Александр Конторович - Predator - Escape from Tarkov

“Out of the good of their hearts?”

“You did promise a discount. After all, you don’t need thugs round here, you need customers, don’t you? It wouldn’t be hard to take these ones down, but then a new lot would turn up. Will you want me to shoot them, too? I don’t mind pulling the trigger.”

Having disarmed, I head towards the shopkeeper. But this time Pavel leaves his post and follows me to let Mr. Ogryzko know what he’s thinking.

Then we got down to more normal business. I’ve had to haggle over all sorts of things in my time. True, it was mostly smalltime stuff. It was all kinds of electronics we were peddling then, but I do retain some skills from the period and they came in useful. To cut a long story short, I got myself a discount, and managed to get a good price for all my goods. Better still, the shopkeeper took the weapons with unconcealed delight.

It’s already noon. Time to meet the guy the bandits have sent. Sledgehammer opens the door for me.

“Take your pistol,” he says, nodding to the basket. “You can even load it here if you want.”

Is that a sign of trust? There’s still the other guard, who has no part in our conversation, and is observing everything carefully with his gun in his hand. So, while there certainly is a risk, it’s not as great as you might think. What if I…

I flick the bullets from the magazine and put it back in the pistol empty. From the look of it, everything’s in place. But in reality the gun’s empty and I’m no danger to anyone.

Pavel chuckles, shakes his head, and opens the door. The bolts slide shut behind me, and I’m out on the street all alone. With an empty pistol. My shotgun’s still with Sledgehammer in the basket.

And this is how I’m heading off to meet the bandits, is it? Yes, unfortunately it is. But there is a reason for it. Bravado, if you like, but also careful analysis of the situation. When it comes down to it, I don’t represent any real threat to the gang. I’m no great shooter, and I’ve never learned any tactical cunning. If they want to kill me, they’ll go ahead and shoot from a distance, and I won’t know anything about it until it’s too late. You can’t just play by their rules, especially not on their turf.

But now let’s look at the situation from a different perspective. A guy comes to a meeting. Obviously, he’s armed, because only a complete idiot would walk round here without a weapon on him. Moreover, it’s a pretty impressive gun. Which, as it happens, I barely know how to use. But it’s not like that’s carved on my forehead.

So, let’s proceed. Along comes this guy, meets the bandit, and leads him into the shop. At the entrance, obviously, the gang’s man will have his weapons taken away from him. But I’ll hold on to mine, because there are no bullets in it and the guards know that.

What does the gangbanger see? He sees that the guy he’s meeting isn’t particularly afraid of anyone, seeing as he’s happy to walk around with nothing but a pistol. After all, only an overconfident idiot would go up against shotguns and assault rifles with just a pistol. That, or a hardened pro.

Secondly – and this is much more important – the shopkeeper’s guards won’t be taking this guy’s gun away. Which means he’s one of them, or they trust him so much that they make an exception.

Moreover, I don’t have to say anything to anyone. A smart guy (and they won’t be sending an idiot) will see it all for himself, and come to far-reaching conclusions. Sure, there is a chance that it’ll all go very differently from how I picture it, and they’ll just gun me down as soon as we meet. Well, then someone will be getting a new pistol, I guess.

I’m tired. Tired of running up and down stairs, ducking and diving, and lying to everyone I meet. When it comes down to it, I’m just the most ordinary guy. No, I’m not a hero, unfortunately. Meantime they all go around as if they’ve got no worries at all and their strength never fails. Who was it that stopped me going to the gym all that time? That’s right, my own idleness.

Walking around twenty metres from the shop, I take a seat on a bench. I’m not going any further, else I’ll be out of the guards’ sight. What if they think I’ve hidden a spare magazine away somewhere?

Hold up! A lone figure appears in the gateway. It’s the representative. He did come after all. I stand up and make a beckoning gesture with my hand – come on over.

The bandits’ representative turned out to be a skinny guy with a very cunning look on his face. Perhaps he’d been in sales himself at some time.

“Alright! Gavrish sent me,” he announces as he’s approaching.

“Good,” I nod in answer. “I’m…”

Who am I? Who sent me? What should I call the mysterious party who’s pulling the strings from behind the scenes to enhance his reputation? The guy who crawls around and whispers creepily. The one whose bullets sent the former boss to his grave. The one whose orders sent the soldiers to my house. Should I say that that’s me, that is? What other brilliant ideas are there floating round in my inflamed imagination? No, now I’ve started this charade, I’d better keep it going.

“The Predator sent me. Said I should meet you, make the introductions, and all that jazz.”

“Who is this Predator?”

“When he whispers in your ear and tickles your chin with his gun, then you’ll find out. There are some questions it’s better not to ask. If you want to live much longer, that is. Shall we go?”

We approach the shop door. The guards are watching us, the bolts scrape, and the door opens.

“Got any weapons?” Sledgehammer asks my companion. “If so, put them in the basket.”

What’s interesting is that my shotgun isn’t in the basket. It’s standing in one corner. Which means I can take it that the guard is playing along with me a little. He obviously saw straight through my little game. And, as it’s no skin off his nose to play along with the trick, why not help me out a bit?

The rest was simple. The bandits’ guy listened to the conditions the shopkeeper set for their deal, then on his part gave a solemn oath of absolute and total loyalty. He even put a few things on the counter that he’d brought to trade. That brought the official proceedings to an end, and we were led back to the door.

“Why don’t you hang back a couple of minutes?” says Sledgehammer to me suddenly, “there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

The door slams behind the bandits’ representative, and I turn to the guard.

“So, that’s that, my friend,” says Pavel, sitting back down. “Have a seat, take the load off your feet."

Without objection, I take the place offered to me.

“I can see you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, and not only…” He spins a finger in the air. “So, one of us had an idea as to how your talents might best be employed.”

“Go on.”

“There’s a rumour going round,” he continues, “that our chief has a new rival. In principle, there’s nothing wrong with that. Competition keeps you on your toes, they say. But there’s competition and there’s competition.”

“What specifically bothers you about this rival?”

“See, as I’m sure you know, there’s all sorts of trader. Us, we’re honest businessmen. We don’t charge rip-off prices, and we won’t take the shirt off your back. This bloke, on the other hand. Well, they say all sorts of things about him.”

“But where did he come from all of sudden?” I ask with surprise. “It’s only a couple of weeks since this whole mess began. Well, three. And already people have that much bad to say about him?”

“You’re an observant lad, aren’t you?” Sledgehammer chuckles. “You’re right, he didn’t appear out of thin air yesterday. Not even two weeks ago, either. This guy has been making a noise in the city for two years already. He’s based somewhere over by the port, and he’s always played fast and loose in his business. He’s the sort of bastard who has no scruples whatsoever. Offer him a handful of false teeth with real ones mixed in and he’ll take them without blinking. His reputation’s so bad that in all honesty we assumed one of his debtors had managed to do away with him in all this chaos. You’d have trouble counting the number of people he’s pissed off. No such fucking luck, unfortunately. The bastard’s resurfaced.”