Nik Novak stared into the computer screen, blinking as a mouse that had just appeared out of the coke. His hair stuck to his shiny forehead, sweat dripping down on his desk. He’d been working long hours, his eyes were red and hurt from watching the numbers all days and then this email arrived, the subject: We know what you’ve done!
Nik looked around nervously, although there was no one in the office. His partner left after lunch because of an important meeting, the secretary went home at the same time as every day, and the cleaning service was not supposed to do the cleaning today.
But he had this strange feeling anyway, the feeling of being watched. Observed.
He closed the lid of his laptop, stood up and stuffed the most important papers into his bag, and hurried out of the office. Away!
The only thing he could hear in the underground parking garage beside his steps was the echo of his steps. And the unlock sound of his obscenely expensive BMW reminded him that he could never afford it with his regular pay.
He threw the bag into the trunk and sat behind the wheel. Then his phone started ringing. It said Petek.
He tapped “ignore” and tried to stuff it back into his pocket but it slipped through his fingers and fell between his legs. He put his left hand on the wheel and tried to find the phone with his right when he noticed a group of men appeared from the dark. Their eyes flashed dangerously. He touched the phone, picked it up, and tried to unlock it, but the next second his finger released the phone and it fell again, blood drops covering it.

* * *

Inspector Wolf was in the middle of a quarrel with the coffee machine when his Boss called him. Wolf nodded and headed to the Boss’s office.
He was a large man and he looked as if he didn’t have a neck — as if his head was just glued between his broad shoulders. He sat down and crossed his legs.
The Boss scratched his shiny head and said Listen, Wolf …
Wolf knew what that meant — every time he began scratching his head and started with “listen, Wolf” some nasty case was going to be assigned to him.
Wolf leaned back and pushed his hair back. Despite his age, he had a pretty healthy bush on the head. He was grey but contrary to the Boss he never lost a single hair.
Before you say anything I need to remind you I’m retiring in four months. Don’t make me investigate something I can’t finish.
Yeah, yeah, Wolf, I know, I know, but this one … I can’t imagine anyone else working on it but you. And take the new one. Just listen to me, please …
And Wolf listened, cursing the damn coffee machine.

* * *

Wolf bought himself a coffee2go and a nice and greasy cheese burek. Although he was of German descent, drove a French car, and was an expert in Japanese martial arts, he had a sweet tooth for Bosnian food …
He parked outside the parking garage, grabbed his coffee and burek, and headed underground. The young policeman lifted the POLICE STOP ribbon and let him enter the crime scene.
Wolf walked slowly chewing his treat which he washed down with a sip of coffee, then suddenly he froze and sprayed coffee from his mouth all over the place.
What the actual f-f-f-… Jesus Chrysler, what happened here?
Luna Mesec, a young and beautiful paraplegic rookie inspector on a wheelchair shrugged.
Fuck!
Wolf looked around to find a trash bin and threw his food and coffee away. He paused for a second of silence.
He said there was a body! Did he say there was a body turned into a smoothie?! He didn’t!
Luna shrugged again.
Do we have any idea who he is … was?
Yes, said Luna. She identified the deceased as Nik Novak thanks to his license plate. He was a co-founder of a successful accounting firm upstairs, Novak&Mlakar.
Mhm. And the other co-founder’s in one piece?
Yep, he’s okay, we called him and he’s on his way. Should be here any minute now.
And the forensics …
Behind your back, sir.
Wolf turned around and saw the forensic enter the crime scene, all covered in white, holding a large bag and wearing a mask.
Looks like all hell broke loose here, literally, said the forensic.
Yes, Peter, it sure looks like it. Who’d have done it? Do we have some kind of Japanese mob here with shurikens and sharp katanas or some guy with a chainsaw who watched too many horror movies?
Or maybe some dissatisfied client … said Luna behind Wolf’s back.
Peter looked surprised as she wheeled from behind Wolf.
Oh, you must be the new one, right? We spoke on the phone a while ago? Pleased to meet you.
Luna nodded yes and they shook hands.
Dissatisfied client? asked Wolf.
Why not? said Luna. He worked in accounting and maybe he got “creative” … Luna drew quotation marks in the air.
So, let’s say he had double-crossed someone … mumbled Wolf. They could have hundreds of customers, how are we supposed to go through all of them? I mean I’m retiring in a couple of months.
I’m not, said Luna.
Peter smiled into his mask and started exploring the scene searching for clues.
Looks like the interior of a fucking blender, he said as a ringtone from Jaws started playing in Luna’s pocket.
She picked up and said We’re coming.

* * *

Nik’s partner, Robert Mlakar, looked devastated behind his desk. They weren’t just business partners, they’d been friends since forever. Almost brothers. No, he didn’t seem to be in any kind of trouble. Everybody loved him. No idea who’d want to hurt him.
Luna did a great job questioning Mlakar so Wolf was a bit bored and started feeling sorry about his coffee. And burek … What a waste!
Luna asked if she could get a list of their clients.
Mlakar was a bit surprised but then he said Yeah … sure. I’ll have my secretary go through our CRM and print them out.
In half an hour the secretary came with a thick folder, and Wolf and Luna thanked her.
Do you think one of my … our clients did it?
It’s too early to say, said Luna. But we would like to check if there’s anything unusual and we’ll let you know, so don’t worry.
Yes, yes, Mlakar nodded and absent-mindedly produced whiskey from the drawer. He didn’t mind pouring it into a tumbler, he just opened the bottle and chugged.
Want some?
Luna and Wolf looked at each other, then he pushed her wheelchair out and they left him alone.

* * *

Back at the station, they started checking the extensive list of Novak&Mlakar’s clients.
You read the names and I’ll google them, said Luna.
You’ll what?
I’ll google them — that means I’ll search the internet if any of them appeared in any news and check their business performance and taxation in a company database.
Wolf didn’t have a nerve for computers.
They only paused for a pizza they had ordered and Wolf had a couple of fights with the coffee machine, which he hated even more than computers.
It was dark when they went home.

* * *

The next morning, Wolf wanted to finish yesterday’s business with the coffee machine, when the Boss called him again. Wolf waved Luna to join him.
We’ve got another body … I want you two to check it out.
We haven’t scrapped yesterday’s body parts yet …
I know, but those two might be connected … in a way.
What do you mean?
Well, the body is in … a strange condition again.
Strange condition meaning what? A kebab?
You better go check it out.

* * *

Smart move … murmured Wolf to himself.
What? asked Luna.
Oh, nothing … I mean I was smart enough not to bring food and coffee. You know, after seeing this … And this … And that!
Wolf pointed his finger in different directions where parts of a man’s body were scattered all over the parking lot belonging to the fitness studio. The torso was lying in one place with a line drawn with chalk around it. The head was twenty meters away on the left, one leg thirty meters on the right, his hands were under a car and another leg god knows were. Obviously not fit at all …
Who found him? asked Luna. The young police officer who was still visibly shocked, pointed his shaking finger toward the fitness studio entrance so Luna and Wolf entered.
The young receptionist was shocked as well, of course. One policeman was questioning her but Wolf gently dismissed him.
We’re taking over, mate.
He showed him his badge and the cop left.
So … Tell us all you know, said Wolf.
Not much, the girl said. I came to work, parked there and found … Darko on the floor, chopped to pieces …
Do you know if he had any enemies? asked Luna.
Not as far as I know … He was extremely friendly to everyone … Almost too friendly.
What do you mean? asked Wolf.
I mean, women …
Wolf nodded.
Do you have any list of your customers? Something that might be helpful? said Luna.
The list?
Yes, I presume you must have all the members saved on this computer?
Yes, sure, I’ll print it out.
Wolf was not in the mood to scan another endless list of names but he kind of started to like spending time in Luna’s company.
They took the list and headed toward the station, Wolf rolled Luna’s wheelchair.

* * *

Wait a sec! said Luna. What was the name again?
Sara … Petek, Wolf checked. His eyes hurt from reading the endless list of names all day.
We had a certain Petek yesterday, right? said Luna and started skimming the list that Mlakar printed out for them.
Here he is — Boris Petek, KetepInvest Group, CEO. Maybe we should have his transactions checked …
Maybe, said Wolf, or maybe this is just a coincidence.
I’ll check Google. I mean, the internet.
Luna smiled and started googling both names and in a matter of moments, she found some articles with juicy titles and even juicier pictures. Tabloids, of course: Shocking! You will never recognize this Slovenian celebrity — she lost 10 pounds just in time to jump into her bikini.
Celebrity? asked Wolf, puzzled. Never heard of her …
Wait, there’s another: An affair of the century — a respectable entrepreneur broke her lover’s nose. And guess who’s the lover with a broken nose, said Luna and smiled victoriously.
I guess the lover who doesn’t have any nose at all any more … And no legs. And arms, said Wolf. And was found lying on the parking lot in front of …
His fitness club, yes, that’s the one. Now we have a motive here. But what about Novak …
Well, maybe we should go check those transactions thoroughly anyway, said Wolf and stood up. But not today. Let’s get some sleep and I’ll pay Petek a visit first thing tomorrow.
Luna nodded and said I’ll have the numbers checked with Mlakar.

* * *

Wolf could not sleep. He lied on his back and contemplated the ceiling. Marta was snoring and that sure didn’t help.
He stood up and went downstairs, grabbed a can of beer from the kitchen, and dived into the sofa. He surfed channels for a while to catch some boring art film to help him fall asleep, then he finished his beer, took a piss and went back to bed to do some more ceiling contemplation.
The minute he fell asleep the alarm clock went on. Wolf rolled his eyes and got up.

