Gunpowder, money and a glass of red

Pablo grew up in an orphanage, from which he escaped when he was barely sixteen. It was then that he committed his first robbery. Shortly before this, he tried alcohol for the first time. This happened when he got a job in one of the bars. He delivered orders, wiped dust, washed floors and dishes. He slaved away, which is why he completely dropped out of school, running away from the orphanage early in the morning and returning closer to midnight. Being surrounded by drug dealers, peddlers (or scam artists, shady dealers depending on nuance), pimps, smugglers, and other ‘elite’ of Little Rome, many of whom were among the patrons, he heard enough stories about how easily big money could sometimes be made. One day he firmly decided to pull off something big and risky. In the morning he boarded the subway car. It was peak hour. His slight frame easily squeezed between the standing passengers. His eyes darted around and soon found the victim: a man of average height, appearing to be around forty-five. He wore a business suit, tie, perfectly polished shoes and a solid-looking watch on his wrist. All this indicated his considerable wealth. This was also evident from the leather clutch bag the man held tucked under his arm. Pablo waited until the man reached his station and started to disembark, disappearing into the noisy stream of passengers on the platform. When the victim began to approach the escalator, Pablo quickened his pace and, coming up behind the man, snatched the bag from his grasp and rushed off in the opposite direction. The robbed stranger ran after him, shrieking indignantly, and shouting: “Stop him! Thief!” Someone from the crowd grabbed Pablo’s T-shirt. Pablo landed a kick to the groin and continued to flee. A station announcement blared: “Stand clear of the closing doors.” There were only a few meters left to the carriage. Pablo jumped, covering the rest of the path, and leapt into the carriage. The former owner of the bag pounded his palms loudly against the glass doors, and that was the end of it. The train started moving. Pablo got off after several stations. He found enough money in the bag to rent a room and to live off the bar’s salary for some time. He saw no reason to return to the orphanage. This is how his adult life began. After some time, he, Massimo, and Jorge pulled off several lucrative jobs, after which Pablo quit his job and finally felt free.

– MASSIMO!!! – Jorge and Pablo shouted loudly in unison. They both greeted Massimo and hugged him tightly. Massimo himself instantly woke up from the excitement of such a reunion. He invited his friends inside.

Pablo took a few steps, then turned, spread his arms, and said in bewilderment:

– What are these rags? Are you trying to look like a governor?

Still basking in the joy of the unexpected reunion, Massimo let the remark slide. Jorge, from the far end of the corridor, answered for him:

– He didn’t go to prison, so he can wear anything he wants: a toga, even stilettos. He’s got that right.

– And that’s true – Pablo agreed readily. – But only without stilettos. We’re not fags.

Massimo called his friends into the kitchen, paused for a moment in deep thought, and finally asked:

– You won’t puke from coffee in this pigsty? I haven’t had time to clean up yet.

– Nah. Pour it – Pablo continued enthusiastically. – I’m in such a mess in my own head right now that I don’t know what to ask.

– So, what did those assholes tell you? – Jorge asked.

Massimo spooned ground coffee into the cezve, telling them at the same time:

– Two years of a suspended sentence and one on probation. The judge went easy on me because it was my first screw-up. More precisely, it’s the first time the cops caught me.

– Holy shit – Jorge muttered. – And this would be my third time being brought in.

Pablo continued, laughing slightly:

– And I’d be on my fourth. Suckers.

– You won – Jorge answered sarcastically.

Massimo suddenly froze in the middle of the kitchen. Several seconds of silence gave way to a sluggish remark:

– Crap. I’ll be right back.

He examined himself, remembering he was still wearing his suit, and went to change into his casual clothes.

Massimo returned just as Pablo was taking the cezve off the stove, and Jorge was taking out and arranging the cups on the table.

They sat on different sides of a small square table, one side of which was adjacent to the wall.

After walking around the apartment for a while, Massimo looked a little more awake. This was noticeable even in his voice:

– Well, tell me. What’s new here while I was away?

Pablo and Jorge exchanged glances. Pablo began:

– What’s new? A new gas station has opened near the overpass. A Rolls-Royce was stripped down in the workshop behind our house. The Bolivian baker’s daughter on the corner, they say, got knocked up.

– No kidding? – Massimo said. – Is this the one with big tits?

– Yes. The eldest.

– So, who knocked her up?

– Hell if I know… She’s been around with so many guys, she probably doesn’t even know whose baby she’s carrying.

Jorge added:

– Marcello got hooked on weed.

– Milkman?

Jorge nodded a couple of times, taking a sip of his coffee.

– Yesterday I was going to the pharmacy. I saw him standing near the service entrance. I saw some smoke coming out from around him. I walked up, and in his hand he had a rolled-up cigarette, big as my dick.

