Mess With Death Read online

  Mess with Death

  An urban psychological thriller

  Aleksandr Shulginov

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First edition

  Cover by The Cover Collection

  © 2019 Aleksandr Shulginov

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, please email the author at:

  [email protected]

  Discover my new books at my Amazon Author Page HERE

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Thank you, dear reader!

  Chapter 1

  I pushed an ugly iron door and went outside. It was cold and raining there. I had to drive two hours to get home. In lousy weather, most drivers slowed down to increase the chances to remain unhurt. I followed the crowd, although this extreme overcaution annoyed me. I didn’t want to harm anyone, but too gentle touching of accelerator and brake pedals meant incessant self-concern, and I didn’t like it. I felt melancholy at the time and my personal safety didn’t concern me too much. Helplessness and worthlessness accompanied me not only in traffic jams but at home as well.

  Every evening I came home from work and watched fascinating TV shows. I knew it was meaningless because that was all I did. My life was like a sound loop that had been replayed a countless number of times. When I came home, I usually turned on the lights everywhere; thus, my loneliness was not so evident. Then I went to the bathroom to take a shower, having locked the door. Sitting in the bathtub, I found myself even more helpless than standing in a traffic jam. And I knew the reason I felt extremely unconfident. Day after day and night after night, I did things I hated.

  I believed that there was some sort of engagement or entertainment that could help me see the bright side of my life. I felt that the pleasures of my present life were sickening and unsatisfying. Once I tried to visit museums. Initially, I enjoyed attending different places, looking at the old paintings, shabby rags, pages of wartime memoirs, and medieval weapons. I even made a trip to Europe, where I encountered almost the same old stuff in the museums. When I came back to Russia, I suddenly realized that my hobby was crap.

  I just asked myself how I could put those bits of knowledge into practice. Nothing crossed my mind then. I had wasted my time visiting those museums. Junk was dead, and it should have disappeared by the twenty-first century. All those old thoughts, tired ideas, and obsolete technologies—we didn’t need all that. Humanity could clear a considerable amount of space by demolishing old buildings, monuments, columns, military equipment—things that would never help us create a new, modern, bright, and positive world.

  Standing in the rain, I couldn’t push different thoughts out of my head. I had to admit that being a young man in Russia was stressful. Either you could see everything through rose-colored glasses being blind to your future, or you could realize that you had a tedious dead-end job, and starting your own business would be a losing battle against the government and the monopolized market in conditions of poverty and destitution. I belonged to the second group. But fortunately, my mind resisted the pessimism prevailing in our society. I believed that there were “other” young people—like I saw once in Europe—with chirpy faces, the motivated and vigorous coming generation.

  I didn’t hate my compatriots. But I wanted a new healing environment and the reboot of my consciousness. Nowadays, it was often given the advice to leave a shell and step out of a comfort zone. But I didn’t have it! My zone had always been uncomfortable. I had no feeling of safety and no confidence in the future. I needed the comfort zone as most of my compatriots did. But did we deserve it? We lacked the courage to have free will and to express the views without fear. As a result, we lived in a country where the present life circumstances were so unpleasant and unfair that almost no one wanted to make any significant contribution to economic and scientific progress.

  I was standing now in front of my car, looking at it, and I didn’t like it. It was the Hyundai Solaris—also known as a Hyundai Accent—one of the cheapest cars on the market, so-called economy-class vehicle. Although it was a reliable vehicle, I realized that I wanted more. The vehicle configuration was so-called bare-bones—the lowest tier trim level. It had a weak and noisy 107-horsepower engine, manual transmission, and there was no air-conditioner and car stereo. The color was controversial orange. I would have never picked it, but the orange Solaris had been offered at a discounted price.

  Of course, I had gotten a car loan. Monthly I had to pay back about $250 for four years. At first sight, it was not too much. But a couple of years ago the Russian government had devalued the national currency by 100%. If previously I had earned $1000 per month, then my salary turned out to be only $500. Prices went up twice, the interest rate rocketed to 15%, but the salaries were the same since then. People could afford half as much. The middle class that had been emerging in the early 21st century, after the currency devaluation began to shrink and vanish.

  Thus, I paid back $250 per month earning $500. About $70 were the costs of utilities and about $60—fuel costs. Fortunately, I had a small studio apartment while most young people had to rent or live with their parents.

  Nevertheless, I had to get by on $120 per month. It was barely enough money to buy food. But nothing more. No additional education, no entertainment, no more chance to travel somewhere. I couldn’t even imagine starting a family under the circumstances. I remembered that my parents had told me that I had been given birth despite the ominous economic situation in the times of Perestroika in our country. But my parents had been the people of the Soviet Union. I had always noticed big differences between them and me. Having been raised in the socialist community, they had always seemed to be friendly and naive. My parents had believed in promising future. Our generation of the 1990s—period of wild capitalism—was suspicious and gloomy. Not everyone, of course. But public confidence in the government and all institutions was so low that most young people just gave up developing their skills as they were afraid of being deceived by the government. Future for young people became vague. Stagnation in all spheres often gave rise to melancholy and depression.

