Mess With Death Read online

  Half an hour later, the customer called again and told that he was coming. I left my office and came up to my car. The rain ceased. I saw the wandering beam of a flashlight ahead of me. It’s them! I squatted and leaned my back against the driver’s door. Let ’em all come!

  Soon I heard footsteps moving toward me.

  “Look! There he is!”

  “Definitely! The orange Solaris!”

  I burrowed my face into knees.

  Both voices were male. I held my breath, waiting.

  “Where’s the owner?” the first voice asked.

  “No owner? We’ll be the owners!” the other voice answered.

  I heard a burst of laughter. It’s just the beginning, I thought. It was dark, and they couldn’t see me.

  “Why is the engine running?”

  “Maybe he’s in the trunk! Let’s find out.”

  I heard them opening the trunk.

  “He’s not here!” the first voice exclaimed theatrically.

  That’s him who called me, I thought.

  “Wait! The engine’s running. That means the keys are inside. What keeps us here? Let’s roll!”

  “Yeah, get in.”

  “Holy crap! It’s him!”

  “Who?”

  “The owner, I guess.”

  I didn’t raise my head.

  “Is he dead?” the first voice asked anxiously.

  “Hey, buddy! Is this car yours?” the second voice addressed me. Then I felt a gentle kick to my thigh.

  I quickly raised up my head and bit the scoundrel.

  “My leg!” the second voice screamed.

  He was wearing dark blue jeans. I was surprised at how expensive the material was. I had never seen such clothes before. Russian criminals are usually immigrants, poor, discouraged people who don’t care about their looks. He is not one of them. Who is he?

  The bitten guy roared, but I didn’t unclench the teeth.

  “Cut it out! Are you nuts?” the first voice jumped in.

  I exulted. I lifted up my head and saw two frightened young people. The bitten guy was plump and short-haired, of medium height, about 25 years of age. The guy who’d called me was tall and thin, had a fashionable haircut. He looked vigorous.

  “Are you normal, pal?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Yes, I am,” I answered and broke into a broad smile.

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” he pointed the camera and the flashlight at me.

  “I had thought that you could’ve hijacked my car.”

  “Good gracious! What made you so extremely suspicious of people?”

  “I live in Russia,” I grinned. “What about you? Haven’t you heard that stories?”

  “What stories?” Both guys looked amazed.

  “Forget it!” One more misunderstanding and I’ll bore them to death. “Who are you? My customers?”

  “I’m a video blogger! Don’t you know me? I’m Sweer,” the thin guy smiled and extended his hand for a handshake.

  “Slava. Nice to meet you,” I greeted him.

  “Yeah, we are thrill-seekers. I’m Goshik,” the plump guy said.

  “Welcome aboard, Slava!” Sweer exclaimed. “It was not a prearranged stunt, my dear subscribers! Confirm my words, guys!”

  “Yeah, we came here, and we didn’t know what to expect,” Goshik nodded. “The advertisement was so strange that we decided to try our luck.”

  “Give the thumbs up, dear subscribers,” I laughed.

  “You are catching on quickly, man!” Sweer was excited. “I’m sure the audience will appreciate your sense of humor.”

  They like me, I thought. Do I want this? Maybe it’s my new social environment. Life of these guys is in full swing. Do I need this? Why not? I wanted changes. And I should be grateful that something happened in my miserable life. These guys differ too much from those boring whiners—my co-workers.

  “Well, let’s go grab some coffee!” Sweer suggested passionately. It was impossible to refuse.

  I was just about to invite them to my office but I refrained. How can I give my game away? I can’t present myself as an office clerk. I’d rather be a mysterious guy.

  “Let’s go with us, Slava!” Goshik said.

  “Not by this bucket of bolts!” Sweer grinned, looking at the Solaris. “Is it yours, by the way?”

  “Yeah,” I remarked carelessly. “It’s one of my pet projects.”

  “Too vague,” Goshik smirked.

  “Are you not gonna buy my car after all?” I laughed.

  “Only at gunpoint,” Sweer exploded with laughter.

