by RJ
“Yes-yes, of course,” the inspector looked around himself.
“There a severe venereal disease is spreading around India’s elephants. Our LA laboratory has done a groundbreaking research on that issue. But last night after the ‘accident,’” all three of them looked up in the sky, “the infected animals went mad. We had to put them down. Now the research is moved to another country. Damn PETA. But the most fascinating thing is that here we have the only sample of the cure there is.”
“So, are you transporting a medication?”
“Yes, of course!”
“Why use the military plane? Couldn’t your company hire its own for the transportation?”
“This transfer was arranged by the UA’s side. Cheap bastards. The whole Kiev is riding Range Rovers SUVs, yet they always cut off on working men.”
By that time, officers’ looks were full of compassion and solidarity to the guy. They were ready to consume any lie he would offer them.
“What’s in the box?”
“That, my friends, is the most awesome part,” JB smirked artfully. “A clean sample of the virus itself. You wanna see?”
All that the guards needed to hear were two words: “venereal” and “virus”. And after such an offer the face of one of the guards paled.
“No, sir, that’s fine.”
“What’s in the bag?” another one asked.
“An objects of the research.”
“Have a good day, Mr. Bridgers,” the guard said.
He typed something on his tablet and they both stepped back to let JB pass.
Being indecently smug he went back to the Caddie, looked at those naive inspectors for the last time, buckled up and turned on the engine.
Only half of mile left, the plane had to be there already, ready to launch. JB didn’t know the situation there, he supposed that D-Kay’s killers might wait for him in an ambush. Firstly, he had to find out where Big Dog was and if he was alright.
Bridgers moved slowly to not attract any attention. He took a spare phone to make a call. Because of the stress and worry he had forgotten to call his comrade earlier, on the way to the airport.
All JB heard in the next minute were just beeps. He called again. Nothing. The gangster put a burner away and stopped the car. He took out the gun to lay it on the dashboard and got one extra clip out of the box to have it on him. He was ready. Time to keep moving.
The SUV arrived at the hangar, the gates were wide open and the pilot was in last preparations for a launch. Everything seemed quiet. Passing on, JB noticed the familiar Hummer that belonged to Dog’s gang. He changed the direction to where the friendly vehicle was. Big Dog went out soon as he saw the Escalade. Two bodyguards went out with him. He looked disturbed, and yet quite confident.
Before leaving his own car, JB checked the surroundings, it seemed safe enough. Perhaps, D-Kay didn’t even know the exact place of JB’s plane or, maybe, he decided to let him go. Lots of options were passing through gangster’s mind last-minute. It looked so simple, the plane was almost ready, Big Dog seemed fine. All JB had to do was to reach out and take what he wanted, just like that. No fighting, no blood. He could finally be in peace.
Three black men were stood near the hangar, eagerly waiting for JB. His SUV stopped close to them, he set the handbrake up and left the car running. Two gangsters met. They shook hands, both were glad to see each other.
“Nice seeing you, man,” Bridgers said.
“Yo, B! Thank God, you’re fine. We gotta talk.”
“Yeah, cool. Just give me a minute to load the car.”
“Okay. But hurry, it’s urgent. I’ll wait you in my truck.”
The big guy rushed to the Escalade to ride it into the plane, which was already waiting with a back hatch open. Other men leisurely went to their car.
The Caddie was put into its place. JB had a brief chat with the pilot while they were fixing the wheels to the mounts. They discussed the flight trajectory and possible complications on the way.
While JB was busy, Dog’s people and he were chilling near their vehicle. Suddenly, a dark-red car darted out from around the corner. It passed the Dog’s guys, they never had a chance to react when a couple of AKs showed up from the windows. The crew’s leader started to run for a cover, but the firing got him on the very first steps. There was no chance to avoid the bullets, the Hummer got sieved, the road was sowed in smoking shell cases. Big Dog laid with his face down, a red stain grew on his t-shirt. Both bodyguards dropped dead beside him.
