– 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, which we took back. DAMN! We thought we would return it to the 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 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 vapor barrier tape.
– Didn’t you see the cops? – asked Massimo.
Pablo replied, still in shock:
– No. But this bastard took 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 residents of the house. 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 passed the last step 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. Having descended half the stairs between floors, a stranger by name, but familiar by appearance began to climb in front of 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 boy walking towards him, he examined Massimo for several seconds without taking his eyes off. The look was insolent and caused bad feelings 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:
– Do you have a cigarette?
The man with a strong movement pressed his hairy hand to Massimo’s shoulder. He pushed him away with his palm. 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 unfolded the handle of the knife in his palm. The man was already seven steps above him. Comfortable height. Very comfortable. With a sweeping movement, the tip of the blade Massimo cut the Achilles tendon, immediately after which the man froze in place. Massimo took advantage of this and thrust the wide blade into the back of the thigh of the same leg. 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 the thigh and brought the blade sharply 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 one who shouted ran down the stairs, from where fresh screams were heard, even more hysterical.
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 somehow wet his hands under the tap, from under which water flowed into the bathtub, heading towards the sewer hole. 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 the body, the heart was rushing out, and the thoughts were confused.
The phone rang in the living room. Massimo heard the bell only the sixth time. He went to the bedside 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