* * *

That’s some terrible news, Petek said unempathetically. He was great at … accounting.
Well, I wouldn’t know that, Mr. Petek, but the thing is, that you were one of his clients and … now he’s great at dividing, so to speak.
Are you implying that I might have something to do with the murder?
I’m not implying anything, but …
Look, he was good at what he was doing and I was paying him fairly to do it and …
The door opened and a big guy entered and whispered something into Petek’s ear, his eyes fixed on Wolf. Petek nodded, thanked and waved him off.
Wolf sneezed. And he sneezed again. He felt his eyes started to itch.
Do you … have a dog? he asked.
Petek looked surprised.
No, why?
I’m allergic to dogs — well not the dogs per se, but dog’s hair — and I thought there was a dog somewhere here. Nevermind. Where were we?
I was telling you that I was paying Mlakar to do his job, which he did great. If I killed him I’d need to find another accountant and you can search with a Maglite to find a good one.
Okay, I see … One more thing, Mr. Petek — yesterday we found another body … Well, we found what was left from the body.
I’m all ears, Petek said.
His name was Darko Krpan …
Petek didn’t react.
Your wife’s personal trainer?
I see where you’re getting. And the fact he was my wife’s trainer also makes me a killer …
I didn’t say that but they did have an affair …?
Listen, Mr. Dog.
Wolf.
Mr. Wolf — these were just … sensational stories, you know our media and so-called journalism. You need to read every story and divide it by ten to come a just a tiny bit closer to the truth, especially when the news is about some famous person. And maybe they had a short affair, so fucking what? My wife’s used to a certain standard of living which only I can provide …
Of course, Mr. Petek, thank you for your time. May I have your business card in case I need to ask you a question or three?
Petek handed him his card, Wolf took it and left the office.
The big guy who interrupted their conversation before was waiting outside and gave him a sharp look. Wolf sneezed again.

* * *

Hey, Wolf, Luna greeted him holding a stack of papers. Found something interesting.
Wolf needed some burek and coffee first, but she was so enthusiastic that he took off his coat and sat next to her.
First, I called Mlakar and asked him to check Novak’s business with KetepInvest. He then remembered that Novak and Petek argued in his office recently. Petek had a couple of big guys with him and they talked pretty loudly. When they left, he asked Novak what was that all about and Novak said it was something he needed to take care of himself … Excuse me, am I boring you?
No, sorry, I really need my coffee. Want one?
Luna nodded and went after him in her wheelchair.
So I asked Mlakar to check Novak’s emails and there were some pretty harsh messages in his inbox. From Petek.
Did he threaten him? asked Wolf and gave the coffee machine a decent blow.
Let me, said Luna and after she pressed a couple of buttons, a cup appeared and the machine started making coffee. Wolf looked puzzled. She offered him the coffee and prepared one for herself.
He didn’t actually threaten him but it looks like some of the numbers in the financial report made Petek pretty angry. Mlakar checked the transactions and the papers thoroughly and … A long story short, Novak seemed to be stealing from Petek.
So, Novak stole from Petek and the other guy, the fitness coach fucked … Excuse me, had a sexual relationship with Petek’s young wife.
That’s okay, said Luna, took her cup and they headed back to their office. So there, she continued, we’ve got motives, but we still need to prove he did it.
Which he didn’t, at least not personally as far as the state of the victims is concerned, said Wolf and the second or two later an annoying melody started in his pocket.
He produced his phone — it said Peter The Forensic.
Yes, Peter, spit … Uh-huh … A dog’s what?
Luna stared into Wolf’s puzzled face.
Yeah, thanks, man. See you around.
Wolf hanged.
The forensics found a dog’s hair on both bodies.
What?
Wolf shrugged.

* * *

What he needed was some fresh air. He and Luna spent the last month trying to fit the pieces together and nail Petek. He had some thoughts to sort out and Marta was in a mood. So he opted for a walk, maybe a beer or six at The Thirsty Joc, and then he would crush in the bed at the wee hour.
He skipped the last call and left The Thirsty Joc just after eleven. After a while, he spotted someone was following him. A large guy in a coat.
He tried to appear as if he hadn’t noticed, but then another guy stepped from the dark on the other side of the street.
And then the third one. They must have followed him all the way from home. Which meant they knew where he lived. He stopped and turned back.
Alright, guys, what’s the problem?
They surrounded him and none of them said anything. Their faces were hidden in the shadows of their fedoras but their eyes flashed. Their eyes … Like the eyes of a …
Wolf sneezed.
One of the men seized the opportunity and attacked him but Wolf turned around and the man landed on the floor all stretched like a nicely stretched burek dough, plus the sound of something breaking.
Wolf stepped on his neck and twisted his hand behind his back.
He wanted to say Ippon but all he could say was Achoo.
By then the second man growled and jumped forward. Wolf pressed his hands together, pushed them toward the attacker’s neck, stepped back to follow his move and let him fall on his back, then he blew him a deadly hit into plexus solaris.
And there was the third one — Funny how they were attacking him one by one just like in those unrealistic cheap B-movies, thought Wolf.
He said Good dog! when the third man jumped on him behind his back and Wolf made a dancing turn to shake him off. He pushed back toward the traffic sign behind his back, kneeled and surprised the guy with a blow between the legs with his elbow. When the furry attacker fell on his knees, he jumped on him and turned his head around, when suddenly he felt a sharp pain in the neck, unaware there had been the fourth guy around, he fell on his knees and then it was dark.

* * *

When Wolf opened his eyes, he was lying naked, frozen, and covered in blood. There were parts of his body where he felt pain but blood was all over him. Not his blood. What the fuck happened?
He stood up which had been a pretty painful process, and turned around. Three guys were lying around him, parts of their skin hanging freely, parts of their bodies all over the place.
Jesus Chrysler, Wolf thought. He started remembering a fight, but at least the guys had all been in one piece before the fade out …
He ran home. He could hear voices from every direction, he could almost hear the neighbor’s cat purr across the street …
He felt the urge to leave a loud long howl but the clouds began covering the moon.
He entered silently and stepped into the bathroom. He took a long, hot shower and — much to his surprise — discovered that all his injuries have gone. And the pain — gone. He felt strong. He felt twenty years younger.
He squeezed into the bed next to Marta and got a colossal erection, which hadn’t happened for a long time. He pinched Marta’s ass. she turned around and said What the …
He placed his hand on her mouth and got on top of her and made love to her as he did a long time ago when they started dating. They didn’t have five orgasms in five years.
Are you having an affair? Marta asked.
Then the annoying tune started, Luna said Come to the office as fast as you can.
Jesus, Luna, it’s two in the morning …
I said as fast as you can!

* * *

Don’t get too comfortable, said Luna when Wolf was taking his coat off. We need to check another crime scene. I’ll drive!
Another?
Yeah, three guys in the street torn apart a couple of hours ago. Just like those two a month ago. This is getting out of hand.
Luna drove one of those cars, specially remade for paraplegics.
The full moon lurking from behind the clouds started getting on his nerves. It felt like one of those hangovers after he went for just a beer with his mates and then went straight to work.
He tried to concentrate on something other than sweating and shaking. He needed to occupy his brain.
What exactly happened to you?
What do you mean, asked Luna.
I mean your …
Handicap?
Wolf nodded nervously.
Well, we were having dinner out with my mom and dad. Their marriage was a mess and they were trying to save it by going out together. Anyway, we had an anniversary dinner one night. When dad went over to the bar to pay I went to the toilet and saw he ordered a couple of shots. Then he gave mom and me a ride home. It happened so suddenly. I still can’t remember whether the accident was caused by dad or the other guy but mom died and I became … This. But I never let the accident stop me from what I wanted in my life … Here we are!
Thank god, Wolf thought.

* * *

Wolf scratched his head. Three guys were lying on the ground and he recognized one of them, the big guy he met when he had visited Petek at his office.
A coffee for your thought? Luna said.
Wolf shrugged and said I’m shaking, too much coffee already I guess. I think I’ll have to pay Mr. Petek another visit.
What? Now? It’s three am. Do you believe he killed them?
No, I believe this guy here was one of his … Dogs.
Dogs? Let me go with you.
No, I’ll go by myself, you make sure to … Document the scene properly.
Wolf ran away.
Pretty fast for your age, Luna thought. She rolled over to the young cop and gave him some directions.

