“You can’t wish for better neighbors! They’re nice and quiet. The apartment opposite belongs to an old lady, she’s very sick so she never leaves the building. And her children have moved town and they don’t even visit her.”
“Excuse me,” I interrupted her soliloquy, “who does the apartment belong to?”
“Er... didn’t I say? It’s my grandma’s. Or her cousin’s, rather.”
“How about the paperwork? The deeds? The maintenance certificate?”
We entered the elevator. The moment the doors closed, Galina switched on the offensive. “You shouldn’t be like that with me! The paperwork’s fine! Do you take me for a swindler or something? You’ve any idea what kind of people my clients are? They rent three-story mansions! And you’re grilling me over some shabby little one-bed! If you don’t want to rent it, just say so! Don’t go wasting my time!”
This was getting a bit theatrical. What was she playing at? Did she intend to shame me into submission? Did she think I would feel so embarrassed by my own lack of trust that I’d apologize and ignore the paperwork?
Very well. Two could play this game.
“I’m very sorry,” I said. “I really didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just that these days you can’t trust anyone, you know. My dad’s a lawyer. He told me to always double-check all the paperwork in serious matters like this one.”
No, my Dad wasn’t a lawyer. But somehow I doubted that Galina would ever get the chance to find that out.
“Okay, okay,” she grumbled. “You’ll see the paperwork in due time. What kind of lawyer is your dad? Does he work for the police?” she visibly tensed.
“Oh no! Nothing of the kind,” I hurried to add, watching her relax with relief. “Just a corporate advisor. Not any more though. He’s retired now.”
The elevator stopped.
“Here we are,” she said dryly, stating the obvious. “Follow me.”
Fourteenth floor! Imagine the views!
“Take your shoes off,” she said. “The apartment gets cleaned but still. I have a few more viewers today. We’d better keep it tidy.”
I liked the place the moment I saw it. The kitchen wall had been torn down, turning the lounge into a single living space. The apartment must have been recently redecorated; everything was shiny and brand-new. It wasn’t cluttered with furniture, either; in fact, perfect for a bachelor like myself. A small dining table for four, a few chairs and a couch facing a large flat screen on the opposite wall.
In the kitchen area, there was an electric stove with an extractor, a few kitchen units and a wonderful new fridge with a filtered water dispenser. There was even a small utility room with a washing machine waiting to be loaded.
This apartment was worth every penny of what she wanted for it.
“Cable TV included in the rent,” she said, noticing my interest in the television. “Over two hundred channels! And fiber optics.”
I gasped. “Awesome.”
We moved to the bedroom. Apart from the bed and a large wardrobe, it also housed a small computer desk unit complete with bookshelves.
“You pay every three months,” she said. “That’s one hundred thousand rubles plus the utility bills.[30] Plus the deposit of one month’s rent, thirty-five thousand. You’ll get it back if you return the apartment in the same state as you found it. So?”
“Yes, absolutely,” I said unhesitantly. “But I’ll need until tomorrow. I need to think about it.”
Everything sounded so perfect there had to be a catch here somewhere. Her high level of Fraud worried me quite a bit.
She shrugged. “As you wish. You can leave the deposit now and take as much time to think as you want. Otherwise, it’ll go today. I’ve loads of takers.”
“How many?”
“Loads. If you pay a ten-grand deposit, I’ll wait till tomorrow,” she kept glancing at her watch. “It’s up to you. The next viewer is coming in a quarter of an hour.”
“In that case, could you show me the paperwork?”
“Of course,” she said with ease. “If you wish. Here.”
She laid a plastic folder on the table and began leafing through the papers, showing them to me. “This is my passport[31]. My name’s Galina Pakhomenko, as you can see. Here’s the power of attorney from my grandma, here, read it well.. ‘I do hereby nominate, constitute and appoint... to enter into binding contracts on my behalf for the renting or leasing of my real estate property situated at... shall have full powers and authority to rent, sell and alienate...’ And here’re the deeds in her name...”
I pretended I was studying the papers. Instead, I opened the map and ran a quick check for her “grandma”, copying her name and other particulars from the papers.
My back erupted in cold sweat. According to the map, her remains were currently rotting at the city dump.
“And where is she now?” I asked matter-of-factly.
“Where do you think? Back in her country cottage, of course. She was so fed up with the city, you can’t imagine. She kept criticizing everything: the air, the people... If you listened to her, everything was wrong here! So she said she wanted to go home to die.”
“She was probably right,” I agreed, rummaging my brain for what to do next. “But I’m afraid I don’t have ten grand on me.”
“How much do you have?”
“A couple of grand? I just wasn’t prepared to rent it straight away.”
“Very well. I can see you’re an honest young man. Two grand will have to do, then! I’ll wait till tomorrow. But if you don’t pay tomorrow, I’ll rent the place out and keep the deposit.”
Now I could see right through her little scheme. If she managed to rent the place out today, she’d just pay me the two grand back. And if she didn’t, she could always count on me to come back. And even if I changed my mind, she’d keep my two grand.
