Come on, then. announced a fewer days ago the text premiere of the latest story. In this story, you will meet Kiryl – a specialist from the alleged "wet robot" from beyond the east border, who is hired by a unusual old man with a past no little dark than Kiril himself to "pull" a highly peculiar stalker, for months turning the life of an old man into a nightmare. As you can imagine, a contract will origin many unforeseen problems to a trained killer. But it will besides aid him discover any truths about himself.
The Last Job
The guy in the wheelchair looked like he was already born. Kiril, alone with little than 2 years to sixty on his neck, felt uncomfortable in his company. He didn't like it erstwhile anything reminded him that he was actually more behind than he was before.
That's why he decided to quit irrevocably after his last job. He intended to spend it in Paraguay – 1 of the fewer places on the globe, where chances that Zachar or anyone else for whom he was cleaning the garbage could track him down were oscillating around zero. Paraguay was good to people like him. And it's good to live. With a bit of luck, he was inactive waiting for about fifteen, possibly 20 years of comfortable and comparatively healthy existence with many pleasures that can be bought for fat money. And he didn't miss that.
Nurses, hospitals, hospitals, hospitals won't spend a dime. erstwhile he realizes that it's time, he'll just blow his brains out, and without regret, he'll float distant into nothingness. That's what he was up to erstwhile he started making preparations to leave. All of a sudden, this damn call from Zachar. It's like the fucker's onto something.
– This is crucial to me, Kiril. I can't imagine giving her to anyone else. This guy... let's say we have old ties that have a commitment to something. He asked me to get him the best wet-job specialist. I don't know anyone as effective as you. Kiril, do it for me. It's a substance of honor.
He was fattened on the russian safety gangus, on which Kiril ordered 3 months ago to put a PKM series of the full line of a competitive group, looking them in the eye, telling them about commitments and honor is simply a good joke. Good adequate to give Kiril the suspicion that it might be a trick. Zachar may have figured out someway that Kiril wanted to go. So he may have chosen to test his loyalty. If so, the deficiency of consent would be equal to a hat.
And here he is, in the country in the mediate of Mazovia.
The larch manor home where his client lived – most likely Zachar's safe friend from red times – was besides old. He may not have been destroyed yet, but he had clear signs of neglect that there was no 1 to care for him. The fruit orchard that Kiril saw at the corner of his eye erstwhile he drove his defender into the yard was more like a chaotic bush. No one's been mowing grass in front of the porch for a long time. In the interior, to which according to Zachar's instructions he entered himself after pressing the bell to notify the host of his arrival, it was not better: furniture, walls and a fewer photographs hanging on them were covered by a foggy layer of greasy dust. It smelled like mold and moisture.
Paralyzed from the waist down the puppet, which waited for Kirila in a large surviving area to the left of the entrance, completed the image of the decay here. Still, any incomprehensible Kira miraculously managed to set fire in the fireplace and now the fire was desperate to face the cold of late November evening.
– Sit down, Mr. Semczuk – it encouraged gibberishly it was a barely dying dead body, pulling out a tasty, brown stained hand in a parody inviting gesture. due to the fact that your name is Semczuk, right?
– Names are not needed for anything, Mr. Wednesday – he evaporated with the reserve Kiril, but obediently took a seat in the chair indicated by the old man.
His sight was chained by a tiny circular table next to the chair. It stood on it filled to half with amber caraf and glass liquid. Next to the glass lay the cellophane-packed Juliet in the kind of Churchill, an ashtray, a guillotine, and a gas lighter valued by Kirila. Zachar's arranged it beautiful well. Hell, possibly he truly set a trap. possibly the old man's about to pull any dead crap out of his lap. That would be rather his style. He loved that kind of staging.
Bosses of the Zaporosian group lured into a luxury guesthouse in Mazury, utilizing a substituted brothel that convinced them that she had taken over the agenda and wanted to make a fresh division of influence. Just to make it funnier, the cunt truly thought she'd done him by putting poison in his drink. She had a hidden purpose: she wanted to free the girl Zachar had not been able to sale to brothels in Berlin and Amsterdam. So she plotted a clever plan to invitation the dam bulls to a peculiar bidding, in which they could buy a night with their chosen girlfriend. The extra attraction was that no of them knew they were going to become whores. The full task was officially organized under the cover of a completely legal, created to confuse Polish authorities, a foundation for combating prostitution, and gangs were to play the function of its generous sponsors.