Laughter was heard throughout the apartment.

The laughter subsided a little.

– Shhh… – Pablo said, putting a finger to his lips.

He listened for a while, then picked up an empty glass from the tabletop, put it against the wall and put his ear to the bottom.

– What’s up there? – Jorge asked impatiently.

A satisfied smile slowly began to appear on Pablo’s face. He began to speak in intermittent phrases, continuing to listen to the sounds coming from the other side of the wall:

– Someone’s really getting it. Man, those moans… A hot chick.

Jorge wanted to grab a second glass and join in, but he stopped after Pablo said:

– Looks like they’re finishing up.

– Who is first? – curiosity did not let go of Jorge.

– The guy groaned. Yes, he came first.

Pablo returned to the table, asking Massimo:

– Is it always this hot there?

– Every day.

– Your neighbors are funny.

After they finished their coffee, and with it the talk about the latest news, Jorge turned to Massimo:

– Listen, it’s only thanks to you that we’re not in jail, but you, on the contrary, got into such shit because of us.

Pablo continued:

– Yeah. Our bad. We were supposed to leave with the proceeds from the cash register, but instead, for some reason, we got carried away and went for the safe too.

Pablo pulled out a bundle from his back pocket.

– So, we decided not to split everything equally. The total was 1,940. Jorge and I each kept 420; before that, we gave a hundred to Aunt Barbara’s attending physician so they’d move her up the waiting list for surgery by a couple of months. They said two months was the absolute earliest they could do it. And this is the rest – Pablo said, placing the remaining money in front of Massimo.

Massimo put his hand to the stack of bills and pushed them into the center of the table.

– Hey-hey! What are you doing? – Jorge almost shouted.

– So… I didn’t even suspect you’d done something to help Aunt Barbara. So what you did means more to me than money.

– Yes, that goes without saying. Just take what’s yours. You’re broke.

After much convincing from his friends, Massimo said:

– Listen, guys, I’ll take it only on one condition. I won’t be able to help you until my probationary period expires. Once a year passes, you can count on me.

Massimo said the last phrase firmly, decisively and with enthusiasm.

Pablo spoke impatiently:

– Of course not. Don’t worry about it. We’ll manage somehow. We’ll hold out for a year. Just take it. The main thing is, as soon as it starts to run out, you let us know, and we’ll top you up. And anyway, whether you tell us or not, we’ll hook you up (or give you more) at the first opportunity. We don’t abandon our own.

– Thanks, guys. I won’t forget.

Jorge retorted:

– No, you forget it. That’s an order!

Laughter filled the kitchen.

They left the apartment and spent the whole evening until late in a bar called “A Glass of Red”. The owner was a stocky forty-two-year-old Cuban named Murillo, with whom Massimo had a special relationship. He often dropped by the establishment and took a place at the bar, where he and Murillo had heart-to-heart conversations. That’s how it had been since early childhood. From the age of eight Massimo was a special customer at the bar. Here Murillo constantly treated him to soda or fruit cocktail. If Massimo took on an errand, took an order home, ran to the grocery store for another package of napkins, or helped collect empty bottles from tables, Murillo paid him generously, fed him a hamburger or a hot dog, and even let him choose any drink for free. The bar was located half a block from Massimo’s house. In the evenings and on weekends, the establishment was always bustling with customers, but during the day it was a quiet and peaceful spot, a time when you could sit at a table with a plate of fried chicken and potatoes and a full glass of beer or Coca-Cola. But in the evening, vodka, wine, rum, whiskey, cognac, and other alcohol flow freely, hastening the moment when the brain parts ways with the rest of the body.

By morning Massimo had slept well and a very atypical day began for him. The first thing he decided to do was tidy up the apartment. In the absence of Aunt Barbara, chaos reigned inside on a universal scale. He washed the floors, wiped dust wherever it could accumulate, collected and took out the trash, washed the dishes, and did some laundry, putting the clothes away. It soon dawned on him that he would never do laundry by hand in the future. This decision was fueled by the amount that Jorge and Pablo gave.

Massimo went to the door of the neighboring apartment. After the first ring, Lorenzo opened the door. He had an apple in one hand and a short-barreled revolver in the other.

And yet he followed Massimo’s advice.

– Hello.

Clutching the apple, which had been bitten several times, in his teeth, Lorenzo tucked the revolver into the back of his jeans, extended his hand, and said, taking the apple out of his mouth:

– Hey.

Without further delay, Massimo got down to business:

– Listen, Lorenzo, I know you don’t sell anymore, but can you tell me where I can get a washing machine inexpensively?

– Hold on a sec.

Lorenzo went somewhere deeper into the apartment. He returned half a minute later with a piece of paper, handing it over and saying:

– Here. Call this number. Just ask for Angel. He’s a first-class scumbag, but he’ll help you with a washing machine.