  I came up to my car. Yes, driving was better than day-to-day riding the subway heavily loaded with morose passengers. They really reminded of zombies in the morning time, and a couple of years ago I had been one of them. A car was a piece of freedom. In a climate of lack of democracy in present-day Russian society, it was considered as a breath of fresh air. In the days of the Soviet Union, no one could have easily purchased a vehicle. You’d had to join the longest waiting list, and in ten or even fifteen years you could’ve had the opportunity to acquire the Zhiguli, the dreadful Soviet car. Since then buying a vehicle for Russians had become almost a sacred action, and it could be compared to a home purchase. Young people had always wanted to have their own car. It was like an index of your personal prosperity and success.

  When I bought the Solaris and stopped using public transport, I thought everything would change. The first week of possessing my vehicle was great. But then the euphoria faded away. And nothing changed inside me. Emotions burned. I was stil
l that zombie who was doing the job automatically. I bought a thing I could afford but not the one I wanted.

  I came closer to my Hyundai. It was time to go home.

  “You are so dead-hearted! Gimme emotions! Or I’ll destroy you!” I loved to talk to my car. It was not madness. I just perceived any vehicle as a living being.

  I got into the Solaris and started the engine. Then I shifted into first gear and released the clutch. The car twitched, and the steering wheel frightfully vibrated in my hands. I immediately stopped and leaped out of the car. It had four flat tires.

  “There you are! You felt that I hate you!” I kicked the orange bumper. “Something had to happen this evening. All those thoughts came to mind, not coincidentally.”

  I noticed a white piece of paper stuck in the windshield wiper. I pulled it out and hopped into the car. In the rain, the paper got wet. I turned the flashlight on my cell phone and made out, “Sorry, buddy. We shot a movie right here. And we used your car. Call us, and we’ll give you a refund.”

  “Wow! Evening is unlikely to be boring”, I grinned and dialed the number. “Good evening! I am the owner of the Solaris with flat tires.”

  “Hello!” a pleasant female voice cooed. “We deeply apologize for any inconvenience caused. Please give us your credit card number and we’ll immediately refund to you.”

  I obeyed.

  “To ensure the security of transaction please give us the security code and the expiration date. And please dial '1' on your phone.”

  “What a nice service! What movie did you shoot?”

  But they hung up.

  A second later, I got a message telling me that all my money had been stolen from the credit card.

  “What the talented cons!” I exclaimed. I realized that I was talking to a robot. But I didn’t get angry. Maybe another day I would go to the police to lodge the complaint. But not this time.

  “This evening must be different!” I shouted stubbornly. “I can feel some changes in the air. Perhaps it’s a new life approaching. I can’t just wait. I should act decisively if I want something to happen.”

  I returned to the ugly iron door, leaving my car with the engine running. No one could steal and ride it now. As a matter of fact, I didn’t care. Hardly anyone had a wish to go here. I was standing in the backyard of an old abandoned Soviet factory which buildings had been rented by small firms. I worked for one of these small commercial firms. My position was so insignificant that I preferred not to tell anyone about it.

  Everybody had already gone home—it was about 8 p.m. As for me, I’d always loved staying at work after hours being alone in complete silence, drinking some coffee with cookies before going home. The point was that coffee and snacks were at the firm’s expense.

  “The specific beauty of a bachelor life is no need to go home for dinner,” I grinned. “No family, no dinner, no need to consume electricity… Yeah, it’s no life at all.”

  Tonight, there weren’t any cookies left. I was starving, so I ordered some food over the Internet. Japanese food was a little bit out of fashion—the consumption boom had ended several years ago. Now sushi was quite expensive. I could rarely afford it, but I always loved it.

  The delivery man arrived quickly. He was riding an old Daewoo Matiz also known as a Chevrolet Spark. The car was orange. When the young man told me the price, I suddenly realized that I had no money.

  “Listen, man. My money had been stolen. Cliché, right? But you won’t call the police, will you?” I stared at him.

  The delivery man turned pale. He was very young and shy.

  “I got a brilliant idea,” I said. “Take my Solaris!”

  “What?” the young man moved back.

  “You heard it right,” I answered calmly. “I had been working hard to have this car. But tonight, I’m saying goodbye to it. No chance to stay together anymore. And I’m giving it to good hands. Like yours.” I gently stroked his shoulder. The young man jumped and dropped my order out of his hands.

  “Get yourself my car!”

  “I… I can’t.”

  “Why not? Look at her. She’s still in perfect condition. Just dare take her!”

  The young man stared at me.

  “Get in!” I pushed him toward the Solaris.

  “No, no… I don’t need it!” The delivery man started to walk backward.

  “Look, what an elegant center console, the dashboard with harsh blue lights, the airbags… By the way, is your Matiz equipped with airbags?”

