Rimanoa

Gestapo methods

4:42 p.m. Aug. 17.

"Okay, how do we leave?" — Norman asked, walking in and closing the door behind him.

"Through the door, how else?" "We can through the window…"

"No, consider there's no window… We'll go out the second exit by the pool so the clerk won't notice… Come on, grab that teapot and get it in the car, I'll be a little later."

I went back into the bathroom, filled it all the way up with water, tossed the tequila bottle that had been standing in the hall before, added my own liquid to it, and lit it once more (I don't know if it didn't burn all the way through).

I left the room, walked down the stairs, left the hotel, got into a BMW parked nearby and asked Norman, "Oh, where's the six?"

"In the trunk…"

"Well, yeah your style." "Going to the warehouse?" "Yes."

We left the city and, having covered a distance of 15 kilometers, stopped at a small hill (behind which even a BELAZ could hide), where there was a barely visible steel door. We entered it, walked about 200 meters along a narrow tunnel and, opening a banal wooden door (on the other side it was a wall, that is — a secret passage), saw right in front of us a "torture chair" (an ordinary chair with a lot of straps) in a large dusty room. This was the so-called warehouse, but there were no materials there.

I asked the fateful question, "What's your name?"

Finding herself in such a wonderful environment, the victim managed to squeeze out, "Robert."

"Where do you live?" "In hotels…"

"In what?"

"Where the boss says…oops…uh…"

"Well, there, see, you've got a boss now…" "I don't have a boss!!!!"

"Yeah, well."

"I'm an independent!!!!" "No way."

"That's right!!!" — the guy totally freaked out.

"Yeah, come on kicking yourself I turned to Norman, "You can calm down.

Norman came over and started a showdown (what's the point).

The first blow flew with a crackle into his stomach, the second into his nose, the next fifteen into his jaw. Norman pulled out the knife.

"I'll be killed if I say, KILLED!!!!" — The victim was screaming like a slaughterer, though he had not yet been touched by the cold blade of the cleaver.

"Wait…," I ordered Norman, "See he's gotten worse. "

"Robert, tell me, what do you want?" "Security "

"Yeah, security… Hear, Edgar, he needs security Well, okay, Robert, your guard will

be… will be… will be… well… Oh! That's right, your guard will be Norman "

"Don't "

"Come on, Edgar, guard him. "

A knife appeared in the courier's shoulder, further beating, but now after the twenty- fifth blow Norman stopped and redirected the knife to the other shoulder, after a brawl involving one.

"I'll say, I'll say!!!" — the victim had all the strength in the world. No one thought to interrupt. "Cave, I work for Albert Cave!!!" It was the seventieth stroke…

"CAVE, CAVE, CAVE!!!"

I stopped the 'charging', "See what it's come to "

"Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah," said the "boxer" and the "pear" with different intonation. "So you say we need "

"Cave, Cave, Albert Cave!" "Very well. Where does he live?" "New York."

"More specifically "

"I don't know."

"How's that? It's not clear. Norman, he doesn't know "

"Jack knows, Jack knows!" "Who is it?"

"He was with me at the hotel "

"I see… Uh-huh Well, who else?"

"More… more… more… more. "

"Norman, he wants more!" "Don't. No! Buttoned up "

"No, Edgar, your aim is obviously off. — I scolded Norman and continued with Robert, "Now, who are you calling buttoned up???"

"No, no, buttoned up knows "

"I see. Oh, who is this guy anyway?"

"I don't know "

"Great! Where is he?" "In Beijing "

"Beijing… No, I'm not going there. "

"This is the chief of police of Barcelona speaking. Surrender. The building is surrounded! — A voice in Spanish (which I didn't know, by the way) suddenly started blabbering.

"Fuck him left," Norman whispered. "What does that mean?"

"Everything sucks… Our friend needs to be finished…" "Yeah, what was said? Stop pulling the cat by the…"

"Surrender the building is surrounded… And friend must be ended…" "Surrounded by whom?"

"Cops… No, a friend needs to cum…"

"Friend knows nothing, leave him alone, let's run for the door."

"No… we have to run him out…" — Norman pulled out a Beretta 92F (Italian 9-caliber pistol; very handy in practical sense, the pistol's peculiarity is a convenient safety; weighs 1.1 kilograms, muzzle velocity — 375 m/s, magazines for 15 and 20 rounds, maximum aiming range — up to 100 meters, muzzle energy 500 joules) and put two bullets into Robert's head. He didn't have time for the third one, five bullets crashed into him…