* * *

Detective, Petek said, no surprise in his voice.
Inspector, Wolf corrected him.
Right, Inspector Wolf, to what do I owe the pleasure …
Well, you gave me your business card. With your number … In case I wanted to talk, remember?
And you wanted to talk.
Yes. I saw the lights in your office.
Petek looked through the window and saw Wolf waving at him. He waved back.
Yes, I tend to spend three nights a month here in my office. Business as usual.
If you came down here to talk, that’d be great …
Mhm.
Wolf looked nervously at the sky where clouds had almost cleared away and the moon watched what was happening down there.
The next second the door opened and Petek walked out of the KetepInvest Group building.
Wolfed was stunned by his speed and appearance — his face and neck were covered in hair, his ears were like two spikes, his eyes flashed furiously, his hands had claws instead of nails.
I see you’ve been beaten by a … dog, detective?
Inspector, Wolf corrected him again and only then he spotted his hands were hairy and had claws too. He checked his ears.
So what it is you wanted to talk about, inspector.
Just about a couple of murders that you might be … are connected to.
You never quit, huh?
Petek started walking around him in a circle.
Let’s say I never leave businesses unfinished.
I respect that, inspector, but you see, some businesses are better left unfinished.
Well, I’m retiring in a couple of months and I’d rather finish my last case by then.
I wish my employees were as persistent as you. Speaking of my employees, inspector, I believe you have something to do with the deaths of three of them. Even more — you’ve become one of us.
Wolf got tired from rotating. He said Nah, I’ll never be one of you … Let’s finish this.
Petek jumped on him but Wolf used one of his martial arts maneuvers to shake him off.
But Petek quickly stood up and prepared for another attack.
Wolf grabbed him and held Petek’s sharp teeth as far as possible from his neck. They were both too focused on the fight to notice a car that stopped in the KetepInvest parking lot. Luna climbed on her wheelchair and slowly moved toward the fight scene.
I thought you guys knew dog fights are illegal in Slovenia?
They both gave her a surprised look.
Petek let go of Wolf and smiled with fake kindness.
There, there, what is it, young lady? Don’t tell me you’ve got silver bullets in there?
Nah, that’d be too cliche for my taste.
Then what?
Wolf seized the opportunity and attacked, they rolled on the asphalt and Luna kept aiming at Petek’s head. Wolf managed to shake him off and Luna shot in Petek’s direction. Petek jumped toward her and turned her wheelchair over, Luna was on the ground now but she was still holding her gun hard. Petek was circling around her.
Now what, young lady? Aren’t you gonna shoot me?
Then Wolf jump on his back and Petek tried to get rid of him, but Wolf gripped his neck tight. Petek leaned forward and then threw himself on the back, which was quite an achievement with Wolf who just kept on clinging onto him.
Luna started crawling toward them — she couldn’t risk shooting Wolf in the head.
Petek couldn’t do anything, he was lying on Wolf like a turtle on his back and couldn’t get back on his feet. He left out a long, deep howl, and then both of them slowly became human again.
Put them on and go home and change, said Luna as she handed Wolf the handcuffs. Wolf cuffed him and helped her get on the wheelchair.
Are you sure you can handle this by yourself?
You mean, after all … this? asked Luna and waved her hand around.
See you in the office.

* * *

Are you guys drunk? asked the Boss. Yes, you are. You’re telling me that these crimes were committed by some men transformed into wolves and they were led by the well-known entrepreneur who also has a habit of becoming a wolf every month when there’s a full moon?
Luna and Wolf shrugged.
Look, we told you what we saw, Luna said, we’re surprised just as you are. I thought this was some kind of bullshit from Slavic mythology too, but that’s what happened here. Just lock him up for a month and when the full moon comes, you can tell us whether we’re drunk or not.
Jesus, how are we gonna pull this of. What am I supposed to tell at the press conference in an hour? I mean, not only everything is unbelievable, but the guy has connections, he’s got the best lawyers that money can buy AND the money to buy them.
They shrugged again.
We did our job now you do yours, said Wolf, and stood up. I don’t know about you but I need the damn coffee!
Make that two, said Luna and followed him while the Boss tried to figure out what to do.
Let me, said Luna when Wolf was preparing to persuade the machine with a hard kick.
She produced two coffees and then they headed to their office.
Could you check this … Internet thing and find if I can somehow get rid of this? You know … This metamorphosis or whatever it is. Dog’s life. I’m allergic to dogs.
Luna nodded, she brought the coffee to her lips and laughed.

Hommage à Paul D. Brazill’s Roman Dalton

So my first book in English for your kindle is out. It’s All True is a collection of eight transgressive and noir stories. Three of them (The Tie, You’re Not Sitting On Two Chairs! and High Midnight) were previously published in my first collection Ne poskušajte tega doma (Don’t Try This At Home, 2012) in Slovene, and later appeared in English: High midnight in VegaWire Media’s Noir Nation 3, The Tie and You’re Not Sitting On Two Chairs! as bilingual singles, so called Artizan Doubles on Amazon. Dorian From The Pictures also exists as a Double on Amazon. The Tribe was published in Exiles: An Outsider Anthology (Blackwitch Press) and Washed In Blood was my contribution at the first Alibi’s workshop. Fat Fatale and Bicycle Thieves are the freshest and have not been published yet, except online.

Dorian From The Pictures
A woman hires a detective to follow her cheating husband. He knows her husband. He knows him too well.

The Tie
An advertising writer is fired and gets a tie as a reward for his contribution. Unfortunately this is not the worst thing that is going to happen to him.

Fat Fatale
An overweight teen confesses her unusual sexual practices to the social worker — she wants to try one more thing.

You’re Not Sitting On Two Chairs!
A writer has a writer’s block, plus his wife finds out he’s been cheating on her. He denies everything, of course.

The Tribe
The professor’s activism causes the rise of the wall around The City and he ends in the psychiatric hospital, but his followers haven’t abandoned him. A policeman has to get as much information from him as possible.

Washed In Blood
He said the first time was the hardest. To kill a guy, for instance. The second time it becomes routine.

High Midnight
A modern version of Oedipus Rex, written as a test, how far I dare to go writing in the first-person singular. Pretty far, I guess.

Bicycle Thieves
What happens when a guy rides a bike to rob a post office, and finds out his bike was stolen in the meantime? Well, visit Amazon and find out. :)

Praise for It’s All True:

A Five-Star Review On Amazon: Absurdest noir.
It’s All True (although it may not have happened) by Slovenian writer Renato Bratkovič is a short, sharp story collection that views the world askew.
Stand out stories for me are ‘Fat Fatale’, ‘High Midnight’ and ‘Bicycle Thieves’.
Like a strange hybrid of Gogol and Frederick Brown, It’s All True (although it may not have happened) blends noir, horror, black comedy and absurdity.

And a false gun. But sometimes things happen fast. No time to think — a paddy wagon appears on the left, so it’s exit stage right for me. Walkers are getting out of my way, puzzled or scared, or both.

I turn right at the first crossroad, then left between two blocks toward the sideway and further down to the end of the apartment complex. I stash the gun behind my back and pull off my mask and throw it into the trash bin. In the little yard surrounded by blocks of flats, I stop to catch a breath.

Freeze!

I stiffen. No way they could’ve got me just like that.

Put the bag down and your hands above your head!

I obey. I turn slowly. No police car, no policeman. Just a clapped out old Volkswagen Golf, a masked guy squats behind the open door pointing his gun at me.

Pick up the bag, he says.

You just told me to put it down?!

Don’t be a smartass! Pick up the bag, take it slowly to the middle, and then move back if you don’t want the kid to get hurt!

The kid?!

Then I see someone sitting in the backseat. What kind of a film have I appeared in?

What kid? I’ve no idea, what you’re talking about!

I’m not fucking around! Put the bag down in the middle, I let the kid go and we all go separate ways, just as we’ve never met, okay? I’m serious, it was just the finger he lost because everyone thought I was fucking around — don’t let him lose his life!

Fuck, the psycho is serious. Now, what?

Okay, okay, I say.

I bend down slowly, pick the bag with my right hand keeping the left above the head. After a couple of steps, I put the bag down, where he wanted, and raise both hands.

Listen, this a mistake, I try to explain again. I have no idea who’s the kid, but I have nothing… You mistook me for someone else, I swear. This money here — I show the bag and bite my tong for being faster than my mind.

There’s a dumpster on the left but I don’t believe I’m fast enough.

I don’t give a fuck! the masked guy spits. Step away from the fucking bag!

I move a couple of steps back.

More!

I roll my eyes and move back to where I was The guy opens the rear door and tells the kid to get out. He grabs the kid’s elbow and starts pushing him toward the beg pointing the gun at me nervously.

When he reaches the bag, he picks it and runs back to his car, and the kid clutches my arm and starts to cry. The guy drives away with a smug smile and gives me the finger.

The kid has a bandage on his hand — the monster literally cut his finger. I squat down.

What’s your name, boy?

The kid sobs and can’t spit out a single word. He’s obviously been through a lot.

There, there, calm down… It’s over now!

I never claimed to be good with kids…

Where do you live?

He just stares at me blankly and I’m pretty sure I’m not getting any useful information from him. Maybe I should just take him to the poli-

The tyres squeal and a couple of moments later the police car stops where the guy’s Golf was parked before.

Fu- …

I refrain from cursing — I try not to, in front of kids. I grab his jacket and pull him behind the dumpster. Maybe I was fast enough and could avoid this shit after all!

Two cops jump out of the car, the driver squats behind the open door (he must have shared the taste for films with the previous guy), while the other one rolls on the floor and assumes the position lying on his elbows. They both glare me over their guns.

Let the kid go! NOW!

Oh, come on, people, what day is it today? When did an incompetent post office robber turn into a kidnapper?

No way! You’ll shoot me before I can say antidisestablishmentarianism — the kid is the only guarantee to get me out alive! Think! Think!!!

No way! I shout. If you don’t want the kid to get hurt, get into the car and beat it! I’ll let him go when you disappear…

The cops look at each other, like Now what?

I’m serious! I say and squeeze the kids bandaged hand making him whine. Sorry, kid.

No, no — stop! It’s the third voice behind them. A guy gets out of the car wearing a retro sports bag.

Let me handle this, he says. He walks slowly toward the middle of the yard: Here’s the money you asked for — we subtracted ten grand for his finger you cut off, otherwise there’s still exactly ninety thousand in the bag. I’ll put the bag down here — he points his finger to the ground — and I’ll move back a few steps.

And you, he goes on, bring the child here and step back.