Zachar's perverse mood. In fact, he enjoyed strengthening this idiot in the belief that he did not realize that he was trying to rip him off. As long as he thought that she truly wanted to just lay a hand on his business, he was laughing, say moderately. But erstwhile he realized that she truly wanted to defend the girls from the destiny that erstwhile met her, and the prisoner was going to delete, so that no stupid bitch believing that she was going to the West to work in a store or change diapers to the residents in the homes of the elderly, she did not end up in a whorehouse for cocaine-inflated perverts, virtually rejoiced as a kid who suspected what his parents had bought him for Christmas.
– She's a real altruist, huh? – she giggled over the cup. - All right, well, let's have a go. By the way, he's going to get me a firewall problem. And you, Kiril, will make certain everything goes right.
Not a single muscle moved on Kira's face. Like right before the party, erstwhile she was certain that he was working for her now, she revealed to him what her plan was, and promised that if she did a good job, she would add a fewer thousand.
After the bidding, arrogant of herself as the peacock announced to the exuberant and well-drunk people that she had taken over their money and access to accounts. Then Kiril entered the banquet area with a firearm and blew everyone up before they knew precisely what had happened. Right after the smoke was inactive rising in the air, Zachar appeared – safe and sound – and personally put that treacherous bitch in her stomach. Kiril remembered the fear in her eyes. The girls were taken care of by safety guards. Kiril passed. He got drunk to get distant from their screams. possibly this raised Zachar's mistrust.
So, for fuck's sake, he'd be able to organize a akin show for him. In case of any event, he will only be able to number on his own reflexes and his left armpit-attached spring holster beretta M9.
– Don't be shy, go ahead. I utilized to like to quibble, too, but... well, you see.
Kiril carefully raised Juliet. He besides carefully removed the cellophane and watched the cigar from all sides. It looked good. He took a guillotine and cut off the hood. The Wednesday watched him from the dark. There was any glaring greed in that look. Or possibly it's just the circumstantial 1 that's smart enough. Anyway, it disgusted Kira. He checked the string. A small tight, but Kiril didn't mind. In the dry taste, he besides felt nothing disturbing – no bitterness or almonds. He started warming up his foot.
– And so you live here? – you mainly asked to distract uncomfortable silence.
The old man took a snoring breath.
- Yes, it is now. 3 of us were. Me, my boy and his... let's say a friend. But I'm fine for now. I rent a female like that from the country. He'll come in 2 or 3 times a week, something will come up, dinner will go... At my age, there's no request anymore. And if I want something extra, it's always the Internet. It's just that we're slow going to expire here, me and this house.
The cigar caught the heat.
– Zachar cannot brag about you – he changed the subject of Wednesday. He told me about any of your actions. He said your loyalty cost him dearly, but you're expected to be worth it. The more he spoke, the more he squeaked. So he stopped for a while. erstwhile he rested, he decided: – If you do not aid me solve my problem, I might as well shoot myself in the temple today. Or ask you to do it. And God knows I've considered it many times.
His voice sounded something that Kiril did not like even more than the expression of his watery eyes. It reminded him besides much of the last barely suffocated word of this... what was it like? Olena? She said Zachar's name, knowing that she had 5 seconds to live. It wasn't even for a good cause, it was any cold animal horror. possibly like a pig in a slaughterhouse erstwhile he abruptly starts to understand. Anyway, that's what he heard in Wednesday's tuberculosis voice.
He spread out more comfortable in the chair and sucked a large dose of cigar smoke into his mouth. In which he besides felt nothing disturbing. What about the old man? Well, the old man was old. possibly he's already mixed up.
– I'm listening. What can I do?
The edema spewed arthritic fingers on the sole. In the corner of his mouth, his saliva guardian shined. For a fewer more seconds, the only sounds in the area were the slamming of the Polan in the fireplace and the sound of the autumn wind fiercely attacking the house. Finally, he snarled slowly: – Your sacrifice, Mr. Semczuk, is just lurking behind you.