At the first sound of shooting, JB pulled out his gun and ran towards his comrades. He didn’t care much if he was going to be the next target, his allies’ wellbeing was his main concern. But it was over, everything happened too fast, there was nothing he could do. The assaulting vehicle disappeared as quickly as it got there.
JB came to the spot of comrades’ fall. All three were bleeding out. He turned around to find that car. He wanted to shoot at it. But there was no foe in his sight anymore. His face showed anger and desperation, his whole being burst with rage for revenge. He kept aiming in the direction where the car went, hoping for shooters to return. He was lost, didn’t know what to do. Soon he lowered the gun.
After admitting his failing, JB hid the weapon and turned to his fallen friend. He stepped closer. One bodyguard dropped still holding his piece, another died in a sitting pose with his body leaning on the Hummer. JB looked at Dog, he was still breathing. The big guy picked up his comrade in his hands.
In his last cramps the black gangster spat out the blood. There was no chance of survival, his lungs flooded. Jerry dropped some tears looking at him. Dog opened his eyes and looked at Jerry. He was trying to say something, but only rattle came out of it.
“Un… uh-h… n-n…”
“Yeah, man. I’m here. What is it?”
“Run,” Dog pushed out with his last strength.
He turned up his hand as high as he could to point at the road. JB looked at the spot where his buddy was looking. There were two vehicles coming from that way, the first one with the shooters, and a new one behind it. JB supposed that they understood that they had hit the wrong target and came back to finish the business, with backup.
Staying like that a few more seconds, JB tried to think. Finally, he braced himself and put down his friend’s body. He closed Dog’s eyes.
“Rest in peace, my friend.”
The gangster took a gun in his hand just in case, straightened up and ran for the plane, which was already on the runway.
The enemy cars were almost there. JB looked behind, it gave him even more motivation to move faster. The pilot waved from the window for the gangster to hurry up, the plane went in motion. In a few seconds JB reached the plane, jumped on the closing hatch and crawled in.
The vehicles were catching up. A far noise of sirens along with red-blue lights joined the mix. Soon the police would be D-Kay’s mercenaries' trouble. The plane got off the ground. It was safe.
The gangster went into the cabin. He never said a word after, just took the co-pilot’s seat. His expression was pale and lifeless, it distracted the pilot.
“B, are you alright?” he asked.
At first, JB just kept sitting there, saying nothing, staring into nowhere. Soon after, his senses returned.
“Let’s get outta here, Frank,” still vapid, JB responded.
He buckled up and went on to check up the instruments as a co-pilot would do.
That land stayed behind him, just like the city that he loved with all his soul. Los Angeles would be forever a part of his own being, just like everyone who died for him there.
TEN HOURS TO EAST
A sunny may morning was pleasing with its warm weather. Ukraine was nothing like America. The environment was different, as well as the lifestyle. The war was going on. And no matter how bad one’s things were, this chaotic land was a perfect place to start over. No one would chase JB to Ukraine. Yet, there was a risk of getting a bunch of new troubles instea
d of a few old ones, and there was no more running away. JB was sure of that, and even though he didn’t want to leave LA, the choice had been made. Time to stick with it.
That morning he attended school, the Kyiv National University of Economics. Morning classes were on. The practical economy seminar. Silence dwelled in the classroom, all thirty students kept quiet listening to the professor.
The educator wasn’t young; he didn’t look very old either. Only rare silver hairs shined on his black, carefully arranged hairstyle. He was slightly taller than average. His suit had a gray color, not too expensive, and his shoes glossed, polished stunningly. But his most noticeable feature was his gray eyes. There was a spark of youth and ardor in them. The only voice that sounded in the class was his voice. He was running the lecture in a way that every student eagerly listened. Still, his own look appeared to be dulled by the subject a bit, it obviously wasn’t his favorite.
Young people were trying to enjoy the lecture, but there was some distraction coming from the rear. It seemed like a quiet conversation or mumbling, still very annoying to the others. The students started turning around in a search of the disturbance.