I reached for my wallet and gave her two one-thousand notes without exposing its contents. “Can you give me a receipt?”
She heaved a sigh. “What is it with young people these days?”
She wrote a receipt for me, anyway. “Would you like to see something else?”
“I don’t think so. This place is perfect. I’m just not sure if I can raise a hundred grand at such a short notice. Depends on whether I receive any bonuses.”
She seemed perfectly happy with my explanation. “I’ll be waiting for your call. Tomorrow.”
“Very well,” I said as I put my shoes back on in the hall. “See you tomorrow!”
“Yes, yes. See you tomorrow,” she hustled me out and locked the door behind me.
I dialed for an Uber. I hadn’t yet decided where to go next. Should I report her to the police? Yeah right. I had nothing to tell them, really.
Pointless going to work now. It was too late, anyway. Should I go home, then? But what was I supposed to do with this apartment? And the fraudster’s old grandma who hadn’t even received a proper burial?
Finally, I came to a decision. I knew only one person who could help me. And judging by the map, he was currently available.
I walked outside and headed for the dedicated Uber stand.
The driver took me to our local police station. I dialed Major Igorevsky whose business card was still in my wallet.
“Speaking,” his voice replied.
“Major Igorevsky?”
“Yes. Who is it?”
“It’s Phil. Phil Panfilov. You questioned me about that missing girl, Oksana, remember?”
“Oh yes. I was just about to call you myself.”
Was he really? How interesting.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“I’m outside the station. Do you think you could come and see me? We need to talk.”
“In five minutes,” he hung up.
A system alert informed me of my heart rate exceeding safe parameters. You bet. I was restless. It would have been a perfect moment for a cigarette, had I not quit.
I remembered all the details of the
night I’d spent in his office. I wasn’t sure anymore whether I’d done the right thing calling him.
The Major didn’t take long. He looked tired but just as polite.
“Nice to see you, Mr. Phil,” he lit up a cigarette. “Did you have another vision?”
“Not exactly. Just something I’d like to clear up.”
He nodded at the street. “Fancy a walk?”
“Sure.”
We headed toward a small boulevard next to the station.
As we walked, the Major finished his cigarette in a few deep, powerful tugs and reached for another. He turned it in his fingers, reluctant to light up. “Spit it out.”
I gave him a concise run-down of my apartment hunt and Galina’s offer of my dream place.
“What did you say her grandma’s name was?” he asked. “I’ll have it checked straight away. If you’re right and she’s indeed dead, I find it strange they rent her place out. The most logical thing would have been to sell it.”
“What if they decided to rent it out while they’re looking for buyers? To make a quick buck on the side, you know.”
“Possible. Everything’s possible. Any more intel you wanna share?”
“What intel?”
“Please. Why do you have to play hard to get? If you have a tip for us, it’ll be strictly between us two. Upon my word.”
I activated the map and maxed out the zoom. “The city dump,” I said. “The south west sector. The closest reference mark is a deformed blue pushbike without wheels, barely seen under the mountain of trash.”
“Got it. We’ll look into it. And the real estate agent, what did you say her name was?”
“Galina Pakhomenko. Here’s her cell number. I also have a receipt with the apartment’s address.”
“Well done!” the Major copied all the data into his notebook, then pulled out his smartphone and took a picture of the receipt. Having done that, he put the phone and the notebook back into his pocket and lit up his cigarette. “This gives us some evidence against her. Would you be prepared to testify?”
“Not really.”
“Okay, okay, don’t sweat it. Thanks anyway.”
“Nothing to thank me for yet. Will you let me know how it went?”
“Depends on how it goes,” he proffered his hand. “I’ll see you around.”
“Likewise,” I shook his hand.
His grip stayed firm. “Oh, and by the way,” he locked his gaze with mine, “I received a very interesting email the other day. From some anonymous well-wisher. It listed the locations of some of the missing children I’d been looking for.”
“You don’t mean it!” my surprise sounded sufficiently sincere. “And? Did you find them?”
“We most certainly did. Each and every one of them. One of the girls was still alive. We found her in forced slavery in Dubai. They freed her today and brought her to our consulate. She should fly home tonight.”
“Did you find those who’d done it to her?”
The Major’s face darkened. He lobbed the cigarette butt into a trash can. “Not yet. We have a few leads but the investigation is still ongoing.”
“Shame.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll get those scumbags if it’s the last thing I do. You’d better tell me if you think you could look for some more.”
“Sorry, Major. It doesn’t work like that.”
“Oh please, grow a pair! It’s strictly between you and me. Just check out the Missing Persons page on our site, okay? You never know, you might have another... vision,” he said without releasing my hand.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I said.
“You’re a very good guy, you know that?” the Major suddenly concluded.
He let go of my hand, turned round and walked back to the station without saying good-bye.
It was a good job he couldn’t see me. A debilitating wave of pleasure flooded over me. I collapsed onto the nearest park bench.
You’ve received 10,000 pt. XP for performing a socially meaningful action!