  They seem a little bumptious, of course. All my life I’ve met unconfident young people.

  “What’s your real ride?” Sweer asked.

  “Camaro,” I lied.

  “Not bad,” Goshik approved.

  “We should have a race one day!” Sweer exclaimed. “Let’s say tomorrow evening.”

  “Yeah, why not?” I simply nodded.

  We left the gloomy factory backyard. I tried to push all my thoughts away. It was easy to lie, but the conscience weighed heavy.

  When we reached the avenue, I stopped dead and couldn’t believe my eyes. My guests drove a golden Mercedes Geländewagen. Of course, it was not real gold but the shiny gold chrome wrap. Under the streetlights, the crystal raindrops were slowly flowing down the car. The huge black, forged aluminum wheels looked awesome. I barely kept myself from a cry of admiration.

  We hopped into the SUV. Goshik got behind the steering wheel, I sat in the passenger seat, Sweer was glued to his laptop in the back.

  “He’s working and won’t talk to us,” Goshik explained, pointing back. I nodded. I could hear my heart pounding when Goshik was starting the engine. The eight cylinders roared to life. It was an amazing ear-caressing low-pitched pulsation. My friends stayed calm while I was delighted. Goshik hit the gas pedal, and my head slammed against the headrest. It just blew me away. I was so excited, but I didn’t want to show that.

  If I reveal myself, I won’t join the club. Wealthy young people are usually snobs. Money in Russia drives people mad. When young teens get easy money, they acquire extreme self-conceit. These guys seem friendly, but what will happen if they find out that I’m just a simple fellow? I said aloud, “Is it a G65?” I meant the car model. In these situations, the best way to behave would be to show a little depreciation and half-joking disrespect. Yeah, I made a firm decision to blend in.

  “It’s the G63 AMG,” Goshik answered apologetically.

  Yeah! Here we are! I thought happily. The easiest way to humiliate the owner of a luxurious car is to remark that there exists a more expensive edition of this car and that is the best. And the one we are driving now is good but not the top.

  “I couldn’t wait that long for the G65. It’s always out of stock. The G63 is available.”

  “Yeah,” I nodded.

  I knew he was right because I had always been fond of cars. That was my passion. At my crappy job, I had often read the articles about expensive cars. I had been learning a lot of technical specifications. But that was all that I could afford—reading but not driving.

  Goshik and Sweer are chirpy, confident young people leading whirlwind existence. But I wonder whether their lives are meaningful. Are they interesting personalities? Do they have a life goal? What can they contribute to the country? Perhaps they are the future political elites.

  Suddenly a little sign plate attached to the center console drew my attention. I read:

  A person who perceives a car as a means of transportation, who is worried about safety, space behind the front seats, and trunk capacity is a dead person. Deep inside, the person cannot allow himself and admit it publicly that he or she is thrilled by high speed, mad acceleration, and drift.

  It is impossible to remain insensitive to some cars. If you don’t lose your mind, gasping of delight, while accelerating to 60 mph in 3 seconds, if you don’t have shivers running up and down your spine when you squeeze the steering wheel, you are dead inside, pathetic person. You live out the rest of your days, and no one wants your washed-up emotions.

  “Have you done it, Goshik?” I asked.

  “No. It’s Sweer’s.”

  “But you share the opinion?”

  “Sure.”

  “To me it seems too unexceptional and dogmatic.”

  “But it’s true.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed with a smile. “But I suspect that the author is a single-minded person.”

  “Is it bad?”

  “Being unequivocal all the time?”

  Goshik didn’t answer. The conversation was flagging.

  He doesn’t trust me, I thought. Maybe I should get tough with him. Rich guys are often haughty.

  “If you really share this view, why do you have the G-Wagen? It’s hulky, the steering is awful as well as the brakes. It’s dangerous while cornering!”

  Goshik listened to me carefully.

  “You know, Slava, the most important thing in a car is the engine. Nothing matters more than the engine power. All the rest can be out of the picture. When you have a bad day, you are in a bad mood, neither multimedia system nor climate control will cheer you up. You’ll hate your car if it has a weak engine. As for me, I do love my car because I can accelerate to full throttle, and it still blows me away.”