I’m not taking orders from you! Put the bag down and get back to the fucking car! When I have the money, you’ll get the kid!

You can’t do this! the guy protests.

Do you want your kid back?

I squeeze the boy’s hand again. The guy swallows, lets the bag fall down and reluctantly starts stepping back toward the car. The cops just watch and have no idea what to say or do. The guy gestures for them to get in the car and occupies the back seat himself. They talk for a while, then they close the doors and slowly drive off to the end of the yard. Thank god, my patience was wearing thin. I escort the kid, pick up the bag and wink him — Everything’s gonna be fine, kid! — and let him go. I grip the bag and start in the opposite direction, through the passage to the backstreet where it’s run of the century again.

I choose the side streets, and running like mad I start peeling off my clothes — my hoodie flies over the fence and lands on a lawn, I stash my pants into the trash bin and the balaclava disappears in the river. When I’m back on the main street I no longer fit the description of the suspect. I enter the first shopping mall, where I buy an eco-friendly bag (I am not a criminal), in which I intend to carry the money home according to the Plan A.

Every now and then the police sirens can be heard outside, they are probably making road blocks or something, to get the robber in a sportswear carrying a retro sports bag and a balaclava, and a ruthless kidnapper who cuts childrens’ fingers, dressed the same, while a guy in bermuda pants with eco bag can walk wherever he wants.

I lock myself into the toilet. When I take out the first stack of banknotes I nearly faint — the bag is full of shredded newspapers!

What a fu-…!

Everything goes black for a while, then I stash the eco bag into the sports bag and throw all into the trash. I point my finger into the idiot staring at me from the mirror: You… you idiot!

I walk out the toilet and start toward the exit of the shopping center, where my eyes almost pop out: my bike is parked outside. I take a sit at the table of the cafe next to the shopping mall entrance. I think I’ll wait for a guy who stole it to explain a thing or two about respecting other people’s property and trust…

I’ll have a large draft, please! I shout over police sirens to answer a lovely waitress what I’d like to drink.

* * *

He entered quietly, turned on the light, kicked his shoes off, and disappeared into the bathroom, unaware. The sound of rain came in through the open window, mixed with a jet pissing into the toilet. The light from the foyer was spilling into the room through the crack in the bedroom door, his shadow crawled past and fetched a beer from the fridge. He’d take his time … He always did.

* * *

Another whiskey lands on my table, where the light that shreds through the shades is spread instead of the tablecloth. I think about what he said afterward. No way, he said. I’d kill you both, he said. I wonder if, in my case, it would count as the first and the second time? I pat my belly and nock the drink back.

* * *

He wearily surfed the channels in the living room, although he had always thought TV was a terrible way to waste time. As long as I’d known him, he’d waste it more on another beer. Then he’d get up and take a shower. I started losing my patience. I started doubting. And the rain rustled.

* * *

I’m not the liquor type, but there’s no way I can face him sober today. We need to talk, is all that came from my mouth. And where. And when. I pick up my glass and nod to the bartender. He checks his wristwatch and sighs.

* * *

Am I really going all the way? Once you decide, that’s it, I guess, although it’s all about life. You don’t fuck with life. You fuck for life. Exactly — life! So there’s no turning back.

The light splashed into the bedroom, his shadow, twice as big as he was, stuck to the wall menacingly, with his hands on his hips.

What are you doing here?! How did you–

Through the window.

* * *

I turn the glass in my hand and two ice cubes knock against each other, getting smaller and smaller. Almost exactly like we were knocking against each other all those weeks when he was trying to convince me it was finally time to… It strikes me how everything’s changed so suddenly. Everything. At home the door has crashed closed for ever, while he crashes the door into the bar open and approaches me. He sits opposite me and looks into my eyes inquisitively.

What do you want to tell me?

* * *

Lie next to me.

He pondered a bit whether he should throw me out or accept my game, but a completely naked and innocent sixteen year old girl in his bed was too tempting… Especially if she had resisted for so long.

Did you take pills?

* * *

Did you really mean you’d kill us both?

What do you mean, kill you both? What are you talking about, honey?

I pull a little box from under the table. With a used pregnancy test inside. His eyes drill into me.

* * *

He was right — the first time was the hardest. After the first push I felt burning. The next ones were becoming tolerable and then the pleasure began. He filled me with life, or at least that was my plan… When he finished, he pulled it out, washed with blood.

Lock the door!!! she shouts from the bathroom.

I put our drinks on the shelf above the fireplace and lock the door. I can hear the water running down in the bathroom. I take my glass and look through the window. Instead of snow, fucking rain is falling down and freezing instantly on the asphalt, windows, branches on the trees, everywhere. We were driving home on eggshells and I had to stop every now and then to scrape ice from the windshield. Ice was not the only reason for my bad mood, though — and the party was a disaster.

I toss some papers on my desk and between two sips of whiskey I quickly read a couple of lines of the story that just doesn’t want to come out — I tormented myself to squeeze them out a month ago, but that’s as far as it could get. Sentences do not seem connected, and the plot has voids that need to be filled, as I love to put it.

I return to the window and watch how the shell of ice grows on the driveway. I sure hope, the new year is going to start way better than the old one has ended.

Next, she says, when she comes out in her underwear and throws herself down onto the carpet at the fire place. I hand her her drink and occupy the bathroom. Hot water is the best thing that happened to me today (this year), so I let it flow over me at least ten minutes, then I rub mysef with a towel and accompany her at the fireplace, where I toss in another log. I take my drink and sit on the carpet with my back to the fire. I concentrate on our shadows, dancing restlessly on the opposite wall.

How come, you haven’t wished me a happy New Year full of love? she asks after a moment of silence.

What do you mean?

Who’s … “D”?

I feel a sudden rush of blood to my head. She obviously spied on my mobile when I was in the shower and went through my sent and received messages and last calls. I get up and refill my glass.

You’ve spied on my mobile … I say with a forced calm voice and sip my drink.

I have, she answers. You’ve been a pain in the ass for last couple of months, I felt something was wrong … And I was right!

So, what’s supposed to be — as you put it — wrong? I try to win some time.

I wasn’t sure at first, but I felt you had a problem.

Now, she really has an answer to all — a problem. Every time something comes between us, I HAVE A PROBLEM!

Yes, you have! You’ve been avoiding me for a month, sitting around, staring through the window and not saying a single word to me …

Which is, of course, giving you the right to browse through my things, I suppose.

You know what? When two people are together, if we live together, I think I got the right, yes! I demand that you explain who “D” is!

No one, I say and start staring through the window.

* * *

It was Tuesday afternoon. I finished my lecture half an hour earlier and squeezed through the group of students standing in the hall, searching for their names on the list under “PASSED”.

She stood at the door of my office and introduced herself.

Oh, it’s you, I recognized her (because she fell in my eye once in the lecture room) and offered her a chair in the corner. I dug out her exam from the pile, feeling sincerely sorry she hadn’t passed. I was sure, however, that she wasn’t far from passing it the next time, as she shows understanding of the subject, but she’ll have to work a bit harder. So I gave her a list of books she had to study and told her she was going to pass the next time — which, after what was about to happen, she did …

I checked the watch.

Oh, I’m sorry I kept you so long … she said.

Oh, no-no … No problem, I was just wondering if we had some time for … a drink — if you’d like.

Of course, she nodded and smiled.

We went to a bar near the faculty, where I sometimes enjoy a nice beer between two lectures — I once even performed an oral exam there with a couple of students.

After a couple of pleasant hours and drinks we stopped being a professor and a student. After a long (and fun, if truth be told) conversation about different topics I saw it was late and that I should leave. I offered her a ride to the campus.

Want to come up? I have Coffee and Cigarettes … she asked with a voice, that wouldn’t stand no for an answer — If she asked if I would jump through the window …

I don’t drink coffee, I said. And I don’t smoke either …

I meant Jarmusch … she said and disappeared into the block.

I turned the keys and the old Volvo went quiet. I followed her. Did I care about the fact I was twice as old as she was? I didn’t give a fuck!

* * *

Well, NO ONE sent you a cheesy litle message, she persists.

So? I say. And I sent one back, that’s all. Plus I remember wishing you a happy New Year, too!

You wished me a “happy and healthy New Year”, she says imitating a drunk version of me.

What’s wrong with that? I wished all of them a happy and healthy New Year — -quit fucking me with shades of semantics …

Well, wish me health when I’m eighty!

Why are you pestering me for a fucking greeting?

‘Cause you never send anything like that to me!

BUT YOU SAID IT WAS CHEESY, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!

I need another whiskey.

And where are you two seeing each other? Her voice is now calmed down.

Who says we are seeing each other? I say. We just had one drink … One drink!

* * *

She asked if I was going in the direction of her hometown. Yes, I was. Half the way.

Great, she smiled. I’ll hitchhike the other half.

I got enthusiastic about her almost childlike perception of life — she seemed to have taken ten years off my back. She didn’t have to think about anything. If she wanted something, she simply took it.

Were you ever … a sex object?

Excuse me?

A key in my wife’s Twingo froze — my ancient Volvo was being taken car of.

No, I shot.

Or was I …?

I turned the key and switched the radio on. We didn’t speak, I just looked at her every now and the, and saw her mouthing along the song that was on air at that moment.

I’ll turn here and you can hitchhike at the gas station.

Okay.

Or we can have a drink first, I point toward the bar.

Mhm, she nodded.

