatened by a drug-addled maniac armed with a knife, no less! Get out! Just give me my knife back, it’s the only one I’ve got.”

  The girl dropped the knife — it clinked dully as it hit the floor — and started to bawl, hiding her face in her hands.

  “Hey, Kyre, what gives...” I was completely out of my depth. “Sure, you’re free to stay, just don’t cry.”

  The wailing remained just as loud. I sighed, took a step forward, and held the girl close, gingerly hugging her shaking shoulders.

  “There, there. Calm down. It’s ov
er. It most definitely is. Whoever’s heard of a crying paladin? So rise, Kyrea the Protectress, high and mighty, wielder of the Checkered Robe of Power and the Kitchen Knife of terror...”

  My monologue appeared to have helped, silly as it was. The sobbing abated, and the girl started to shake less. Finally, the words came out in a barely audible murmur:

  “It really is you. Ros.”

  “How did you tell?” I inquired, still in my silly mode. “By the shabbiness of my attire? By the way, feel free to gloat.”

  “W-why?”

  “What do you mean, why?” I looked surprised, freeing one of my hands and stroking the girl’s hair. “You’re the only person I’ve carried in both worlds. Incidentally, you weigh a lot less in Waldyra.”

  “That’s not a reason to gloat, and I’m nowhere near heavy!” Kyre muttered. I still had to learn her real name. “You know I’m Kyrea the Protectress. The ones who’d injected me with this crap didn’t. They wanted to...”

  “I don’t even want to know,” I hastened to interject. “Hey, you’re probably unaware of this. Gosha was driving you here in his car — most likely, over to his place. There’s been an accident. Be quiet, will you?” I had to get cross for a moment, holding the girl as she jerked. “He’s alive. Most likely, on his way to the hospital right now. Before the ambulance and the cops arrived, he asked me to take you to my place. That’s just what I did. Thankfully, I live here nearby. I’ll tell you the rest later. Just tell me whether you feel all right. Does anything hurt? Any ringing in your head? Any sharp pain?”

  “Everything seems to be all right,” Kyre whispered. “There’s a slight vertigo and some nausea.”

  “I see,” I breathed out in unfeigned relief. “But, at any rate, you shouldn’t be standing. Sit down — or, better still, lie down. You might still be in shock and unable to feel. Basically, you’d need to go to a hospital, too. For a routine checkup, at the very least.”

  “Not right now,” the girl interjected.

  “Right,” I grumbled.

  So Gosha wasn’t the only loco around. Kyre didn’t look after herself much, either...

  “Will Gosha definitely be okay?”

  “I think so. Hey, how about a cup of tea? I even have some jam. Strawberry.”

  “Are you completely out of your mind?”

  “A bit,” I had to confess. “If I had any wits about me, I’d keep out of that whole business, and you wouldn’t be standing here. So how about some tea?”

  The girl never managed to answer. My flimsy door shook from a heavy knock, and there was a loud voice that definitely belonged to someone considering himself a figure of authority.

  “Open up! It’s the police!”

  An old lady’s voice chimed in.

  “You should be careful around the likes of him! Those drug fiends are dangerous! He’ll just as soon stab you as look at you!”

  “We’ll deal with it. Please return to your apartment.”

  “Make sure you don’t believe anything he says! I’ve seen the girl myself! She was wrapped in a quilt or a checkered blanket. Dark hair, I think. Her arm was hanging down! She was lifeless!”

  “We’ll deal with it!” the policeman rumbled, reiterating. “Ma’am! Please return to your apartment.”

  Crap. Ms. Bobrikov, you old lizard. May all the neighborhood cats pee under your door forevermore.

  “Who is it?” the girl whispered, leaning away from me.

  “Can’t you hear?” I replied in just as low a tone. “The cops! My neighbors spotted me when I was taking you here. And you looked rather poorly, to say the least! They must have decided I was a sexual predator — or, perhaps, that I freelanced as a taxidermist, Norman Bates style. Damn!”

  “Open up!” The door shook twice as hard. This time it must have been a fist — or a boot.

  “Stay here!” I hissed, rushing to the bathroom as I shouted, “Coming! You don’t have to bang the door like that! Some of us have to sleep sometimes!”

  “Open up at once!”