– Really? What did he do?

– What do you mean?

– Well, you said he’s a scumbag.

Continuing to stand on the threshold, Lorenzo said, waving his hand:

– Forget it. Former competitor.

Manuela’s voice came from the apartment:

– Who are you talking to?

– Okay – said Lorenzo. – Sorry, I have an emergency there.

– Thanks, – Massimo said goodbye, after which he heard Lorenzo’s loud voice even before he closed the door:

– How many more times do I have to say it!? Shut up and take off your panties!

During the day, a used washing machine was delivered to Massimo’s apartment, but in very good condition. The workers provided free services for connecting it to the sewer and water supply. Angel himself turned out to be not such a bad guy after all. He offered to sell Massimo the faulty washing machine for parts for ten percent of the cost of the one he brought. Massimo agreed without hesitation. In a couple of loads, he washed all the dirty laundry.

Towards evening the apartment took on a neat appearance. Massimo visited the grocery store and shopped for the week ahead.

For a week he went to the hospital every day. Every day he took Aunt Barbara strawberry peanut ice cream, which was her favorite. In the evenings, Jorge and Pablo dropped in to visit him. Following a certain ritual, they invariably, and according to a set schedule, went out to carouse around the local area. On weekends, Jorge borrowed his father’s Volkswagen and they had the opportunity to get out of Little Rome to cruise around other areas of the city.

On the ninth day after the trial, Massimo had his birthday. He bought a small cake at a pastry shop, which he took to visit his aunt. By seven o’clock Pablo and Jorge appeared on the threshold of the apartment. The celebration began with a flourish, after which, with congratulatory words, Pablo shook the birthday boy’s hand, slipping three $100 bills into his palm. Jorge gave a marble money box in the shape of Jesus with a lid on its bottom. Massimo later found another three hundred under the lid.

The birthday was over. The next morning, Massimo was getting ready to go to the hospital. Aunt Barbara had an operation scheduled for nine o’clock. He was already planning to leave when someone rang the doorbell. Massimo turned the key twice and pulled the door open. Pablo stood in front of him. His T-shirt was stained with fresh blood. It was Jorge’s blood; Pablo was struggling to drag him along, supporting him with a hand on his neck. He dragged him three floors up the stairs and who knows how many more to the house.

In a hurry, Massimo helped drag Jorge inside and then slammed the door.

Jorge lay on the couch, wincing in pain from the open wound left by a twenty-five-caliber shot in his left shoulder.

– What happened!? – Massimo asked, feeling his heart begin to beat in his chest against his ribs.

The apartment was filled with Jorge’s loud, painful moans.

With a shaky breath, Pablo replied:

– His… his father was robbed yesterday when he was driving home from work. We… found out who the bastard was… We caught him and started roughing him up. Who knew this SON OF A BITCH had a gun!

– Where was it?

– Three blocks from here.

Massimo looked at Jorge, who was doubled over in pain, and asked, spreading his arms:

– How did you drag him?

– This scum stole the car. We took it back. DAMN IT! We thought we’d return it to his father!

Massimo froze for a moment. His face froze, retaining a grimace of fear. His next question sounded frighteningly wary:

– And where is it now?

Pablo’s response came without delay:

– At the building’s entrance.

Massimo rubbed his face with his palms, but was still able to snap out of his stupor. First of all, he rushed to get bandages and alcohol. While the wound was being treated, Jorge’s moans intensified slightly. Having felt the hole on the back side, Massimo was convinced that the bullet had gone right through. He hastily sealed both holes with several layers of duct tape..

– Did the cops spot you? – asked Massimo.

Pablo replied, still in a state of shock:

– No. But this bastard carjacked someone’s car and chased us.

Massimo did not react at all to Pablo’s words until he glanced at the floor. His eyes ran along the trail of blood smeared on the floor, which was visible from the very threshold. Massimo rushed to the exit and looked out into the corridor. A few seconds of silence were followed by the sound of a door slamming shut. He went into the kitchen, took a knife out of the drawer, then went to Pablo.

– What does he look like?

Pablo was sitting on the floor, leaning his back against the sofa. For some time, with tension, he examined the blade clutched in Massimo’s hand, and then, swallowing a lump of saliva, he said:

– I’m with you. I won’t let you in there alone.

As soon as Pablo lifted himself off the floor, Massimo pressed his friend’s shoulders and said:

– He saw you. But he doesn’t know me.

It didn’t take long to persuade Pablo. He told Massimo about the thick black beard of impressive length, short hair, red and white checkered shirt and glass eye. He pulled a Makarov pistol from his belt.

Massimo said, shaking his head:

– Keep it for yourself.