I gulped my beer slowly, as she was explaining over her coffee what she had already studied for her second try for our exam. I almost felt we had an exam … Although I was literally diving into her eyes (and tits, I admit) and only saw her lips moving just as half an hour ago in the car with the songs on the radio.

I was awakened by a splash of cream she catapulted with a spoon right into my face.

Hey!

She sat on my lap and started licking it.

Mmmmmmh … Shall we have another one or go to my place? I still have a bottle of wine in the fridge and my wife is away …?

* * *

I haven’t got a clue what you are trying to prove, but you’re not sitting on two chairs! she continues. Just because we can’t have kids does not mean you can treat me like a piece of shit!!!

She starts to get on my nerves.

What’s wrong with you? Today’s just not the best day of my life, I tell her as gently as I can, for I really wouldn’t like this year to continue the way it started.

I rise and head over to my desk. I feel it in my gut, that today I might happen to scrap a line or two and “feel the voids”, if only she would quit fucking me like that. I sit down and try to read this useless written shit, and she continues: You think if you ignore the problem it will disappear or what?!

Listen — get off my back with your fucking problem! There is no problem, okay? The problem is in your head, okay? I don’t have a problem — YOU have a problem! Now, please let me finish, what I have started, because I’ve been struggling with this shit for a month …

O, mister writer, you think you’re special?! There are many more desirable men than you, and they don’t even think of doing what you’re doing!

I watch her, trying to say something, but it’s just a waste of words. I take the last sip and need a refill …

You’ll call her right now and tell her to stop calling and texting you!

* * *

It had been a week since the last time she was at my lectures — she didn’t even come to check if she had passed … She didn’t socialize with anyone, so there was no point asking the students.

I jumped into the Twingo — the Volvo still wasn’t fixed so I slid with this little eggshell to the campus.

I pondered the rationality of my action, then I said Fuck it!, ran up the stairway and knocked on her door.

I heard a whisper inside. I knocked again with my fist. She opened just enough for her head.

Yeah?

Congrats! You passed!

Okay, she nodded with a smile on her face.

And …?

And what?

Well, is that it?

She looked at me with question eyes — I leaned closer to her lips, but they converted into a sour smile. She shook her head: Noooooo … I’m in love …

In what …???

I was stunned and felt the heat. She shook her shoulders and closed the door. I wanted to knock again, but my fist froze …

I went back to the car, when my mobile buzzed in my pocket — her message: I wish you a happy New year full of love … :D.

I was way too shocked to think up anything original, so I copy/pasted her text, added WTF?!! and sent it back to her, with no signature.

* * *

I got a fucking New Year greeting and I sent it back! I’m not calling anyone, and who ever wants can write to me and I can write to anyone, now stop jerking me off with your paranoia and go the fuck to sleep, I’ve work to do!!!

So, now I’m paranoid, right? You bastard! You filthy pig! Drop dead!!!

Everything goes black, the glass crashes on the wall and bits of it mixed with drops of whiskey fall on her — if she doesn’t go to sleep right now, I’m going to hurt her.

Finally she stands up. She dresses and spits unconnected sentences, I don’t even try do decipher. I lean on the desk with my back to her and start looking through the window.

She steps into her shoes and slams the door. She walks fast down the driveway, where she slips and slides slowly — as the kid on a slide — on her ass toward her Twingo. She gets up, brushes herself off, sits behind the wheel and drives away.

I keep staring, until her rear lights disappear in the dark, then I land in front of the laptop. I delete everything I have written. My fingers hang above the keyboard for a few moments, then they start: “I’m taking a shower, she says when we get back from the New Year’s party, kicks off her shoes and disappears into the bathroom …”

He brings his cigarette up to his mouth with the trembling hand, inhales passionately and strokes his hair — with that hair and beard he’s more Jesus than Batman.

And as if that wasn’t enough — the cops start getting on your nerve … Armored, with water cannons, helicopters, tear gas …

Are you going to … move? I ask.

Is it my turn?

I nod.

He stares at the chessboard, assessing the situation. While he was “reliving” his heroic achievements, I squeezed his King into the corner and I wonder how he’s going to pull out. Unless he jumps on the roof.

It’s fucked … And you need to hide your real identity. From your … parents, partners, kids.

He touches the King and pulls his hand back.

They fucking killed them, when I was twelve. My parents. It’s when it all started. I was sleeping when it happened. That’s why I’ve never closed my eyes again ever since. Shit happens at night. Bastards come out. But I’m usually faster. I always prevent the shit if I can. Unless I can’t …

He moves a pawn with no reason.

Always?

Always!

And you haven’t slept since age twelve?

Never!

Checkmate, I say. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt if you snored a bit, huh?

His eyes glow dangerously and he’s red in the face. I move back slowly with the chair, before he gets a chance to jump on me.

Nurse? Nurse?!

* * *

It’s even harder to be a cop …

Image of the hospital becoming smaller and smaller in the rear view mirror is liberating, but the thought of having to come back again tomorrow eats me alive — being there on the last day of the year. I dig my mobile from the pocket.

Commander, I say and I can hear the ringing. I switch to the speaker phone and an eternity passes before he picks up.

Anything new?

Uh-uh, I shake my head. I’m not sure if he’s faking or he’s really totally fucked up … Can you imagine all the bullshit he’s saying — like he’s a fucking Batman or something. We’re not getting anywhere.

Look, I don’t give a fuck. I want information, I want names, I want anything as long as I can nail the son of a bitch — let the fucking sheep see what happens if you fuck with the Mayor!

But …

No buts, you damn well know, where the money for the wages comes from — yours too, in case you’ve forgotten! And don’t use your phone while driving!

But … — toot-toot comes out — we’re committed to justice and truth!

I try to call my wife, but she doesn’t pick up at all.

I slow down near the Wall for the security guards to notice me — they know my car by now, so I don’t have to stop. I just blink with my lights and they open the gate.

Fuck the City …

* * *

It all started about a year ago. The Mayor made people mad with his arrogant, notorious corruption scandals and acting like a fucking star in public. Crowds in the streets wanted to let him know it’s over, we don’t want you so pack your bags and fuck off. They just wanted new faces, not the old asses warming each others’ chairs.

When he called them The Rise Of The Zombies, it looked like the protest movement was going to develop into the revolution, each time the more of them showed, but there were also the more of … us — water cannons, armors, horses, helicopters, tear gas …

The Mayor backed out for a while, while we were bouncing granite cubes with our heads instead of his, he appointed new staff and waited for the people to calm down, and then he came back. Again the apathy prevailed, people saw they hadn’t reached anything, they started to tolerate his behavior again, and many even moved out of the City.

Professor Vladimir didn’t move. He spent a couple of months in jail and in social work under the conviction of organizing demonstration. He kept encouraging his students for active citizenship, calling people to revolt through social media, writing a blog, with which he continuously pestered the Mayor and the City Councillors, and organizing guerrilla interventions. Of course he was subjected to constant surveillance, they even threatened his family. His wife could not take it long, she packed, took the kids and left. He got sacked at the University and after a while kicked out of his place, as he was unable to pay the bills. Did it stop him? Fuck no!

He took off his clothes and made himself comfortable hanging around the City Hall, holding a banner “Naked Truth — Nothing To Lose!”. No one took him seriously at first, but couple of men and women, sharing the same fate joined him after a while — some of them had already been homeless, the others were kicked out because of the unfortunate circumstances. They had nothing to lose anymore, so they too stripped naked and stood next to Vladimir, holding banners, like “Fuck you, there’s nothing more you can take from us!”, “You can kiss my ass, Mayor!” …

Those were just desperate tries to reanimate the protest movement, which did not evolve into the political party; it evolved into the tourist attraction.

Well, the Mayor slowly became tired of nudists populating the most beautiful City in the world, so he had them dispersed, built the fence around the City Hall and ordered armored police force to keep the protesters away. Vladimir had to change the strategy.

Comrades! he announced solemnly, The time has come for our movement to get back to the roots! We need to take things into OUR OWN hands — no one is going to give us anything, but no one can take anything away from us either!

He explained how he had seen the future of the movement and suggested, that they populate the caves out of the City and try to live on what nature can offer. The trouble was, that the winter was coming, and the nature had very little to offer. So they adapted the strategy slightly — they would come to the City from time to time, loot what they were entitled to from those who got them to where they were now, and return to their shelters.

They were taking from the corrupt City Councillors, business scum, fat bankers, … who were soon fed up and demanded, that the Mayor and the police provide protection of their interests and privacy from the wild plundering tribe.

Overnight the Mayor built the wall around the City, employed security guards and installed surveillance cameras. Before the last brick was laid, some more people joined the Tribe. Here and there they managed to enter the City or they “expropriated” someone outside of it.

But Vladimir was a true leader — he didn’t command, he inspired. And he was always a spearhead, never a dweller in the comfort zone. Some also said he was well-endowed, but the information was not confirmed.

The man I played chess with I don’t know how many times up to today, did not give the impression of a great legend …

* * *

I needed a drink. After playing a nutcase for so many days, you slowly become one wether you like it or not. Commander is fucking me to solve the case with a punishment to serve as an example for others and the Mayor has to be a winner. That’s not why I became a cop, for fuck’s sake!

Sitting comfortably in the darkest corner of the bar I spread my notes and the book “The Naked Truth: Who Are We Letting Fuck Us From Behind?” — I’ve read it from start to end and back, and Vladimir explains in it the situation our society is in today on the global and on the micro (the City) level. He’s pointing his finger at the Mayor and all the scum, gathered around him. And at the Commander too. They cooked up what we have to eat today, and there is no sign that any changes are about to happen in the near future. And we are paying for it, of course, guilty of nothing, owing nothing — but we were just watching and doing nothing to prevent all the corruption, manipulation and theft …

In many aspects I could not agree more with him.