Congratulations! You’ve received a new level!
Your current social status level: 9
Characteristic points available:1
Skill points available: 1
XP points left until the next social status level: 9650/10,000
WHEN I FINALLY came round, I was bursting with energy and enthusiasm. I was so happy that things had worked out with the Major the way they had; that he, for reasons admittedly somewhat selfish, hadn’t disclosed the source of the tip. I might be stupid or naïve even, but I was so happy I hadn’t chickened out that night. Hearing Oksana’s mother’s “God bless you!” on the phone that night had been reward enough.
True, I wasn’t crafty or streetwise enough to meddle in this sort of business. If tomorrow the powers that be got me by the short and curlies, I’d have only myself to blame. Still, for the first time in thirty years I finally felt like I was doing something that had purpose and meaning.
In this boisterously euphoric frame of mind I went home, picked up Richie and took him to the park. I needed to finally up my Running. That might give me the points needed to make my next level.
Another thirty minutes, an hour max, and my social status might hit level 10.
I entered the park and set off running. My body felt light. Richie trotted along, frolicking among the trees.
“Hey dude,” three dark silhouettes stepped in my path. “Got a smoke?”
“Sorry, I don’t smoke,” I replied without slowing down as I tried to thread my way past them.
The next moment I stumbled over somebody’s outstretched foot and tumbled to the ground. I struggled to tuck myself up and landed on the flats of my hands, grazing them raw on the tarmac.
Chapter Twenty-Seven. Drop Me off by the Roadside
“When plunder becomes a way of life for a group of men in a society, over the course of time they create for themselves a legal system that authorizes it and a moral code that glorifies it.”
Frédéric Bastiat
I HURT MY KNEE as I fell. A chain of log entries flashed through my view, reporting the damage taken. Nothing serious, but still not very pleasant.
As long as I could remember, from my first kindergarten days till my reluctant college fighting experiences — and a few times later in life — I’d never been good at facing aggression. Whenever I’d crossed paths with a street goon or a college bully, I’d break out in a cold sweat and stand shaking on rubbery legs as a panicky, clammy fear flooded over me. Any such encounter had left a long, unpleasant aftertaste as I’d tried to suppress the memory of my fear — of both pain and humiliation — and the anger with myself for being such a wuss.
This time, however, I felt annoyed with them. The pain in my knee meant I might have to skip tomorrow’s running practice and gym session. I might even have to take a week off or more.
And just to please, Richie wasn’t around, either, apparently otherwise distracted. Had he been next to me, these goons might have thought twice before accosting me. What was even more annoying, I’d never gotten around to practice street fighting — which, considering the stat booster which came with my Premium account, was a real shame.
All these musings had flashed through my head in a matter of seconds. The goons guffawed. They must have taken my reluctance to jump aggressively back to my feet as a sign that I was a wimp and therefore fair game.
Where was Richie, dammit?
Clutching at my injured knee, I scrambled back to my feet and peered at my attackers, weighing up my chances. I wasn’t going to fight back, no, although admittedly I was itching to finally learn to stand up for myself. I was just trying to work out how to get out of this unscathed. I didn’t give a damn about any injuries to my pride. Pretty soon I might be able to pay back in kind as long as I took physical leveling seriously and learned to stand up for myself.
There were three of them, and they could fight. There was only one of me: a recent noob far removed from the imbaness I as
pired to. I didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell.
Two of them were eighteen. Their leader, a burly guy with a crew cut, was twenty-one and went by the moniker of Tarzan. All of them wore shorts; the two younger ones had T-shirts on while their leader boasted a bicep-revealing wife-beater. Their social-status levels weren’t much to write home about: 3 and 4 respectively. What a shame. So much life wasted.
They grinned at me expectantly. Tarzan bared his teeth in a smirk, took a deep tug on his cigarette and spat at my feet. “What, no smokes, bro?”
In the dim light of the park lamps, his teeth seemed to illuminate the space around us. His minions began flanking me inconspicuously. It looked like I couldn’t just swallow my pride and part with them nicely. These guys meant business.
I spat on the ground. My saliva was tinted with blood as I’d bitten my tongue in my fall. “I don’t smoke.”
I drew in a lungful of air and called at the top of my voice, “Richie, come! Come!”
The goons looked around themselves, peering into the darkness as they tried to work out who I was calling to.
“That’s it, guys,” I said calmly. “You’ve had it.”
“No way!” Tarzan said, faking surprise. “You screwing with us? Are you stupid or something?”
“Richie, come!” I yelled. I had no hope in hell of running away from them: just standing on my injured leg was a challenge.
My field of vision shifted momentarily, edged with a fiery crimson. Time slowed down. I could see a fist hover in the air about a foot away from the back of my head. Martha’s voice read out the message that appeared in my view.
Warning! Potentially lethal aggression detected!
Danger of illegal activity targeting a user whose social status level is at least threefold more than that of his attackers.
Forceful activation of heroic ability: Sprint.
Ability class: Combat
Restart (Level Up Book #1) LitRPG Series Page 36