Kiril reacted instinctively. He broke out of the chair like a burn. Julieta slipped out of his fingers and fell next to the ashtray. With a flash, well-trained gesture, which has already saved his ass, he turned his leather jacket, reached into his holster, catapulted the beretta out of it and unsealed it, turned to heel. But all he saw was an empty court. She looked precisely the same as she did a fewer minutes ago erstwhile he went in.
– Lower – came deafly from behind his back.
Kiril's eyes are down, inactive ready to start the canonade at any time.
And he yet saw it.
It sat, or alternatively stood on its sleazy bird legs, on the dusty wooden floor. It was most likely the biggest fucking crow Kiril has always seen. And the strangest, due to the fact that on the flattened head he had a white streak, beginning right above the curved beak and forging in the form of a V between the blind. The streak was unnaturally contrasting with the blackness of the remainder of the massive, measured well over 70 centimetres long body. The tail rested inactive on the boards, and the wings closely adhered to the body. He was looking consecutive at Kiril. In his pupils, little reflections of fire from the fireplace danced. Indeed, he was lurking.
Kiril slow released the air, but the weapon was inactive standing by. He felt the adrenaline rush making him faint.
– What the fuck is this? – he measured through the clamped jaws. The bird didn't move. Kiril somewhat left the beretta, but inactive remained in shooting mode. Zachar sent you? Is he around? Is he planning to fuck me off?
– No, Mr. Semczuk – again came from behind his back.
He turned to the old man and pointed a beretta at him. He could feel the raven's look all the time. The Wednesday sat in his wheelchair in an unchanged position.
– You better start talking, if you don't want me to blow your fucking head off in a second like a watermelon, the angry Kiril has gone awry.
– This bird killed everyone who was in this home – he threw out the old man with fear. Only that what he feared was not a bullet, as Kiril, to his own embarrassment, to which he refused to admit to himself, he understood the flight. Now... he's working on me now. It's killing me, trying to break me, driving me crazy. He doesn't want to kill me fast like he did with my boy and his faggot. He wants me to suffer. Long and painful. He's wanted it since he showed up right after Easter.
– You're crazy, he whispered Kiril. Just a crazy freaky old man, most likely with the beginnings of dementia.
– This freaky old man is willing to pay you half a million euros to kill this monster – he buzzed Wednesday. Half a million euros, Mr. Semczuk. Everything I have. All this money will be transferred to your account just after you take care of that part of crap in the yard. For that amount of money, I think you're gonna be fine, or are you gonna take out a man or...
– Or what, the twisted boy of a bitch—squealed Kiril, inactive holding Wednesday at gunpoint—a crow from hell?
That didn't sound very good. Not in the face of the fact that the creepy bird in the court truly was... It's all these shadows. It's just this stupid house. And by him. You let him talk to you and the full thing. Fucking Halloween. And that in the yard is just a raven. possibly a small grown up, but...
– What if so? – he answered with a question of Wednesday. He tilted his head back and closed his eyelids. I don't care where it came from. Might as well be heaven. That would even make a perverse sense. He wants to punish me. most likely right.
Grandpa's nuts, that's for sure. He was a image of everything Kiril despised in his old age, and the thought of which he tried to push distant from himself at all costs. He's been this since Kiril came in. But on the another hand...
– Half a million euros – he echoed. - Half a million euros for beating up any fucking bird.
– Yeah, he's got a dead weight, man.
With the capital he had accumulated so far, surviving highly sparingly, these half-banks could buy him not only a comfortable old age, but possibly besides a tiny private army to protect. And who knows if she wouldn't let her get into any business, too. Then go ahead – let Zachar send his triggers. Kiril, or alternatively the individual he's going to become, will greet them well. Unless it's a trick. That would be a shame. That would be a damn shame.
He dropped his gun. And then he blew up with a laughter he couldn't halt anymore.
– It'll be the easiest and fastest part of junk in my life. And I won't waste a single bullet in this job.