Thank god the waitress shows up, otherwise I might have started to seriously observe the option of taking off the clothes myself and running the hell out of here.

* * *

I take a few deep breaths. It’s cold it hurts, but on the other hand it feels liberating. And the truth be told, I had a glass or two too many. I spread my arms and turn around. It’s full moon, the City sleeps peacefully. Undercover cop … Under what cover?

I start running and I run for about ten minutes, then slow down in the middle of the forest. I feel as if my warmed body is being stung by a million needles.

A branch breaks in the distance.

I turn back and step slowly, but two guys block the path — both of them completely naked too.

My hands slide down my body trying to find pockets, that don’t exist. I take two or three steps back, turn and run the other way, but there’s already a group of naked guys there, determined to not let me go away.

Where’d you think you’re going?

The rigorous voice belongs to a four feet tall busty blonde, who’s apparently an authority around here.

Eeeeehm, basically …

Fade out.

* * *

The splash of ice-cold water makes me come to myself, but I can’t move, being tied to a chair — a kingdom for a scratch on my balls …

O, good morning!

I’m not going to hurt you! I shout.

The group of naked guys burst into laughing, but the busty one looks dead serious.

Would you mind explaining me what the fuck are you doing here?

I needed a beer … And then I went for a walk.

It happened so fast, that I’m not sure wether I first heard a slap or felt the pain, but the broad is not in the mood and she hits good.

For a walk? Wearing this?!

She holds a ball of wire and a microphone I always have on me.

That was in the car, I tell her.

It sure was in the car, you couldn’t have it wrapped around yourself running out naked, could you?

Obviously …

Don’t be a smartass! Why are you here? Why are you naked and wired and what are you doing here? Have you talked to Vladimir? Is he alright?

Hey-hey, wait a minute … I can’t even listen that fast, let alone talk or think … He’s alright, except …

I’m not sure what to say, and she doesn’t know how to understand this.

Except in his head, I answer.

Were you in hospital with him?

I nod.

You don’t look insane.

I’m not. I’m a cop, I admit. I’m on your side …

She thinks a bit and nods.

Some of us are in there so we keep in touch with him — it’s a bit difficult now because of the Wall and we keep getting confused messages from him, so I’m not sure if he plays a nut or he’s become one. But tempus fugit, you know! What are you going to do with this? She points at my mobile recording studio in her hand.

It’s my tool, I intend to continue using it.

I meant what you recorded!

I should continue the investigation … The Commander has ordered me … to solve the case so that the fucking Mayor comes out as a positive character — and I just can’t stand the prick!

The busty one gives others a look.

And … will you?

I don’t know …

You don’t know?

I don’t know what you’re going to do with me …

Her lips form a smile — she’s not that bad. She nods to them to untie me and parks another chair next to me.

Guys, I think he’s cool, she smiles at them and turns back to me. How’s Vladimir? When was the last time you saw him?

Today, I shrug rubbing my wrists. I think he’s okay, except for the bullshit he talks …

And you’re going to see him again tomorrow?

I nod, which brightens her mood.

And you’re going to do your job or what’s right?

I think you’re perfectly clear what I’m going to do.

You’ll investigate, my darling, in-ves-ti-gate … she chirrups lightly. No time for planning, tomorrow’s the Holiday!

* * *

The tables are situated in “U” shape, so there’s a lot of space in the middle, in case someone would like to dance. Tonight we can stay awake till midnight. The medical staff is practically complete.

The halls are decorated, the canteen is pleasantly lit with dim colored lights and the holiday music adds greatly to the atmosphere. Enter the nurses pushing trolleys with soup and plates.

Vladimir sits in the middle — looking like that and mobbed by those sitting next to him, he looks like some lost version of The Last Supper. I guess it’s no wonder that he’s attracting followers. What’s funny is the fact they got him in the first place. He obviously had his own personal Judas …

Bread anyone? he asks and nods at me — Hey, chess grandmaster? You?

I stand up slowly and move toward him. He waves to the guy on his right to make room for me.

Sit down …

His voice has some kind of a hypnotic quality now, which would hardly accept no as an answer.

My plate is over there, I point at my place.

Sit!

What about …? I shake my head at the guy still standing behind me.

Vladimir dismisses him with a gesture, and the guy nods and occupies my place.

Had a good sleep? he asks.

Excuse me?

He looks at me, wondering if I am taking him for an idiot.

I nod.

I had a good sleep last night.

Good! You need to be fresh tonight.

The squeal of a microphone interrupts us, someone coughs and starts testing the sound: One, two, one, two, …

The psychiatrist coughs again and starts: Good evening, my darlings! As you all know, the old year is bidding farewell and you can stay awake a little longer as an exception tonight. We’ll have some fun and await a new year together! And may the new year be the year of a change for the better.

Oh, it will, it will! Vladimir shouts and everyone applauds.

Of course it will! the doctor nods. I suggest we all start with the soup so it doesn’t get cold. Then we’ll make a short pause, as our nurses have prepared a short program for you — he waves to the unit of nurses behind him — and then the main menu and, of course, the desert. After that we are going to sing, dance and admire the spectacular fireworks, a generous gift from the Mayor!

We will, we will!!! Vladimir applauds enthusiastically, and the crowd does the same. He looks at me and asks: You got that?

What?! I act surprised and feel the wires around my body.

He doesn’t give an answer, but starts the soup greedily.

Nurses have prepared some New Year play for children and they jump up and down all over the place, dressed as Santas, elves and reindeers. The Commander is going to pay for that!

Vladimir pokes me every now and then and blinks at the girls — they’re not bad or something, but I prefer their real performance. Right now I’m feeling the urge to ask for the pills.

After the main meal the doctor shows up again. He holds his glass of wine right next to the microphone and knocks on it with his fingernails.

May I have you attention, please!

Every pair of eyes in the room turns to him, every pair of ears eagerly awaits, what he is about to tell.

My darlings, the evening is about to end — it’s ten to midnight and the year will end. Let’s raise our glasses, mine with wine and yours with water for the pills, but you raise your glass with people not with drinks, right?

Vladimir seems very calm, his eyes look dangerous however.

To all of you, the doc continues, to all of you I wish a happy, and above all HEALTHY New …

Healthy?! Vladimir interrupts him. HEALTHY?!!

The eyes (and ears) are now directed toward him.

Let me tell you something, doctor — it’s not US, who’s sick, it’s YOU and all the world around us, okay?! We are only guilty of being quiet all the time and doing nothing to prevent you fuckers from pulling our balls!!

Vladimir takes off his patient robe.

But every story has an end, doctor, remember that!

Vladimir takes off his pyjama top, the others stand up and start taking off their robes.

It’s not that I’m surprised or anything, but I haven’t told Vladimir a thing about yesterday, about meeting the Tribe and busty’s good mood at the end, but they apparently managed to communicate about what I think I’m going to witness soon.

The madhouse, doctor — Vladimir kicks off his pants and pauses at the last table, and I’m a bit disappointed about the legend — the madhouse is out there, not in here!

He grabs the chair and breaks it on the table — what remains in his hand is a lethal weapon. The doctor is stunned.

And now we — the healthy ones — are going to cure the really sick ones!!!

He smashes doctor’s head, and now everybody — including half of the nurses — strips naked and grabs their chairs and the violence explodes.

Vladimir walks back toward me — I stand up and don’t know, what to say or do.

Take off your clothes!!!

What do you mean “Take off your clothes”?

Look, pal, don’t think I don’t know you’re not wearing any pyjamas under that robe! My boys and girls here were watching you drive away every night. And I know you’ve personally visited the Tribe. Quit playing dumb, now you’ve got to make a decision — are you with us or against us?!

We look at each other for a couple of moments, then I take my robe off.

Did you record everything?

I node and take off my shirt and jeans.

A victorious smile appears on Vladimir’s face.

I pull down my pants and socks and straighten up.

Vladimir raises a brow, which I interpret as envy.

I remove my wires and the microphone, grab the closest chair and smash it against the floor, so a nicely spiked leg remains in my hand.

Well, let’s smash some greedy mouths! Vladimir screams and leaves the canteen and the whole Tribe follows — the Tribe meaning myself, as well. The fireworks begin outside, and the rumble in the City …

* * *

One, two, one, two, testing … So, Commander, that’s how the revolution started in the Madhouse, which — as you’ve probably heard already, unless you and the Mayor are having fun with our money and young girls right this moment — is outside. Heads will fall off, mouths are going to be smashed, there will be fire and blood. What you stole from us, will be taken back, one way or another. Most probably, another!

We both well know, whose side you’re on. Your mouth is next in the line, we’re going to get you.

Once you’re naked, you’ve nothing to lose, except your soul — I haven’t lost my soul! Do you hear the doorbell? Do you hear it?!

The Tribe was originally published in Fiction Hub on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

By: Renato Bratkovič

Take a deep breath and count to ten… One. Two. Three. Four… I can feel my heart pounding in my head… Five. Six. Seven. Eight…

I assess the situation through the crack in the bathroom door one more time — nine, ten! — , kick it open and jump in.

He gives me a surprised look, unable to say a word. The straight razor stops frozen on his face — who the fuck still uses this old-fashioned crap? And who else shaves at 11 p.m.?