  “No!” the young man squeaked.

  “How can you drive it? Your car is unsafe! Look at my Hyundai. It’s orange as your Daewoo. I guess it’s your favorite color?”

  “Is it a game or something?”

  “No. Just drive away!”

  “I can’t!”

  “Why? Don’t be afraid. It’s yours!”

  “I don’t need it!”

  “Accept my gift. Believe it’s a wonder. Deep inside, you should always hope for a miracle.”

  “No, thanks!”

  “Your life can change in a moment! You can save a few years. No need to work and pay back the loan. Just hit the gas!”

  “No! Please leave me alone!” The young man slipped out and darted toward the Matiz. He started the car and peeled out. In a few seconds, he disappeared in the darkness.

  I picked up the order and went back to my empty office.

  “Well, well… Philadelphia rolls, smoked salmon. Mmm… delicious and still hot.” I took the chopsticks. “So, where to start? Stop… where’s unagi sauce? This can’t be true!” I grabbed my cell phone.

  “Good evening, miss. How could you forget to put me unagi sauce? The order you delivered is incomplete!”

  “Your order number, please.”

  “178346.”

  “But… you haven’t paid for your order.”

  “I haven’t paid,” I confirmed.

  “Why?” the girl became confused on the other end of the line.

  She’s probably a new hire, I thought. Otherwise, she would have called the police already.

  “The delivery man gave up the money,” I uttered.

  “That couldn’t happen,” her voice was uncertain.

  “You won’t believe, but I offered him… thousand times the cost of the order.”

  “Did he really give up?”

  “He did. Actually, I’m calling to ask to deliver me the unagi sauce as soon as possible. If my Philadelphia rolls get cold—”

  “Please, hold the line.” A nice tune began to play.

  I had been waiting for about three minutes looking at my supper. Then I could not stand anymore and bit one of the lovely little pieces.

  “Mmm… Smoked eel,” I groaned. I felt giddy with happiness, my heart overflowed with joy. I bit off tiny pieces—I couldn’t gobble it instantly. I had always tried to prolong the pleasure if it was possible. Even if something costed me nothing, I appreciated this thing. As many young people in our country did, I tried to save little moments of happiness.

  “Thank you for holding. Regarding the sauce unagi—”

  “Yeah, go ahead,” I said, smacking my lips.

  “We got in touch with the employee who had delivered you the order. He told us that he was not going to deliver you the sauce. But he confirmed that the payment had been made. Our system had malfunctioned, so our employee paid his own money. Now it’s OK.”

  “But I haven’t really paid for the order!”

  “You have. It was just a technical malfunction. We are very sorry about that.”

  “OK, then,” I chuckled. “What’s about unagi delivery?”

  “We apologize, but the employee who had delivered you the order refused to return to you on some personal grounds. Unfortunately, we don’t have any employees in the area. It’s too late. But we are ready to make up for your losses and deliver the exact same order tomorrow at a time convenient to you. Free of charge, of course. However, you may lodge a complaint against our employee—”


  “I’ll think about the complaint. Deliver the order to the same address at 7 p.m. tomorrow.” I hung up and went back to eating.

  I have to admit a strange thing that often happens in Russia, I thought. A lot of young people are shy and humble. In a good sense, modesty is a virtue. But the rising generation seems to be humiliated and downtrodden. It turns out that when I behave cheekily and impudently, I often succeed. I don’t like such social manners. But being arrogant and even insolent in Russia means to display power. This power is usually just a macho facade. Shy and humble young people take you for a superior. Under the conditions of restricted freedom, the boss cult is spread out over all areas of Russian society. Just simulate a bigwig, and you’ll succeed.

  “Well… let’s upload some photos of my car,” I babbled. “And the description. So, I’m selling it because my love is gone. She doesn’t want to change anything between us. Dear customers, come to the backyard of an old abandoned factory and take a closer look at her. Fire sale. Below-market price.”

  Yeah, I decided to get rid of the orange Solaris. If I want to break the ice, I have to do it right now. I can't postpone the changes anymore.

  An hour later, when I ate my supper and drank three cups of instant coffee, my cell phone suddenly rang. The voice seemed unnaturally high pitched. A young man was interested in my car as he liked the bargain price. I insisted on his coming right now. He agreed.

  I hung up and started preparing to defend. I had no doubt that my potential customer could be a gangster or a hijacker. Not his strange voice and quick decision to come to the abandoned factory made me think of him that way. I realized that the economic situation in our country became tense. Prices rose fast, the national currency continued to devalue, new taxes and escalating fines suffocated the population. Crime rose and thrived by leaps and bounds. I heard some stories when so-called customers came by tow trucks, lifted the cars for sale, and moved away.

  There will be at least two of them. Or three. What do I have against them? A blunt butter knife as a weapon? No way I could attack anybody. Even if they attack me. I rolled my eyes. If I pretend to be insane, the hijackers would be dumbfounded. I chuckled with satisfaction. Sounds like a plan.