He hid the beretta in his holster and turned back to the court. That should truly go smoothly. He jumps to the bird, grabs him with his left hand by his torso, and his right neck breaks. Crank-kick, that's it. A fewer minutes later, he'll be out of here as a wealthy pensioner. but the yard was empty. He took a deep breath, ordering himself to rest. It's okay. He'll wait. If necessary, lure the bird with any food. From what he was knocking on his head, he knew ravens were omnivorous. I'm certain the old man's got something in the fridge.
– He knows you're hunting him – he snorted the ominous Wednesday. He's gone now, but don't let him fool you.
– Relax – he said in an unnaturally controlled voice Kiril – he will return. And if you don't, we'll draw him out.
– Now it won't show up, so you might as well burn a cigar and perceive to what I gotta say – you have developed a tempting possible of Wednesday. I don't gotta explain anything to anyone. And especially, I don't gotta do this to individual like you, but... well, possibly it's just my job. Or maybe... I request it.
– Encouraging me is boring – he gave up his patience Kiril.
“Sit down, you lousy chachle!” abruptly sounded the Wednesday with so much power that Kiril jumped.
The old man rose in a wheelchair and looked 30 years younger for a moment. But right after that, he went back to babbling, and the vervail flew off him like she was never there.
– I'm sorry, my nerves are all shredded up. He's been showing up.
Kirill fought his temper for a fewer seconds. Half the bubble was a beautiful serious argument for swallowing an insult, but it may well be good-bye, but it will service old lead. It will be an act of mercy, not revenge. Sam wouldn't want that kind of old age, so all the more reason he wouldn't want it. He was a passionate and sincere supporter of euthanasia for the sick and senile. As part of the promotion he will gladly execute it for Wednesday.
He's back in the chair. Julieta was inactive breathing. He managed to stir her up with a fewer vigorous backlashes. erstwhile the cigar got dug up, he poured what was in the caraf. He didn't odor anything suspicious either. Moistened his throat. In the fireplace, 1 of the cracks burst very loudly. He realized all his muscles were tense. And he's waiting. Any sound. Swinging the wing, nodding, whatever. He had another cigar.
He heard the asthmatic tearing of Wednesday.
– For communes, Mr. Semczuk, I was 1 of the highest men in this country. In the ninety-first, I left the service as a general. Hence, as you can imagine, your relation with Zachar. My wife and I moved here to get distant from all that mirroring gibberish that started after the strategy changed. We were good here. This is my parents' mansion. I was born here and spent the happiest years of my youth. After the war, I joined the militia, and that's how it happened. I was capable. I did the right thing. Yes, Mr. Semczuk, I was doing what was essential to make this country work. I'm not arrogant of everything today, but I know there was no another way. My wife died in 90th. We became parents late. We were both in our 40s. erstwhile it turned out that Heniek was... you know, a small different, a small more delicate, we didn't do tragedy. We loved him and accepted him as he was.
– How noble – he was ironic. – Especially in the face of the hunt your safety launched against aunts in the 1980s. I was a cat in the Russian army at the time, and all I was curious in was smashing mujahideen heads, but any rumors from the most cheerful barracks in the camp sometimes went to my ears.
– You can mock – he replied Wednesday. It seemed that this brief introduction tired him more than the full visit. He was a good boy. He moved here with his... A friend about 15 years ago to take care of me. He was in the local community, even a chief. People respected him, though they knew precisely who he was and who I was. And speaking of people, I besides mean the clergy here.
Kiril's had his cigar again.
– And by the way – he stepped in with the intention to seal the interlocutor, although, in fact, mostly to talk about his own stress – if you say it's your household property, it's interesting how you made your career in a communist camera. Is the first thing you're not arrogant of present to publically renounce your family?
But Wednesday ignored him and continued his communicative as he had seemingly arranged it before. Another annoying feature of old people: they act like programmed machines.
– Heniek and Krzysztof continued to trade handicrafts. I mean, Heniek was in production, and Krzysztof was looking after the business side. Christopher was more practical, more on the ground, as they say. And they were doing beautiful well. The 3 of us were good here, Mr. Semczuk. I thought I'd see it through. But this disgusting bird came along.
