«Will my police force protect me?»
Savage stood on the doorstep, fiddling with his matted beard. Trebenko had a picture of him in his breast pocket and automatically clasped his chest as if had heart pains. Then, backing towards the wall, he was about to reach for his gun when he snatched his hand back, thinking, «It's not loaded anyway.»
Matter-of-factly, Trebenko took out a second glass and filled it with vodka. They both drank in silence, staring at one another. Trebenko looked perplexed and Savage's glance wandered over his face like a blind man's hands.
«I didn't mean… I didn't think, I thought… But look what's happened,» Savage mumbled, grabbing Trebenko's arm. «What can I do, Colonel? Who am I? I've kept myself to myself, done my job and look what's happened,» Savage said again, struggling for words.
«It's a good thing you've come in of your own accord, as they say, a fault confessed…»
«Nothing can help me now.»
«The court will be on your side! You're a family man, law-abiding, god-fearing. Just keep on saying you didn't think it was loaded. You'll get a suspended sentence for involuntary manslaughter.»
«And be left to the gang's mercy.»
«Pah!» Trebenko laughed affectedly but he stopped himself. «We can provide protection,» he said.
He could tell how insincere his promises sounded.
«Perhaps I should run away? After all, they'll kill me, won't they?»
«Run where?» Trebenko took out his mobile. «You don't need to run anywhere,» he said, chewing over the words slowly and wondering what to do with Savage. «You don't need to run anywhere…»
Trebenko tried to text a message but his fat sweating fingers kept hitting the wrong keys so that he sent a text more like a telegram.
Saam's mobile squeaked like a mouse and he read the message: «Garage, now!» He didn't need telling twice and, grabbing their coats, the gang dashed out of the house, stuffing their knives into their top boots as they went. They crammed into two cars and were off to the garages.
Investigator Lapin, who had been keeping watch on the gang outside their wooden house, gestured to his driver and the patrol car followed them at a distance.
Trebenko looked Savage over and decided he was so emaciated he would be easy to handle. He just needed to seize his moment, grab him from behind, get him on the floor and tie him up. The colonel turned to look for a rope and Savage caught his eye.
He followed Trebenko's every movement. He recalled how the duty officer had tried to persuade him to run. He had a sudden feeling that Trebenko's kindly face was just a mask and underneath he could see the colonel wetting a finger and leafing through neatly bound bundles of banknotes, tearing up police reports, and saying: «Some are destined to be the cork, others the bottle.»
Savage drank from the bottle and watched Trebenko squirm.
«I didn't recognize you right away, you know,» the colonel said with fake cheeriness. «I didn't know if you were a tramp or a forest sprite.»
Suddenly it dawned on Savage. «You're all in it together! They're sucking us dry and you're protecting them. You're in it together. You'll hand me over, too, you Judas. You will, won't you?»
«What are you talking about?» asked Trebenko with a forced laugh. Suddenly, he lunged forward.
Savage snatched the gun off the wall and hit Trebenko over the head. The colonel collapsed at his feet, prostrate on the dirty floor, like a guilty slave.
«Judas!» yelled Savage, clubbing the colonel with the butt of the gun. «You Judas!»
He was beating him about the head and couldn't stop as he worked off all the hatred that had built up over the years. Then, when Trebenko was no longer recognizable, he slid down the wall and sobbed. He writhed on the ground, sniffling like a child, and wiped the butt of the gun with a bit of oilcloth that began to take on shades of burgundy.
«Judas! Judas!»
Savage searched the cupboards, taking boxes of cartridges and the gun wrapped in the deerskin. He took the half-finished bottle of vodka and a penknife, put on a pair of rubber boots he found by the wall, pulled on a camouflage jacket, poured petrol over Trebenko and, trying to avoid looking at his head, threw in a lighted match.
By the time Saam arrived, the garage was in flames. Black smoke stole along the ground, creeping into holes and corners where it curled up like a cat.
Saam lit a cigarette from the blaze. The blackened frame of a car could be seen in the fire. Cartridges left in the garage exploded.
«We're out of here,» he yelled, tossing the cigarette into the flames, and the gangsters raced for the cars.
A patrol car blocked their way.
«I hadn't fallen out with Trebenko,» said Saam, swinging on his chair. «He was as good as in our pocket.» He showed his fist for emphasis.
His henchmen were sitting along the wall, still wearing their shades. The office's narrow window let in hardly any light and the yellow lamp shed a dull beam on the paper-cluttered desk. Saam was questioned by a lanky police officer, who stood in front of him like a question mark while Lapin stayed in a corner, unmoving, arms crossed. Trebenko had refused to allow him to attend interrogations but the colonel was dead and the officer had relented and allowed the investigator to stay. He had caught Saam near the burning garage and was the only witness in the case.
Lapin couldn't get the previous day's meeting with the mayor out of his head, how he had pulled up at the side of the road and lowered the window to talk to him. The window barely framed the mayor's fat face and, bending, Lapin had stood in front of Krotov, wondering to what he owed this conversation.
«You're good at your job. You work hard. I've had my eye on you for quite some time,» said the mayor, his lips stretched into a smile. «I know things aren't perfect just now but…» the mayor hesitated, glancing at the side mirror as if he was afraid they would be seen together.
«Well, that's the job,» said Lapin, embarrassed.
Krotov lowered his voice.
«You are engaged in a brave fight against crime. We place a high value on that. I want you to know that your work has our complete support!»
Lapin was confused. He didn't know what to say. Krotov raised the window with a nod. Its exhaust coughing, the car drove off, leaving Lapin to stare down the road for a long time, trying to understand the meaning of this sudden support.
Lapin's colleagues treated him like a leper and he felt as though he was carrying a bell and they hid in their offices when they heard it.
«Good only triumphs over evil in thrillers,» sneered the senior investigator, who was taking the career ladder two rungs at a time, twirling his finger in a you're-crazy gesture.
«What about real life? Does evil triumph over good?» asked Lapin, looking at him defiantly.
«In real life, they're on the same side,» was the reply and he laughed in his face.
Lapin often thought his own life had become stuck in a vicious circle. It stubbornly declined to detach itself from other people's lives and to settle into a path of its own. It felt like a train travelling backwards along a dismantled track.
Saam and Coffin believed Lapin wanted to cosy up to them, to get in on the act. When they heard the story of his father they could hardly remember the passer-by they had beaten up. Shorty drew the jack of diamonds out of the deck and suggested getting rid of the meddlesome investigator but Coffin screwed up the card and flicked the ball of paper into a bucket: «Getting killed's something you have to earn!»