My left hand covers his mouth and my right grabs his, holding a razor, and drags it involuntarily across his neck, spraying blood all over the mirror and the wall, creating a real fucking Hermann Nitsch fresco.

I perform a few more cuts, just in case, although he can’t resist any more. He lands on his knees and I lay him down as gently as I can, and for a moment I almost feel as if I’m going to cry.

I stand up, turn the tap and rinse the razor, pink water circling into the sink.

It’s three past eleven…

I can’t go anywhere like this. I peel off my dirty sticky clothes and get into the shower — some of his blood soaked my jeans.

I scrub my body and hair with cold water and his Old Spice, dry myself, and pull on fresh jeans and a tee at quarter past eleven. I trip over his suitcases in the hallway and dive into the night…

After a ten-minute run I stop on the bridge, fill my lungs with fresh air and lean on the fence to look down — a reflection of my shaved head with almost the same look he had a while ago.

Now what? Are you going to leave her without saying good-bye? Without seeing her for the last time?

The church bell rings twice in the background…

If you go now, and if you run all the way, you can be with her in fifteen minutes.

I have to see her…

I enter as quiet as a mouse and untie the laces on my shoes I usually just kick off. I swallow my spit at the bedroom door. It’s ten to…

I touch the doorknob and push the door silently — the blanket seems as if it would breathe peacefully.

I catwalk toward her, sit on the edge of the bed and lift the blanket carefully.

I pull her nightgown strap gently with my thumb and index finger, lie down next to her and softly kiss her shoulder.

She moves, so I lean closer and unzip to make room for…

My palm slides from her thigh up to her ass, squeezes it with a feeling, slipping over the hip to the other side — into the forest.

She turns on her back.

You?!

Hushhh, I silence her. She leans on her elbow.

We’re not alone, she asks, are we?

Don’t worry, there’s no one here.

Is he… gone?

I nod.

We need to stop… I… I think he suspects something.

I lift her nightgown up over her wide hips and try to insert myself — she aims it with her hand, already wet enough for me to lower my hips slowly down on hers…

One. Two. Three…

I circle slowly, up and down. She breathes quicker and quicker. And heavier.

I accelerate my moves and dip my face in her neck almost to the point of suffocation.

We finally manage to catch the rhythm of moving and breathing, pushing into one another harder and harder, as if we are both aware that it is for the last time, for it is not right, for it is sick; and we are becoming louder and louder, until… I erupt and her throat releases the scream — at midnight sharp…

I keep lying on her with all of my weight for a while, until she realizes I didn’t pull out… She pushes me off her.

You came inside me!

I don’t say anything. She leans on her elbow.

You shouldn’t have come in me. I can’t have a baby with you! Papa will kill us!

I sit up and yawn as I park my feet on the floor.

I’m taking a shower, she says angrily, because I keep silent. She rolls off the bed and leaves the room. A heavy sound comes from the hall.

Fuck! Who left the goddamn suitcases in the middle of… Then a moment of sharp silence. Then another scream.

I close my eyes and fall on my back in slow motion: Papa won’t be killing anyone.

Oh, come on, miss — I’m here!

He waves his hand and then she finally sees him. Bogie points his index finger at the row of the bottles, hanging above the bar.

Give me a shot of everything.

The girl is shocked, but she takes the beer glass anyway and pours a shot from each of the bottles in it.

You must be really thirsty, she says and puts a deadly mix in front of him.

Thirsty, yeah … You want a drink, too?

She thinks a bit, then nods and pours herself a glass of juice and throws in a litle straw.

So … what are you celebrating? she asks with a genuine interest.

What am I celebrating?

Bogie looks at an imaginary point on the wall.

I’m celebrating my being a celebrity here!

She smiles.

You have a lovely smile, he says and offers his hand. I’m Bogie.

Apollonia.

Apollonia, he repeats. She’s pretty and she’s talking to him. For a couple of moments everything else in the place dissapears.

You haven’t told me, what we’re celebrating …

Life, my dear, he answers and takes a big sip, followed by a grimace for all of the tastes that apparently do not go well together. Let’s celebrate life.

Here’s to life, then, she says.

* * *

Until today Bogie lived quite a fulfilling life. At least he belived he did. He had a creative job that took him most of the day — in other roles, say, a husband and a father, he was unfortunately not that successful. He got up first every morning, made coffee (so that his wife and kids could stay in bed for a while longer), he washed, served the coffee on the table, and only after that he woke her — to shorten the time he had to spend with her — and gulped down the bitter black liquid without saying a word.

Then they woke the kids. He took them all to the kindergarten, school and work. He was a copywriter at an ad agency.

Just as every morning, he woke first, made coffee, etc … today. The ritual and heavy traffic made him arrive at work a minute later than usual. Just as every morning he entered the building, waved to the security guard and said Hi! to the secretary, who already waited for him with his second coffee.

He stood frozen at the door to the office that he had shared with the creative director, who stood up, tapped his shoulder compassionately and left the room.

Bogie’s fingers let his briefcase fall down.

His desk was empty. His computer dissappeared. The everlasting muntain of papers dissappeared. Even the picture of his children dissappeared. Everything dissappeared. As if Bogie had never existed here.

The cleaning lady wiped the surface with a wet cloth for the last time and whistled loudly. The next moment two strong guys entered the office, lifted his desk, asked him to move away and took it out. The cleaning lady passed him and gently tapped his shoulder.

What the …?!

Bogie looked around in confusion. He pinched his arm to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He bent down to pick up his briefcase, and went back to the secretary.

What the fuck is this, Natasha? he asked. What’s going on?

Natasha offered him a chair and a cup of coffee. She said nothing — she just tapped his shoulder and left. If anyone taps his shoulder again, he will … He sat down and brougt his coffee to his lips.

Hi, Bogie! The Boss said and tapped his shoulder, so the coffee went down the wrong way and Bogie started coughing wildly. Just a moment, The Boss said into the mobile. Just a moment … Whaaa- …? Yeah, just a moment.

Bogie wan’t sure whether The Boss was talking to him or to someone on the phone, but he wasn’t that interested either. He managed to clear his throat, stood up and poured the rest of the coffee in his mouth.

Come on, Bogie, step into my office, I’ll be right back, The Boss said. Whaaaaat? he sang into the phone. NO, I’M NOT TALKING TO YOU! I’M NOT COMING THERE, YOU’RE COMING HERE: YOU FUCKED THE WHOLE THING UP, OKAY?! I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT YOU BEING BUSY, I’M BUSY TOO, OKAY?!

The Boss stashed the phone into his pocket and collapsed into his big Boss chair.

Sit down, Bogie … Want a drink?

Bogie shook his head.

I’ll stand. No, I don’t want a drink. I just want to know, what’s all this about — he pointed his head in the direction of his (ex) office — where’s my computer, where’s my desk, where’s all my stuff?

The Boss inhaled deeply, jumped up and took a whiskey bottle from his minibar.

Sure you don’t want one?

Bogie shook his head again, so The Boss only filled one glass and returned to his previous position.

Where do I start, Bogie …?

He went throug his hair with his hand nervously, put on his glasses, put them away and sipped from his glass. He wanted to win some time obviously; he wanted to find the right words.

How long’ve you been here?

Five years, Bogie answered with a dry voice. Why the fuck you asking, he thought, you damn well know.

Five years, The Boss echoed. And those were de facto the best five years in our agency’s existance …, he exhaled, starting to look at something far away, and drank some more whiskey to again win some extra time.

But, he continued — and Bogie kind of expected that “but” …

Look, what can I say … We’re adults, Bogies, it’s a hard time … It’s been months since we had a bigger project, we barely earn enough for my sallary. I need to cut expences and, you know, fire those, who … don’t generate any significant amount of cash!

But you can’t run an agency without a writer, Bogie said with a forced smile.

Look, Bogie, I can’t cut costs by cutting our employee’s wages — that would make them unhappy, wouldn’t it — I can’t cut costs cutting the quality of our output either, our clients are used to the level of production we deliver, so I can’t compromise that. It’s all-form-not-content-time right now. Do you realize, how many families depend on our agency? Do you?!

Bogie knew, but didn’t answer.

We’ve been on the market for fifteen years, Bogie, fifteen years. You can’t expect me to stub myself in the back!

This is going to last, Bogie thought, so he sat down on the little chair opposite the El Comandante’s desk, which had only one purpose — to make the person sitting on it feel small. And that’s exactly how Bogie felt. So small, he could creep squeaking out of the office under the door.

What about a notice period?

Look, your contract hasn’t any. Plus you’ve been here for the shortest time. It’s only logical, that those who came last fly first. But I was always happy with your work, so I’m going to take care that the agencies are aware of your availability — your working here will open doors for you everywhere, you know. No need to worry, we have plenty to show, so …

Okay, can I leave now? Bogie asked.

The Boss opened the drawer of his giant desk, dug out a fat envelope and poked it to Bogie’s nose.

That’s to get you started, ‘til you find another job …

Bogie grabbed the envelope, quickly counted the money (five grand) and stashed the banknotes into his pocket. He crushed the envelope and threw it on the desk.

The Boss produced another package from his desk.

And here’s … uhm … symbolic gift. I thought a lot about what to give you …

Bogie unwrapped it. A tie?!

A symbolic gift, he said. You’d like to suggest that I hang myself?

HAHAHA, The Boss roared with laughter and pointed his index finger at Bogie, you’re cracking me up! I sure am going to miss your sense of humor. No, I didn’t mean to suggest that! This tie has a story … I wore it when I took the job here and I took over the agency after two years, again wearing that same tie.