Kiril unleashed the aroma-saturated dried fruit, hay, and cedar smoke of Juliet through his nose. The grandpa talked with an expanding acquisition, which was increasingly entering the Registers of Horror. Which further exacerbated Kiryla's excitement, as well as the irritation that this is happening at all. If it weren't for those half a million shitheads that he heard about, he began to appear to him as an absolutely essential part of Paraguay's operation, and the inevitable vulnerability to Zachar, which he surely couldn't afford now, would have gone from here in a long way, without admitting to himself that he took any of it.
Christopher was the first to announcement the bird. 1 day, right after Easter, this monster just flew in from nowhere and sat on a barrier that Christopher had just repaired. He tried to flush them out. He threw sticks and tiny pebbles at them, but the bird, though he flew distant for a while, came back. For a fewer more days anyway.
– Until Heniek became curious in him. He felt that if the raven was stuck around, he wanted to be here, that he chose us, like cats or stray dogs sometimes do. Can you believe it? He started feeding him. He was taking it out, and it's any meat wraps, and these are bread crumbs. He joked about how fun and romanticist it would be to have a tame crow. He was digging up any interesting stuff about them online. The damn thing ate evenly and actually settled in like a dog. She followed them everywhere. It was like a hen, can you imagine? He was avoiding me. It didn't show me open hostility, but it kept a distance. I don't like animals at all. They only carry dirt and parasites. Cats are constantly trying to bring you home something torn up and drenched up to show you, and dogs... with them, damn it, aren't better. Damn fleabags!
There's something wobbly about the house. Kiril moved.
A loose board, you moron!
– So erstwhile did the slaughter of innocents begin? – he gave up patronizingly.
The Wednesday breathed. He was on the verge of exhaustion. It was just hard for Kiril to decide whether more physical or more mental. most likely both.
– Early July. Christopher was the first. He just started replacing parts of the oldest and most decayed shingles in the roof. 1 afternoon, as usual, he stepped on a ladder and...
– He slipped and fell, smashing his head in – he slipped Kiril.
– That's what it looked like, said Wednesday. Just a tragic accident. The police and the doctor qualified it that way, too.
Kiril broke ashes. He was already entering the second period, where wood notes began to dominate Juliet.
– But you don't believe it – you measured with a fake thought. You think the crow killed him. That he someway led to a fall.
The old man first kept quiet for a long time, after which he exclaimed: "He had a mark on his forehead. He was barely visible, but I noticed him. small dot. The mark of the beak, Mr. Semczuk. There may have been more, but this 1 was enough.
– And your son? – Kiril was digging. Did your domesticated crow choice on him, too?
This time the silence lasted much longer and Kiril clearly felt the anguish of his father, who had lost his only son. Something that, as the boy of a drunkard and a women's boxer from the Harkov community, he was incapable to understand, but he had an instinctive respect for it.
– Henio took Krzysztof's death very badly – he yet suffocated Wednesday with a barely heard, breaking voice. It's completely scattered. But at the same time he became even more attached to this cursed animal. He's been sitting here all day, in the same chair that you're sitting in now, quiet and dead while you're alive, and that thing... that devil thing just jumped on his knees. And he was petting it. Can you believe it? He was fondling it like a fucking cat. And that's what turned him on, pulled his head out, demanded he scratch his throat. It was sick and spooky. That was the first time I thought that bird was really... I don't know, possibly a demon. 1 night in September, I told Heńk what I noticed on Christopher's forehead. I asked him to get free of that gizmo from the house. But he... he got mad at me. 1 time in my life. He almost hit me. He was acting like a junkie who was threatened with taking drugs.
In Juliet's taste, he began to pierce ammonia. The infallible sign that it was not sufficiently detached, and the old man, who most likely just bought it at 1 of the online shops, did not care for anything at least close to the humidor to store it until the visitor showed up. Kiril's crooked. He was going to get into the blowing erstwhile the old man said:
– After that fight, Heniek ran out of the home and was gone all night. The next day any random fungus found him. He hung himself in the woods.
Kiril, however, put off blowing up later.
– And if I'm right, you think the crow is responsible. – He tried to sound normal, but the esophagus had dry (not only from a cigar) and squeezed.