Caught in a narration of the economy crises theory, the lector’s consciousness snapped back to reality when he noticed the noise himself. His voice didn't change a bit, but his eyes searched for the source of the distraction. After a minute of looking, the professor slowly went between the rows towards the disobedient student. Finally, he stopped narrating and stared at JB’s seat. The big guy was relaxing, leaning against the wall, with earbuds, his eyes closed. Everyone kept silent.
JB still didn’t notice that he just became the center of attention. He was dressed as usual for him, blue jeans, a white t-shirt, and red gumshoes. The earbuds plugged his ears, and there was nothing on his desk but an old iPod Nano and a phone. The lesson wasn’t on JB’s list of priorities, as it seemed.
After a few seconds of waiting for the student to come to his senses, the professor decided to insist. He put a fist to his mouth and coughed a couple of times.
“Cough-cough.”
No reaction followed, so he did it for the second time, much louder.
“Cough! Cough!”
Finally, after all that trying, JB couldn’t ignore the professor anymore. He opened his eyes and looked upwards. Then he sat straight and hid away the playback device into his schedule.. He laid his eyes back on the lector.
“Excuse me for interrupting. What is your name, mister?” the professor said softly.
Everyone was watching Bridgers' rude attitude. He looked alienated from the rest of the group. But the teacher felt different, it seemed even interesting for him. A small event that diluted a dull working routine.
“The name is ‘JB,'” the gangster responded. “No need to waste time on me. I'm just passing by...”
“So, ‘JB’? That’s it? No first name, nor a second?”
Usually, JB felt offended when a smug person ignored his street name, but the professor was in his rights there. So his patience earned a share of the gangster’s respect.
“Bridgers,” the big guy said.
“As I understand, you’re not from here,” the professor commented on JB’s weak Ukrainian accent. "And you’re not a student of this school, Mr. Bridgers,” he kept talking while walking through the rows. “And yet, you’re here. So you want to learn.”
“I like to drop by the places where no one expects me, for a change,” JB smirked. “And I like to watch someone’s else work.”
“Do you like to work yourself, Mr. Bridgers?”
“Sure,” he shrugged.
“Perfect! Would you 'pass by' the blackboard this time?”
The professor shoved the chair from the table and stood near the blackboard waiting for the ‘student,’ Jerry didn’t have that enthusiasm in his eyes, but neither was he against it. He came to the professor for further instructions.
“Here’s the description of your firm, and the numbers for the last five years,” the educator came to the blackboard to hang a colored diagram on it. “And here we have stats for the influences caused by an economy in stagnation. Your task is to make the calculations,” he offered the paper with the task to JB.
The audience didn’t care much about the work itself, JB’s performance was more exciting to them. But Jerry took it very seriously; he focused on the diagrams to feel the hypothetical situation.
When the task was clear, the professor sat down, he knew that JB needed at least twenty minutes to solve it.
“We have two levels of marketing conditions here. I need another minute to think,” the big guy said.
Not waiting for JB’s solution one of the students raised up his hand and went fussing in his seat. The rest of the class kept doing the task on their own. The sound of writing, clicking, and paper swishing filled the room. Some of the students raised their heads from the notes upon finishing the task. Still most of them didn’t rush to turn in the papers to not distract the professor’s play.
Bridgers drew all over the blackboard with schemes, formulas, numbers and notes. He looked at the fussy student. His contemptuous stare spoke for itself. In his eyes, the student seemed as a disrespectful loser who deserved to be put in place. None of JB's former subordinate gangsters would dare to interrupt him. And yet, the old life was gone, there were new rules were for this one.
“Mr. Alekseev, be patient, you’ll have your turn,” the lector said.
The guy was a couple years younger than JB. He looked confident in himself around the group. Expensively dressed and he had some jewelry on him. In comparison with him JB seemed more like a rogue. Eugene was about five and a half feet of height, his tidy haircut shined with a dark blond glare. JB read a dislike towards himself in his opponent’s look. It felt like a challenge.
