Александр Конторович - Predator - Escape from Tarkov

There was plenty. Blood’s streaming from the wanker’s face, and it looks like he caught some shot. One of the new arrivals is pressed against the wall, hit in the shoulder. No more fight from him, his right arm’s hanging like a ribbon. The third guy I can’t see, or at least not all of him. Just his legs. The round knocked him back out onto the landing. Or did he drop down himself. Either way, his legs are only twitching slightly. Is he dead? Fuck!

Gradually the sound returns to my ears, and the smoke drifts outside with the breeze. I’m in shock, but you’ve got to assume it was worse for the others. The barrel was pointing their way, after all. Their ears would have got the worst of the sound, too. Shit!

I pull at the wood under the barrel to chamber another round. I’d be a real idiot to let them jump me now. From what I can see, however, they’ve shat themselves. The wanker’s lip is trembling, and then he starts to sob out loud. You can’t blame him. He’s had a wooden board smashed in his face and barrel of buckshot straight past his head. I’d have shut down completely, I guess.

“Get down on the ground!”

Both of them drop so fast the floor shakes.

I stand up and lean sideways to look at the front door. I can’t see shit, just the legs of the guy lying there. The bastard’s still alive – his legs are twitching violently.

“Hey, you! Pull your friend inside.”

The guy with the injured shoulder nods with fear – sure, sure. With his good hand he grabs a boot and drags the guy on his back into the cover of the hallway.

Fucking hell! His whole chest’s been ripped open! His prospects don’t look great.

“Are you armed?”

“I’ve got a knife,” the wounded guy says hoarsely.

“Slit his throat, then throw the knife over here on the floor!”

If someone ordered me to do that, I doubt that I could manage it. Sliding a knife across the throat of a living human being… no, I couldn’t do it. But if you can’t do it yourself, get someone else to! That was our company motto back in the army, as I remember. And if this guy has any reservations, he doesn’t show them. He finishes off his friend with a single cut. Not fun to watch, but the knife came clattering across the floor.

“Right,” I say hoarsely. I’m finding it hard to talk, but I guess for the bad guys my croaking sounds scary enough. At any rate, the two of them flinch when I speak.

“I don’t want to see your faces round here again, ever! Understood? Otherwise…” I look meaningfully towards the door. “Any questions?”

They both shake their heads, almost in tempo.

“Turn out your pockets!”

All sorts of crap falls out onto the floor. Huh, the wanker had another knife stuck in his belt.

“You fucker!” The words came out with some feeling. “I should have shot you straight away! Be grateful for my good nature.”

The two of them vanished into thin air.

Among the junk they left behind was a pretty good knife. I’ll keep that. It’s certainly better than my pocket knife. Some hardtack and a couple of tins of food. Not too bad.

I move over to the third member of the merry band. So, then, what did they call you? Big Misha, wasn’t it? Well, size didn’t help you here. It wasn’t what I’d planned, and I can’t say I wanted to shoot you to be honest. That’s just how it went down. The door slammed open, and my finger twitched automatically. It just so happened that my finger was on the trigger at the time. Basically, it’s bad luck, old boy. But then I find he has a revolver in his pocket. Not such bad luck after all, at least for me.

I hear movement, turn to my right, and I’m looking at the black hole of a gun barrel. It’s the shopkeeper’s regular guard. He’s calm and composed, holding his gun with confidence, unlike some of us.

“And there was me wondering who was making all that noise.” He examines the body on the floor with interest. “Who’d have thought?”

The automatic rifle twitches slightly, showing me where to move to.

“And put the gun on the floor. Just in case.”

I do as he says. This is a guy I have no desire to quarrel with – he’s too far out of my weight class. He’d put me down without blinking.

The guard even crouches down to look at the dead guy.

“So, you shot him then finished him off with the knife. You’re a beast!” He glances at the open door of the flat. “And it looks like you got someone else here. How come I don’t see any more bodies? Eaten them already?

“I let them run. The fear will follow them for the rest of their lives.” I really believe that’s true. All I need to do is picture myself in their place.

“So, you’re a psychologist,” says the guard with respect. “Seriously, I wouldn’t have thought of that. What did you used to be?”

“A system administrator. I had to make sure everything was running smoothly.”

“Hmm. My work was simpler than that. Anyway, have a seat.”

I sit straight down on one step of the staircase. The guard makes himself comfortable in the doorway of the flat, his automatic rifle on his knees. Shit, there’s a corpse lying right next to the guy, and he’s not bothered. The man’s got nerves of steel!

“What’s your name?”

“Denis.”

“Well, I’m Pavel. They also call me Sledgehammer sometimes.”

Looking at his hands, I can see it’s a nickname that suits him. Basically, with fists like that he doesn’t really need the gun as well.

“Basically, Denis, I’m not going to fuck you around. I’ve got a simple proposition for you.”

I make every effort to show my sincere interest. It’s not like I can tell this guy to go fuck himself.

“As I’m sure you understand, we really don’t need this kind of mess around the shop. Nobody’s getting to us, but when people are being shot up and cut up in the area, it’s not great for business either. Our customers might decide to look elsewhere.”

“I understand,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “To be honest, I wanted to resolve this without bloodshed, too.”

Sledgehammer gives an ironic glance at the ripped wallpaper and the bloodstains on the floor.

“That’s exactly what I thought. Anyway, here’s the thing – if you agree, this little spot of bother’s yours to deal with. You make sure everything stays quiet round here. Any trouble, and it’s on you. You’ll be letting me down.”

“Understood. But what do I get out of it?”

“What you do with these fuckers,” he nods towards the dead body, “that’s your business. Strip them down to their pants, that’s up to you. And you’ll be on good terms with us. We’ll give you discount rates and throw in some ammo. There’ll be more, too. But nothing up front. You’ll get paid for the work you do.”

“What counts as work done?”

“Come round in a week, and we’ll chew it over. But bear in mind you’re not the only one who could do the job.”

He stands up and straightens his gun.

“Don’t follow me. Sit here for another five minutes.”

Does he really think I’m dumb enough to run after him and try to jump him on the street? He’d shoot me down without blinking. For him, pulling the trigger’s like taking a piss.

I gather up my weapons and trophies, and make my way up to the top floor and the already familiar flat. I lock the door behind me and sit down on the couch. What am I going to do? Looks like my water-bottling business has gone belly up. Am I going to fight a whole gang on my own? It’d be simpler just to top myself right now. No inspiration comes to mind. Meanwhile, my hands play mechanically with my new revolver. It’s not a real revolver, it’s a gas-powered pellet gun. Imported, by the look of it. And with only four pellets. The stuff I took from those arseholes will last for two or three days. I’ve got nothing to take to the shopkeeper anymore. He’s not interested in my water now, Pavel made that pretty clear. Quite possibly, they may have noticed my “artistry” with the bottle tops. Then they make me an offer I can’t refuse. It’s no loss to them and, as they say, there’s plenty more like me who’ll do the job if necessary.