The old man's fingers are stuck on the back.
That night erstwhile Heniek left, the raven disappeared, too. I think he followed him there. To make certain Heniek does what he expected. Make sure. He came back a week after the funeral. The fingers began to melt the blanket convulsively. He's been with me always since. Day and night. He makes certain I don't forget him. He's waiting. He yet has me alone. He interrupted to breathe again. And it was then that somewhere on the mountain there was a grumpy "grog-grog". The Wednesday with effort lifted his head. - Yeah, that's right. He's in the attic. In Heńk's old studio. That's where he stays most. Sometimes he just comes down to show me. And present besides to show you. He can odor you, too. To find out what kind of opponent you are.
Grog-grog!
Kiril yet blew Juliet away. That didn't aid much. The taste of ammonia faded, but inactive prevailed over the others. He poured the remainder of the glass in his esophagus, then filled it with another serving of whisky.
– All right, let's sum up," he said, hoarse despite the wet throat. You think you're being stalked by a bird that you believe has something supernatural in it. And who allegedly came here to punish you for any past sins. Which, by the way, you almost didn't snap. What makes you think you request a professional killer? From what you've been telling here, you'd be more useful to a ghost huntsman or an exorcist. Or what I think most likely is simply a psychiatrist. A bird can catch the first better country vet.
The answer was just the crackling of fire and the blasting wind. The cigar inactive tasted nasty, but the whisky was unbearable.
– In fact, finally, Wednesday has spoken – I don't truly know what I think or believe. I'm just tired. All my life I've been a rational, hard-fearing materialist. I didn't believe in any goofs or ghosts or miracles or anything. But in old age – he interrupted and wondered, then he finished – in old age people start to wonder. He starts to calculate whether it would be better if there was nothing on that side, or possibly the another way around. – His mutilated fingers relaxed a small hug on the blanket. – I think I hired you to gain tangible proof that all this could be explained somehow.
– I appreciate the honesty – Kiril mumbled. In fact, you're right: in half a bubble, you owe me and you're going to blow me if I kill a man or a bird.
– I just want to... – he coughed up Wednesday, and in his voice he played absent earlier anger – I just want to die on my own terms. Without that part of crap circling me like a predator. Kill him for me. You can do whatever you want to do. You can even level this dump with the ground, just fucking remove that bird and show me his dead body. As shortly as that happens, I'll have the money transferred. I have everything ready.
– And what will you do during this time? – Kiril was interested.
Before Wednesday could answer, a car drove into the yard, flashing the front lights right into the window. Kirill only now realized that the old man was secretly looking at a pendulum clock hanging above the fireplace. Suddenly, they relived the suspicion that it was an ambush.
– Anyone else will join us? – he asked, reaching to the holster.
Relax, Mr. Semczuk, it's just a taxi. – The old man rolled the cart closer to Kirila and the court behind his back. I called her in for a circumstantial hr before you arrived. I'm not gonna spend the night here. I'm going to town. I have a hotel area booked. I'll wait for your message. I'm taking my cell telephone with me, so as shortly as you get the bird, delight send me a image of him. I'll transfer the transfer immediately. He's in the yard. There was a jawing of doors open in the yard. After the job, just leave. Don't worry about the house. There's nothing to bargain here anyway.
– Do you want to leave me here alone? – amazed Kiril, leaning out of the chair and watching the old man scope for a quilted jacket.
– And what, a coward flunked you? – he snorted Wednesday, holding his left sleeve. Like I said, you can do whatever you want here. You can eat the full contents of the fridge, drink everything in the dining room... You can even get any sleep. Just get the bird. The stories of old sins, unfortunately, must be donated. – While stroking, a chronic coat between the back and the back of the cart and with the same pain as before began fighting the right sleeve. I won't see you again. Goodbye.
A minute later, Kiril, dimmed his cigar, watched the driver of the silver wagon aid Wednesday get into the back seat and then throws the folded cart into the baggage compartment, jumps behind the wheel and drives away. And so he was alone. Yeah, almost. It's like a large "grog-grog" came to confirm from the attic.