Massimo walked out the door, having previously asked Pablo to lock himself from the inside. Drops of blood could be seen all over the corridor. There were no other residents around. Someone’s footsteps were heard somewhere on the stairs. A few seconds later, the figure of a Mexican living on the floor above appeared. He went up to his room. Massimo looked at him and moved towards the stairs, pressing the blade to the inside of his forearm. As he approached the stairs, he noticed traces of blood on the steps. His feet went past the last step leading to the second floor. Empty. A familiar voice came from somewhere below:

– Thank you.

The sound of a door slamming was heard.

Massimo continued to descend with leisurely steps. After he had descended half the stairs between floors, a man unknown by name, but familiar in appearance, began to climb towards him. It was the man with the glass eye. With his other eye – his own eye – he peered at the crimson traces on the steps, following them. He looked to be about forty. Noticing a young man walking towards him, he examined Massimo for several seconds without looking away. The look was insolent and caused an uneasy feeling inside. He held one hand close to his back and the other dangled in a natural position.

Having gotten half a meter closer to the man, Massimo turned to him:

– Got a cigarette?

The man shoved his hairy hand onto Massimo’s shoulder. He pushed him away with considerable force. Massimo was noticeably turned around by this push. A little more and he would have hit his back against the wall. He noticed how tightly the stranger’s hand was pressed to his upper thigh, and the handle of a pistol protruded next to him behind his jeans.

It was the right moment. Massimo adjusted his grip on the knife handle in his palm. The man was already seven steps above him. Comfortable height. Very comfortable. With a sweeping movement, Massimo cut the Achilles tendon with the tip of the blade, immediately after which the man froze in place. Massimo took advantage of this and thrust the wide blade into the back of the thigh. With his free hand, the stranger managed to pull out the pistol from behind his back. The man screamed at the top of his lungs, spreading his jaws as far as possible and exposing his teeth. Massimo crept up from behind, hastily pulled the pistol out of the man’s hand and covered his mouth in order to muffle his scream. He pulled the blade from his right thigh and sharply brought the blade to the stranger’s neck. The blood-covered steel began to slide across the skin and burrow deep into the throat, cutting arteries. For the first few seconds, the splashes scattered around, hitting the wall and railings. A powerful crimson stream gushed out from the cut. Blood flowed down the steps.

Under the influence of reflexes, Massimo pushed away the stranger, who stubbornly refused to fall, clinging to the railing. Massimo picked him up by the leg and threw him over the railing. The stranger flew down the flight of stairs, colliding with the tiles at the end of the path, causing blood to splash several meters around.

Massimo rushed back in a hurry, but soon became stuck in place, remembering the pistol that had his fingerprints on it. He began to return and stopped a few meters before the place where the weapon lay. Someone came out into the corridor and shouted something obscene, and then added:

– Lola! Call the police!

From the stomping, it became clear that the person who shouted ran down the stairs, from where fresh screams were heard, even more high-pitched.

Taking this opportunity, Massimo jumped out, picked up the pistol and ran up the steps, returning to the apartment.

Having reached the door, he wanted to knock with all his might, but he remembered his hands stained with blood. He pressed the bell button with his chin. Pablo opened the door. Massimo ran into the kitchen like a bullet, threw the knife into the sink, then ran into the bathroom. There he found a rag, soaked it generously and ran into the corridor to wash away the traces of blood left by Jorge’s wound, which led to his apartment.

It was great luck. No one appeared in the corridor during those half a minute.

Massimo returned to the apartment. Pablo locked the door and hurried to Jorge, who was trying to say something through unceasing moans.

His hands hung over the bathtub. Drops of blood flowed from the fingers to the bottom, dissolving in a weak stream of water. Massimo roughly wet his hands under the tap, from under which water flowed into the bathtub, heading towards the drain. His hands were shaking. His lips and chin were trembling. He closed his eyelids and held his breath in an attempt to slow down his pulse, suppress the surge of adrenaline, calm the trembling of his limbs. From powerlessness, Massimo collapsed onto the tiles, pressing his back against the wall. The blood was still racing through his body, his heart was pounding, and his thoughts were confused.

The phone rang in the living room. Massimo heard the bell only the sixth time. He went to the side table, wiped his hands on his T-shirt and picked up the phone. To someone’s question from the other end of the line, Massimo answered in a trembling voice:

– Y… yes.

He didn’t make another sound. His eyes, staring somewhere at the wall, maintained their position, and only the eyelids gradually began to twitch, falling lower and lower with every second. The corners of the mouth widened as much as possible. Massimo bared his teeth, his eyelids closed, and the telephone receiver slipped from his hand. His legs could not bear the mental burden. He knelt down, pressing his hands to his face. The eyes disappeared under the fingertips with poorly washed away traces of blood. The room was filled with loud crying, accompanied by a cry of despair.

The call was from the hospital.