worry, I’m not a baby.”
“Good deal; now listen.”
Viktor gave detailed directions on finding the building and apartment to which he moved the Chechen single mother with children.
“Just don’t do anything rash! Do it properly,” the neighbor urged before saying goodbye.
“I’ll manage,” Vlasov promised heading out.
“When?”
“Now.”
“Maybe – » Chervyakov started to worry.
Andrei turned around abruptly and pulled Victor closer.
“He started it. Now it’s my turn.”
“Of course,” Viktor mumbled, shivering as he took in his buddy’s insane look.
The neighbors said their goodbyes at the apartment’s front door. Viktor Chervyakov stood still and listened to the heavy stomping of his old buddy Andrei Vlasov’s shoes. The footsteps were getting more distant, but not dying down. Then, the building entrance door slammed resonantly. In the silence that ensued, Viktor, trying to control the shivers of excitement, knocked on the wood of the doorframe three times; he wanted Andrei to succeed.
If everything goes right, he’d throw another address his neighbor’s way. After all, the swarthy did take over mother Moscow!
Chapter 17
August 31, 10:15 PM
Vlasov’s Kitchen
“Yeah, Andryukha, you were right back then! They kill us, we kill them!”
Viktor moved closer and tried to look up into his neighbor’s eyes. Andrei, looking down, kept turning his empty glass in his hands. The glass bottom knocked on the plastic tabletop.
“Those bastards blow stuff up for big bucks; you wanted to do it for an idea. Revenge is a noble business. If someone did that to my girlfriend, I would… Remember Nord Ost?”
Andrei jumped up from behind the table; his chair fell over on the floor.
“I remember everything! I remember too much! I don’t know what to do with those memories! They are in me, burning me, burning – ”
Viktor hastily splashed into the glasses the remained of vodka.
“Drink it down, Andryukha! And forget everything!”
Yekaterina Fedorovna stuck her head out of her bedroom and winced.
“Another bash. Go easy on the furniture. Who’s gonna replace it? And they’re gonna it all the bread.”
“That bread really got to you, didn’t it?” Andrei grabbed the remains of the loaf and rudely pushed them into his mother’s hands. “Take it and hide it. And go to bed, don’t be in the way.”
“Got drank, didn’t you? Have some food after you drink. There are dumplings in the fridge. I’ll boil them.”
“I’ll do it myself, Mom.”
Andrei almost pushed his mother into her bedroom and came back; he grabbed the glass, vodka splashed out on his fingers. Andrei licked the wet palm of his hand.
“Tomorrow is Sveta’s birthday.”
“Will you go to her?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s drink to her,” Viktor lifted up his glass.
“To Sveta!” Andrei said and tossed back the glass. His lips pursed; he noisily inhaled through his nose. Vlasov looked at his buddy from under his eyebrows. “Now go.”
“Do you want to spend some time with the girl?” Viktor asked playfully, picking at the salad. “She doesn’t look right.”
“I told you. She’s sick.”
“Call her out here. We’ll cure her.”
“No. Go home.”
“And she’s dressed like a scarecrow, too. Hey, should I run and get another bottle?”
“Just go, okay?”
“Are you in heat?”
“Go, Vityok.”
“Look here, Andryukha. A pussy’s a pussy, but I wouldn’t do it with a Chechen. If her uncle isn’t a bandit, her brother just might be. Or she is a Shahid herself.”
“Nobody is asking you to do anything.” Andrei nodded toward the exit. “Go, I’ll explain everything later.”
Viktor reluctantly started down the hallway. Along the way, he, as if by accident, looked into Andrei’s room. The girl fearfully looked at the two men; her tense hands rested on her knees. Viktor winked at Aiza with a smile; he squinted and ogled the girl.
At the front door, he whispered to Andrei, “Have you changed your tactic? Now you suffocate the enemy by hugging?”
Andrei, silent, pushed out his laughing buddy and locked the door behind him.
Alone in the stairway, Chervyakov lit up a cigarette. His smile disappeared, his forehead wrinkled up, his lips whispered thoughtfully, “He used to bash their heads in.”
Chapter 18
Nord Ost
Day Two, Evening
His feet plodded through puddles. Cold gusts of wind blew through his clothes; drops of rain ran down his hollow cheeks, getting caught and breaking in his stubble. Andrei Vlasov, consumed by the idea of revenge, paid no attention to whims of nature; before he knew it, he was near the building he looked for. All the way over, he talked to Sveta in his mind. He though she was asking him to avenge her.
He came into a courtyard flanked by two standard five-story apartment blocks. Sveta lived in a building just like these, so Andrei knew the apartments’ numbering. Every time he walked his girlfriend home, he would stand under her windows waiting for Sveta to wave goodbye to him through a window.
He gazed over the façade. The windows of the Chechen woman’s apartment overlooked the courtyard. All windows were dark: no one in the apartment. That was even better; no need to break in, he would wait and do her in the courtyard.
Andrei tried to remember what the woman looked like. All he could remember was an eternally concerned stare of her dark eyes. Would he recognize her? Definitely. She was from the Caucasus after all. She would be his first victim! That was his decision. Why she? What did it matter? She had no time to look for another. He wanted to get it all done today!
Once he decided, he calmed down. His brain was coldly calculating the plan of the murder. The important part was to decide whether he wanted to disguise the murder as a robbery gone bad or to demonstrate right away that it was revenge.
After some deliberation, he decided to stick with option one. It was too early to show that Chechen women were being killed just for being Chechens. After the fourth or fifth instance, everyone would make the connection anyway. And if they didn’t, he would throw a hint to the nosy reporters.
How would he kill her? He wouldn’t use the gun just yet; he might have to use the bullets elsewhere. There are easier ways to kill a single woman.
Vlasov looked around. Along the road, there was a low metal fence, bent in a few places by recklessly driven cars. A few hits with the heel of his shoe, and Andrei was able to pull a piece of rebar out of the ground. Short and heavy: just what he needed. One strike, and that would be it!
Andrei wiped the rod with wet leaves; whatever the reason, he didn’t want to use a dirty rod. In addition, now he could hide it under his clothes. The piece of rebar