  “I said I was coming! Am I allowed to put my trousers on?” I yelled as I opened the faucet and started to wash the caked blood off my hands. I looked at the mirror and cursed, washing my face — it had been bloody, too. Now I knew just what it felt like when cops had a killer bang to rights. All the neighbors must have been up by that point.

  I jumped out of the bathroom, picked up the towel, and hastily wiped myself dry, managing to open the door before the policeman started banging and yelling again.

  “Good evening!” I said, looking innocently at a bemustached policeman standing to the side of the door. He was completely unfamiliar to me — definitely not the local constable. He wasn’t alone — there were two more servants of law and order on my landing. Ms. Bobrikov’s door was cracked open, too — a pointy nose and a glint of a curious eye were visible well enough through the crack.

  The policeman didn’t deign to introduce himself. He stared at me sternly and got right to business:

  “We’ve been informed about certain activities on the premises...”

  “Honey, is anything wrong?” My door opened wider, and Kyre appeared next to me, wrapped in a quilt up to her neck. Her hair was tousled, and her eyes half-closed. A naked female arm wrapped itself around my neck, and I felt a female body pressing itself against me. Oh, my ears and whiskers... The cops’ eyes bulged, and Ms. Bobrikov nearly fell through the door of her apartment.

  “I’ve no idea,” I managed to pull myself out of the stupor, hugging the girl around her waist. “It’s the police. They say they’ve had reports of suspicious activity. But we didn’t play any loud music, or make any loud noises.”

  “I want to go back to bed,” the girl puffed out her lips, making one of the policemen cough.

  “Ri-i-i-i-i-ght,” the guy with the mustache said, turning around to face the opposite apartment.

  I sighed with relief at the sight of his uniformed back. The fact that he wasn’t afraid to turn his back on us meant that our ruse had been partially successful at least.

  “What do you mean, ‘right’? Nothing’s right here!” The old lady started to jabber. “I’m telling you, I’ve seen him bring a body into the apartment! Maybe it wasn’t her! Maybe it’s his partner in crime...”

  “Partner in what crime?” I raised my voice. The role of an irate actor came easy to a method man like yours truly. After all, I was bothered at an inopportune moment. “So it was you who called the police, Ms. Bobrikov? I say! I’d never have expected something like this of you.”

  “Quiet!” the policeman said, and I obligingly shut up. “We’ve been told that a body had been brought into this apartment less than an hour ago...”

  “That much is true. This very body,” I interrupted him, painting a blissful smile on my face and nodding toward the girl right next to me. “I did bring her in. I admit to that. Is it against the law to carry girls in your arms these days? Actually... Why don’t you come in and inspect my apartment? There’s just one bedroom, so it won’t take much time. I have nothing to hide. With all due respect, I’d had other plans for tonight, and they didn’t involve standing outside in the cold. By all means, come in.”

  I stepped aside, supporting the girl who could barely stand, to let in the cops, giving the neighbor an infuriated glare of wounded innocence.

  “You give us consent to inspect your apartment?” the cop with the mustache asked.

  “Affirmative,” I smiled broadly, feeling Kyre grow heavier by the moment. I hoped she wouldn’t zonk out there and then.

  “Thank you for your cooperation,” the policeman in charge said curtly, nodding to the others.

  The policemen’s boots made a loud noise as they entered the flat. I followed. Ms. Bobrikov made an attempt to follow right behind me, but I gave her a look that made her freeze right there on the landing. The mustached cop noticed, and grunted sympathetically.

  My situation was easy enough to understand for any normal person. A guy wanted to get roma
ntic, brought a girl all the way up the stairs in his arms, and was about to lay her down on a bed of roses when he got interrupted rudely as a result of a half-crazed old woman’s interference.

  The flat was tiny, so it didn’t take long to check. It took the cops around five minutes, but they checked everything thoroughly. The first places that drew their interest were the bathroom and the storage cabinet built into one of the walls, for some reason.

  There was just one room, so there was nothing to see there — a bed, a cocoon for gaming, a small closet, and a desk with a computer on it. There’d be nowhere to hide a body, although the youngest cop still checked inside the cocoon and underneath the bed.

  Damn... I’d check the cocoon, too, and stay there for a few hours. Time was running short — I still had a wake to catch. The cops checked the balcony last, checked underneath with their flashlights, and that was that. They exited the flat and shook their heads at once, demonstrating that nothing incriminating had been found.