And I am sacked with it … Bogie said dryly and stood up. Thanks.

He walked out of the office.

Bogie! The Boss called. Thank YOU — for everything. No offense. Come around some time, I’ll buy you lunch!

* * *

See? Bogie says and spreads the tie on the bar. For the five years I wasted for this company: it’s not that I put 100 percent in every project, I literally sold my soul for … for … five grand and a fucking tie, can you believe it?!

Apollonia nods compassionately, her chin resting in her hands.

What am I supposed to tell my wife and … and the little ones? That I’m an incompetent loser, worth no more than five fucking grand and a fucking tie, because the fucking managers haven’t got a clue how to do their fucking job? My wife already sees me as a trash bag no one wants to take away … Or should I just “de facto” hang myself? he asks imitating The Boss. He covers his face with his hands.

How can I look them in the eye?

It could happen to anyone, Bogie. You’re not the first or the last — and it’s not your fault, right?

Bogie closes his eyes.

When he opens them, he’s dizzy. A coctail of voices, laughter and music from the speakers that are set too loud is banging inside of his brain. He lifts his head up with his hands, wipes the dried spit off his face and looks out. It’s dark.

He turns to find Apollonia — she’s not there anymore. It’s late and she was replaced by some other girl, who’s asking him something.

Bogie doesn’t care what she wants from him. He turns away and tries to stand up from the bar stool. He holds his arms wide away trying not to lose his balance. A pint of liquor mixture splashes against the inner surface of his stomach, and it’s a miracle it’s still in there.

The waitress doesn’t quit pestering him, Bogie waves his hand, looks around the floor for his briefcase, picks it up and totters toward the exit, where it occurs to his mind that he most probably hasn’t paid for the drink. He dips his hand into his pocket, fishes out a bundle of banknotes, throws it back over his shoulder and finally finds his way out.

Outside he checks the time — half past eleven!

Fuck, my wife’s going to kill me!

He rings, but no one answers. He rings again with the same amount of success, then walks around the block.

He leans on the tree, because he can either scream or try to balance, not both at the same time.

Mandy! Bogie shouts. Maaandy!

The lights in the windows start shining one by one.

Mandy? Are you deaf or what?!

The light in their bedroom, finally. The window opens.

Mandy, thank god, Bogie exhales, relieved, and almost falls when he pushes the tree away with his back. Come on, honey, open the door, I’ll wake the whole town.

Instead of an answer, the pile of shirts comes flying through the window.

Then his pants, shorts and socks follow.

Bogie can’t believe his eyes — the shock sobers him up.

An empty suitcase lands on his head.

You pack yourself! I’m sick and tired of you!! I’m seeing another man!!!

Mandy, are you OUT OF YOUR MIND?! MAAAAAANDYYYYYY!!!

The window swallows her head and closes, the light goes off, and Bogie spends a few moments, trying to grasp the situation.

Then he gathers the clothes, crams them into the suitcase and sits on it. His hand reaches for The Boss’s symbollic gift in his pocket.

He pushes the suitcase under the tree and steps on it. He ties the wide end of the tie to the strongest branch, puts the knot around his neck and checks if it’s okay.

He looks up to their bedroom window and points his fist to someone, who isn’t watching, then he decides and kicks the suitcase from beneath his feet. He hangs for a while — but just before he really starts to suffocate the tie rips and Bogie stumbles down, directly on his tailbone, which hurt him like hell.

Fuck each and every one of you!!! Bogie hisses, takes off the rest of the tie, stashes it back into his pocket and grabs the briefcase and the suitcase. He looks up for the last time, then shakes his head and returns to the bar.

Hey! he shouts to the waitress. He sits down carefully and points his finger toward the bottles above the bar: Give me a shot of everything …

No one comes around, the phone doesn’t ring, nothing. Stand up, lock the office, go to Bobby’s, have a shot of whiskey or two (he’ll write them in his notebook, maybe even buy you the third) …

A silhouette shows up at the door and knocks.

I pull my feet off the desk, lay down my fedora, cough and say Come on in!

Good evening. Are you open?

Of course — come in! Please, have a sit.

Ada Rich, she says. She doesn’t sit down.

The local female tycoon, she inherited half of her wealth from her first husband, and grew the other half doing financial stunts, failing to pay loans and taking bribes …

Peter, I introduce myself and offer her my hand.

No matter her age, the broad looks stunning.

I’m not going to waste your time, detective, here — she drops a large envelope onto the desk — is everything you’ll need. My husband is cheating on me and I want you to find out with whom!

I sit down and open the envelope. I know the guy …

And what are you going to do, when I find it out?

We’ll deal with it then — but I promise you’ll be richly rewarded!

I stash the pictures back into the envelope.

Richly! she repeats.

* * *

Bobby’s hole is half-empty … Some other day it would seem half-full. Dimly lit, with music a bit to loud to be able to think, it is a right place, if you want to get lost and hide from everything, including the law and marriage … I lean on the bar, park my fedora next to my elbow and show Bobby two fingers. He nods and while he slaps the empty glass on the bar, throws in four ice cubes and pours in a double dose of Jack, I scan the place. He hasn’t come yet.

Here you are, detective.

It’s easy to tell what I do for a living because of my coat and fedora, but even if I didn’t, it’s the image that suits me. Maybe I just watched too many black and white movies when I was a kid, but at least you couldn’t mistake me for the city slickers, sleazy sons of spineless politicians riding the gravy train.

Thanks, Bobby. It’s quiet today, isn’t it?

Naaah … Same as always. It’s not the time yet.

I fish my mobile from the pocket. Not a single unanswered call or message.

Was Dorian here?

Bobby shakes his head.

I check the pictures Ada gave me once more. There’s also a little paper inside with an address written on.

Give me another one, Bobby, I say and stash the pics back into the coat.

The room is filling slowly. A couple of couples and a few lonely losers as I am.

I put the empty glass on the bar and wave to Bobby.

Put it on my tab, will you!

What?

I’ll pay next time!

Fuck you, Peter, he spits and grabs the glass.

* * *

I park near the address Ada gave me, turn off the engine, half-open the window and make myself comfortable — I can see the block and the greater part of the street.

After a long while, the footsteps can be heard from afar. There’s the man from the pictures coming closer in the rear mirror. I squeeze into the seat, but he doesn’t look in my direction anyway. He steps slowly toward the block and disappears through the entrance.

I exit the car, close the door as silent as I can, and run across the street.

The light in the hall is still on and I can hear his steps at the top of the stairs.

When he turns the key, I start walking up the stairs inaudibly. After the door closes, I start jumping three steps at a time. I stop at the first door and try the doorknob. Locked. I try the next, but can’t open it either. The third door is unlocked — pushing it slowly forward, the light in the hall goes off.

I stand frozen for a moment, as my eyes need to adjust to darkness. After a splash in the toilet the bathroom door opens — the light spills across the foyer.

Come on in, detective, says the man from the pictures.

Dorian, I say.

Dorian closes the door behind me, I take off my shoes, step into the kitchen and have a sit.

I inspect the flat: Cool place!

Want a drink?

I nod. He produces a couple of ice cubes from the fridge and disappears with the glass. Then he parks a whiskey in front of me.

Enjoy … he says and returns to the bathroom.

I take a greedy gulp.

* * *

He comes back with a towel around his ass, takes the glass from my hand and leads me to the bedroom, where he pushes me on the bed. I land on my back, he lets his towel slide down slowly and sits on my belly. He starts unbuttoning my shirt and pants, although I still didn’t take off my coat.

We need to stop, I tell him, but he ignores me and fishes four red tapes from under the bed.

It’s over, Dorian. She came into my office today … I tell him.

He ties one of the tapes around my left wrist, and the other end to the headboard bar.

Ada, do you hear me? I ask while he repeats the procedure with my other hand.

He pulls my pants off my ass and starts tying my ankles to the bed’s legs.

Ada hired me to find out who you’re having an affair with!

He doesn’t give a damn about what I’m saying, and starts playing with my cock. When he finally sucks on it, I start seeing flashing lights and my head weighs a ton.

What … what did you put into my drink?

* * *

I’ve no idea how long I was in the dark, but a dialog between a man and a woman pulls me back into reality. I could easily do without my head.

When I move, a polyvinyl wrap rustles under me.

Dorian?

His blurry figure becomes bigger. He bites my ear.

Morning, Peter, did you sleep well?

I died … What did you put into my whiskey, Dorian?

Nothing special, you looked like you could use a little snore.

Dorian, Ada knows …

Hush … Take it easy, everything’s going to be okay.

Dorian, you don’t understand — Ada — aaaah, my head …

Poor Pete, don’t push yourself so hard … Just lie down, it’ll be over soon.

What do you mean … over?

I can scarcely lift my head to scan the foggy room — still tied and half-undressed — there’s a woman standing at the door. The woman I’ve seen before.

Look, Peter, as you already know, Ada became very suspicious. She was ready to hire a detective — yourself, to get the information about who I was seeing, which is kind of funny, you must admit.

I’ll die laughing.

So, she was prepared to … pay a nice sum for that, and I was thinking …

He starts jangling with some metal objects.

… why would Ada pay someone else? You know, why throw the money away?

He obviously found the tool he was looking for.

So I said to her: Ada, honey, what if I help you find out, who he is, would you give that money to me?

Dorian sits on my belly, his back against me.

And you won’t believe, he says and turns his face at me, she said YES! Ada loves me, don’t you, baby?

Ada bursts into laugh.