  “The very truth itself,” I nodded.

  “I had a Subaru once. The handling was phenomenal. But the engine was so-so. And I was dreaming about a powerful engine. I’m utterly obsessed with this V8. By the way, Sweer loves high-power engines too. The rest of the guys get a kick out of handling or exhaust sound. But the engine is above all things. We all recognize its importance.”

  “I’m back!” Sweer cried suddenly.


  “Glad to hear it,” I uttered.

  “My video editor noticed the flat tires on your Hyundai.”

  “Didn’t you see them?” I asked in surprise.

  “Four flat tires? No! How… could you drive the car?” Sweer looked amazed.

  “As I said, it’s my pet project,” I shrugged. “I shot a movie.”

  “What movie?” I saw a growing interest in their eyes.

  “Adults only,” I answered mysteriously.

  They both burst into laughter. I immediately felt the change in sentiment.

  “You’re tough dude, Slava!” Sweer exclaimed. “First, this comedy with the crazy car sale, then the films for adults. We gotta put you in touch with our girls.”

  I felt on top of the world. I can’t give myself away. I can’t get burned.

  Meanwhile, we drove to a coffeehouse. There was no free parking space, and Goshik quickly climbed up on the sidewalk. We stopped nearly at the entrance.

  “What? Golden G-Wagen!” Goshik grunted. “Who will dare raise his voice against our car?”

  It was 11 p.m. The coffeehouse was almost empty. Soft, appeasing chill-out music was playing around. We sat at a wooden table. A waitress brought menus.

  “Americano and cherry dumplings,” Goshik ordered.

  “Seafood risotto, mille-feuille and a cup of cappuccino,” Sweer uttered staring at the young waitress.

  “Are you ready to order, Slava?” Sweer sternly inquired. His eyes were sparkling merrily.

  I slapped my pockets theatrically and said that I forgot the wallet.

  “It’s OK. Order whatever you like.”

  “Thanks! I’ll pay you back later.”

  I took tiramisu and latte. $15 to be paid! I was horrified. I could buy two big chickens, thirty eggs and three or four loaves of bread. Yeah, such places were expensive for most young people. Tonight, I am the passenger of the golden G-Wagen. I should maintain this “golden status”.

  “Done!” Sweer exclaimed, looking at the screen of his laptop. “The video with your Solaris has been uploaded. First likes!”

  The waitress brought the coffee. Sweer gazed at her again and suddenly cried in that abominable high-pitched voice, “I got you!”

  “What?” the young girl was startled.

  “You know what I’m talking about!”

  “Sorry… I don’t!”

  “No excuses! I know you, you know me.” Sweer’s voice tone was cold. “Where were you on 3 February?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “But I remember! Stand right here!” Sweer grabbed the girl roughly by the shoulders and searched her thoroughly like a police officer. I was astonished while Goshik didn’t move a muscle, being glued to his smartphone as nothing was happening. I noticed suddenly that all the scene has been filmed with a tiny video camera which lay next to Sweer’s cup of coffee.

  The waitress was completely confused.

  “What’s your name?” Sweer asked in a deep bass voice.

  “Dunya. How do you know me?” the girl babbled. “I can’t unde—”

  “Shut up! This is definitely you!”

  He put the cell phone to his mouth and cried as he spoke over the radio, “I’m in position. Tango’s spotted… Right in front of me… Eliminate the target? Ten-four. Over.”

  Dunya and I were looking at Sweer with open-mouthed wonder.

  “Could you explain—”

  “No!” Sweer said rigidly.

  “OK,” the waitress timidly obeyed.

  “Folks are coming. You’ll them everything.”

  “What folks? What should I tell?” the girl grew bolder.

  “Are you talking to me?”

  “Yes!” she got angry.

  “Where were you on 3 February?” Sweer growled.

  “I don’t know anything about that!”

  “Now you deny something!”

  “No!”

