Rimanoa

We're here

6:06 p.m. Aug. 18

Brosman pulled a Spas-15 (a nightmarish Italian-made Winchester) from under his cloak and fired a looping shot into the neighborhoods, then moved his foot on the door. After the front door fell open, he handed me a flick badge with the words, "Stay on the lookout," and "went deep" into his work, while I leaned against the doorjamb and began to wait for guests.

From the room there was crazy shouting, screaming, yelling, yelling, in short, someone was being tortured; the neighbors were very interested in this fact and came out into the corridor. I finally and irrevocably blocked the empty passageway, showing off my fresh badge and telling everyone about my job.

My cell phone rang. "Hello."

"This is Longe, we have guests here," — Lightning was sitting in his Jeep, keeping watch at the entrance gate to the motel grounds, and also waiting for us.

"Okay. Don't do anything, we'll figure it out."

There was a siren. Apparently someone just didn't believe my gibberish, because the voices were getting stronger and stronger from the apartment.

But if I'm going to play this opera, I'm going to play it to the end, even in front of the flicks that ended up in front of me, stepping out of the "crowd" (there was already one person watching the spectacle) and seeing the sign, "What happened?"

"Some hag is listening to the TV too loud, my partner's dealing with it right now." "What took you so long, Captain (I didn't understand why he called me that). And why is the door kicked in?"

I looked at the piece of wood lying two meters away from the hinges: "You know, they're getting so shoddy with all this stuff nowadays… If you pull it, it falls off…" The sounds stopped. — Well, that's it, you can go away," no one even blinked an eye.

Once outside, Brosman looked at the cops puzzled and seemed to want to do something. "So that's it I broke the dead silence with a steely expression. — What took you so

long?"

"I… Yeah. Uh… Well…" — Pierce reached under his jacket.

"Let me in…" — the cop mumbled and stormed in, the other one following him. Brosman gave me a dumbfounded look, and I ducked out the door and saw the blue- collar guys running into the bathroom, and the next moment there were ripping moans coming from the wet room. After sneaking a few meters through the apartment in their direction, I smelled a pungent odor of rot (or something like that) and, trying not to breathe, looked into the currently relevant room. There were two corpses lying there (one with his head in a … filled to the brim, the other on the floor with blood on his face and trickles of red stuff from his nose) and two of our disemboweled heroes. My hand snatched a revolver from the holster of the first flick and, pointing it at each of them in turn, fired a shot.