“Are you ready, Mr. Bridgers?” the professor asked.
JB put his palms together against his nose to take a deep breath. The pause drove the audience’s attention more tightly. When the scene was ready, he looked at the professor.
“I think we gotta give Mr. Alexeyev a chance. If he wants to answer so badly, I’ll write my answers on the piece of paper and he’ll write his on the board,” Bridgers looked at Eugene. The guy was surprised that JB knew his name. He didn’t notice the big guy look at the cover of his notebook beforehand. “I’ll read my answers afterward so we could evaluate each solution. What do you say?”
The professor looked at Jerry and the board where all calculations were, but not the final answers. JB took a paper on the lector’s desk to write on it. The judge’s eyes switched to the opponent who had calmed by that time. The professor moved his lower lip up and wrinkled a chin to show that he didn’t mind.
“Okay, let’s do it your way, Mr. Bridgers.”
After finishing writing the notes, JB put the borrowed pen back into the professor’s leather bag. He folded the paper several times and laid it on the desk for whoever's use.
“Sup, dude. You’re up,” JB nodded at the opponent.
A move like that was obviously disrespectful to Eugene. But for JB that was the point, the guy had to earn some respect. Eugene stood up without saying a word, he went through a bunch of paper on his desk to select the ones he needed. Even though it was his call to answer, the turn up confused him a bit. He tried to hide that as hard as he could. After a swift look at the notes, he put the notebook down to see the diagrams once more. Then he picked the paper with his answers and went to the blackboard.
There was no chalk at the board’s niche. JB handed him his own almost used-out piece of chalk. Eugene switched his look between JB’s tattooed hand and his stone face several times. He took the chalk and copied his answers on a small spot of free space on the board.
The professor perfectly knew the task, as well as the solution. He could evaluate the student’s work with a single brief look. Soon he turned to JB, who had managed to check the opponent’s answers and was already staring at the ‘judge’ with a delig
htful mug. They read in each other’s eyes that they were thinking about the same thing. Finally, the professor nodded silently at the blackboard for JB to take over.
Bridgers took the chalk from Eugene’s hand and walked closer to the board. He crossed over two of the six lines of answers and wrote his own variants aside. Then he looked at Eugene.
“The rest of it is right,” he said. “You didn’t take in account a ‘money multiplicator,' it wasn’t in the task, but you had to figure it out on your own.”
“Mr. Bridgers, it was a decent answer, you get an ‘A+’ today,” the professor smiled. “You may take your seat. It's earned by you now. Mr. Alexeev, I have a piece of advice for you: do not rush your decisions, better check twice, and pay more attention to detail. Economics is an art, best artists are very thorough.”
All pleased with himself, JB walked through the class to his seat. He dropped the piece of paper on Eugene’s desk while passing by it. They exchanged looks briefly. Eugene seemed pissed.
The rakish gangster returned to his seat. The mark that he gained didn’t mean much for him since he wasn’t an actual student. But he was glad not to embarrass himself, the studying that he had done earlier appeared quite useful. Students were glancing at him once now and then. The whispers and the girly giggling put quite a smile on his face. It was an irony that amused Bridgers. The nature of such attention seemed shallow and cheap to him. It was not honor, respect or solid ethical principles that was popular among modern ‘kids,' but the buzz and drama. Thinking of himself as of a criminal, JB never expected much love from the people. But those kind of cultural values were not meant for people to walk tall with the pride of being a part of society. Those kind of thoughts made him feel a loneliness that tore his soul apart.
Eugene waited for the fuss to settle so he could look at the note that JB had left him. He looked around to make sure that no one was watching. There were no task answers on the paper. Just a message: “Don’t push it, bitch.” The arrogance of the gangster angered Eugene even more. But he never thought of how farsighted JB had to be to play it right.
