Rimanoa

A mind boggler

August 19, 20:02.

The investigator had been sitting tied to a chair for the past hour and was ready to fall asleep at any minute.

Ravani sat down across from me and turned to me, "Do you have a tape recorder?"

I nodded to Emanuel and he in turn left the room and entered it a minute and a half later with a black Panasonic.

Ravani plugged in the cassette and headphones, walked over to the interrogator and put on the "ears", pressing the "Play" button. Usually, the individual is given to listen to "shamanic" music, rarely to "space" music.

The next step to prepare the victim for hypnosis was to administer an intravenous drink containing Noxiron (0.25 g).

After taking another portion, Ravani stated that it was necessary to wait for another half an hour.

August 19, 20:34.

The policeman sat in his chair like a bewitched man and was probably asleep by now. Ravani walked over to the sleeping man waved his hand around, returned to his position and began: "Sleep deeper. Sleep deeper (repeated for several minutes)… You are sound asleep… You can hear my voice very well and you are not disturbed… Go deeper… Go deeper… Go deeper…"

He then indicated one verifying command to him and, finding that the subject had indeed fallen into a hypnotic sleep, continued: "Now you wish to answer my questions while remaining asleep… What is your name?"

The dreamer's answer turned out to be very unintelligible and vague: "José Fantin." "Very good… You answer my questions perfectly… Do you like soccer?"

"Yes."

"Do you have a wife?" "Yes."

"Kids?"

"Yes."

"Do you love them?"

"Yes," the subject's voice changed slightly to humanity, so Ravani interrupted his survey a bit, "Sleep deeper… Even deeper… You really like to sleep…" "Hhhhhhhhhh."

"What is your profession?" "Policeman."

"What is your position?"

"A special investigator…" "Sleep deeper…"

"YEAH, ENOUGH ALREADY!!! ENOUGH WITH YOUR SLEEP!!! — Emanuel said,

"Tell me, you son of a bitch, who else you got!!!"

I hit Emanuel on the head, and he fell to the floor with a tremendous crack. The hypnotized person was clearly out of trance and began to talk "nonsense". The hypnotist was calm, but clearly upset.

My cell phone rang. "Yes."

"This is Richard. Get out of there immediately and destroy all evidence. The cops have uncovered the place."

Aug. 19, 8:41 p.m.

Shouting: "Bring Emanuel to his senses!", I flew out of the room and rushed to another where two gasoline canisters stood.

A minute and a half later, the first floor was flooded with fuel (there was no time and no point in flooding the second floor — there was nothing interesting there for the cops or even the burglars, as it was empty), while Ravani was still agonizing with the victim. "Well, what's the matter?" — I asked with a little shortness of breath (I'm not what I used to be), finishing the job.

"You shouldn't have chiseled him like that!" — replied the mind eclipser. "Indeed. It's better that he yells like an uncut pig."

"It's easier to burn him down here altogether…" "Yeah, and a detective at the same time."

"Any better suggestions?"

"Yeah, you carry the flick and I'll carry him," I kicked Emanuel lightly with my foot. Emanuel turned out to be remarkably easy, and even too easy. We crossed a rather long corridor and came to the street where our two cars (the black BMW in which Emanuel and I had arrived and Ravani's white Peugeot) were located.

While Ravani was loading our "precious cargo", I organized a "Parade of White Lights" in the now former "torture chamber".

Aug. 19, 8:57 p.m.

The organization had no other such "room of trivial questions" in Montpellier, so we had to stop by the "embassy", although by all our articles it was a violation of all principles to torture and, in general, to bring all kinds of trash there, but it was a matter of the utmost importance.

At the "black" gate, we had to stop.

I got out of the car and headed for the entrance with big, quick steps (the flicks were after us, after all, so I was nervous). After two knocks and twenty seconds, the door was opened by a lanky man in his twenties, dressed in a standard black suit with two buttons on the jacket. He was clearly ignorant of etiquette, and the bottom button was buttoned. He had a square face, shoulders like an arshin, fists to hammer nails with, in short, another heartless bat in crime. I'd never seen this eagle before.

He asked the question that I recommended asking in all embassies at such meetings (two years ago I personally supervised the foundation of all the security systems of our representative offices in France, three in total: in Montpellier, Paris, and Brest): "You, on what subject?"

"I am Faust."

Not a single muscle trembled on the square face, "So what?" The guy is new not only to Montpellier, but also to Cosa Nostra.

"Inform Ducon that Faust has arrived," — Ducon is ambassador to Montpellier.

"No such here, sorry," — the newcomer replied and slammed the door shut, a trick that was also my invention.