  “Spit it out!”

  “I’m innocent!”

  “Evasive answer!”

  I saw that she was on the verge of a meltdown.

  “Dunya, say Ah!”

  “Ah,” she responded automatically.

  “Louder!”

  “Ah!”

  “At the top of your lungs!”

  “AAAAH!”

  I guess this passionate scream was heard by some pedestrians outside. They were squeezing between the golden G-Wagen which occupied the whole sidewalk and the entrance to the coffeehouse. I looked at them with sympathy. The G-Wagen terrified everyone. It was the incarnation of power, money, and criminality.

  If Goshik had a Rolls-Royce, he could park illegally as well, I thought. And no one would ever come to him and give him the ticket. The police would not dare pull him over for a minor traffic offense. If you can afford to pay about $500.000 for the car, you are not an ordinary man. In most European countries, such vehicles are considered as excessive luxury items, emphasizing of which is indecent. In Russia, driving a car like this, you can create an impression on people that you have high-level connections, and that you can go beyond the law. Of course, it breeds social unrest. But who cares?

  “Good girl!” Sweer praised Dunya.

  The coffeehouse manager came up to us and looked suspiciously at the waitress.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “No!” Sweer shook his head sadly. “This girl was trying to harass me,” he pointed at Dunya. “Maybe she tried to attract my attention, making that loud noise. But she failed! Look at her. She turned as red as a lobster. I ask you to take the proper measures to avoid such inappropriate behavior in the future. We are your regular customers, but today we are terribly disappointed.”

  “Oh… we deeply apologize for the incident. Dunya! Come with me!”

  When they were gone, I turned to Sweer, “What the hell was that?

  “That was the best part of my job, Slava.”

  “Do you really know her?”

  “Hell, no!” He turned the video camera to his face and chirped, “Our live stream is nearly over. Subscribe to my channel, click on the thumbs-up if you like this video and comment, my dear friends! Your support means so much to me.”

  “Was the performance just a new video for your channel?”

  “Bingo! I like to improvise!” Sweer started to jump up and down in his chair.

  “But you did a lot of damage!”

  “No, man! When this girl gets back, she will catch my drift.”

  “Do people really enjoy your videos?” I asked carefully trying not to offend him.

  “Why do you think they don’t?”

  “Well… the content seems weird to me.”

  “I have a reputation, Slava. Now I don’t need to shoot first-class videos. Not matter what I’m doing. The army of admirers will watch my channel.”

  I frowned.

  “OK,” Sweer continued. “Let’s call this video…” he closed his eyes and snapped his fingers, “Cutie-pie Dunya was fired because of me! Ha-ha!”

  “Do you reckon she’ll be fired?”

  “It doesn’t really matter. The hard-hitting video title—this is the point. And in the video description, we add something like…” Sweer closed his eyes again, “Come here as fast as you can if you wanna rescue Dunya. Everyone who comes will receive the 15% discount on coffee. Ain’t it great?” Sweer sprang to his feet. “I’m going to bargain with the manager.”

  “What do you mean?” I was surprised.

  “I’ve just advertised this coffee shop in my video. A huge crowd of my subscribers is coming right here right now. As I said, my condition is the 15% discount on coffee for my subscribers. I have my interest as well about 5% of the sales. So, the coffee shop cuts the price by 20% selling about fifty cups of coffee during these quiet night hours. Ain’t this great?”

  “You’re a crazy businessman!”

  “You bet!” he giggled and disappeared.

  I looked at Goshik. He was still staring at his smartphone.

  How on earth could he ignore everything? I pondered. I bit tiramisu. It was breathtaking as well as the magnificent coffee which stood no comparison with that dishwater called instant coffee I had been drinking in my office.

  Dunya returned. She was silent for half a minute while clearing away the dishes and suddenly shrieked again. Sweer had sneaked up behind and pinched her neck.

  “You are an asshole!” she said aggrievedly. “He gave me a good talking-to.” She was absolutely not going to take revenge on Sweer. On the contrary, she was looking at him with genuine interest.