Александр Конторович - Predator - Escape from Tarkov

Radio sets. Without hesitating, I take three straight away. I’ll find a use for them. I also take the battery charger for them.

Ammo. Everything for the American assault rifles I leave. I’ll take fifty shells for the shotgun, you can’t have too many. And among the pistol ammo I find familiar boxes with the blue-tipped bullets. I’ll take all of those.

There’s a big sack with a red cross on it. Is it the only one? No, there’s another, but not quite as big.

“I’ll take that,” I say, pointing at the smaller one.

From the food supplies, I take a case of tinned meat and five red and white cardboard boxes of German soup. I’ve tried it before. Each box contains twelve packets. Eat one of those a day, and you’ll keep hunger more or less at bay.

“That’s all.”

The boss grunts contentedly. Apparently, he didn’t expect to get off so lightly. He gives the order, and everything I’ve chosen is taken off to one side. He really does have something of the general about him. Watching him share out the loot between his men quickly and fairly, I realize my leadership skills have a long way to go.

In place of the ragged mob of deadbeats with a motley collection of arms, we now have something that more or less resembles an organized fighting unit. Less rather than more, sure, but it’s still quite a change! On the outside, and from a distance, they could be taken for a serious military force.

“Just say where to,” says Gavrish, turning to me, “and the lads will bring it over.”

That evening, having with some difficulty dragged part of my loot back to my nest, I get down to sorting out my prizes. The guy that I killed first had exactly the same kind of pistol as me, except that the silencer was separate – stored in a special pocket of his vest. Blue-tipped bullets in the magazine, too. The fact this isn’t all a coincidence is confirmed when I find a familiar memory stick in the inside pocket of the vest. So, that’s where they come from. At a guess, that guy must have been some kind of officer.

Which means? Which means you need to put those guys down as fast as you can, no thinking.

The bullet that came out of my pistol almost tore the guy’s leg off. At any rate, the hole it left was massive. It doesn’t take much imagination to picture what he might have done to me. And I’ve got a rich imagination, so I quickly dismiss that type of thought from my brain.

The next day, I popped in to see Mr. Ogryzko and get rid of some of my loot, and was met with considerable warmth. Pavel gives Shorty a friendly nod.

“Been working, has he?”

“Just a little,” I answer, trying to sound as off-hand as possible.

“How was it?”

I bring out the night sight.

“If I could get this thing on it, it’d help.”

Sledgehammer shrugs his shoulders.

“But that’s what the stand on top of the gun’s for. What’s the problem?”

Is it? Well, aren’t I the idiot? I had no idea.

“It needs adjusting. I took it from a different gun, and I’m no expert at that sort of thing.”

“Ah, well, you’re right there. You need a bit of know-how to do the job properly. Hand it over, then. The things we do for friends, eh?”

The shopkeeper was in a thoughtful mood. He immediately accepted the night sight that I’d ended up with when the loot was shared out. He turned it in his hands, switched it on, and nodded with satisfaction.

“That’ll do nicely.”

And then… Well, there wasn’t really anything I needed. When it came to food, considering my appetite, I must have had enough for nearly four months, if not more. I didn’t need ammo for now, either. In fact, I had some to get rid of. Instead, Ogryzko offered me money – to pay for stuff later if I needed it. Basically, not a bad idea. So, everything was concluded to our mutual satisfaction.

Then, while Pavel was tinkering around with my rifle, we got down to the main part of the conversation.

The shopkeeper pulled a bottle of vodka from somewhere and nodded to it.

“Will you have a little?”

“Brandy would be better.”

He had that, too. Really pretty good brandy, I have to admit. He poured, we clinked glasses… and somehow I almost missed the main point of the conversation.

To give him his due, Artemiy knows how to talk. He knows where to put a pause so you can guess the rest. Or he can ask a question like he wants to get your opinion of something in a way that stops you from grasping the real purpose of the conversation until long after. Gradually, however, I began to get the picture.

The shopkeeper was seriously worried by the increased power of Gavrish’s gang. When they were relatively smalltime and amateur, there had been no cause for concern. Ogryzko’s customers could easily squash a gang like that, or even a bigger one, without much effort. It would be worth it for good relations with the shopkeeper.

But even that wasn’t the most important thing.

“Your, er, leader has decided to help them, fair enough. What the fuck you need with them is none of my business. But here’s the thing,” Artemiy raises a finger, “they grow, they take control of more territory, and then what?”

I shrug my shoulders.

“I hope there’ll be less shooting around here, and I’ll be able to come see you without dodging more bullets than are absolutely necessary.”

“Well, that’s as maybe. But will that be true for everyone? I’m a businessman. I don’t want my customers to have to go to too much trouble. Otherwise, it could hurt my business. Sure, my customers can stand up for themselves, but do any of us really need a war?”

Aha, so that’s what it’s all about. The guy’s seriously worried about losing his flow of customers. Well, let’s say he does have some reason to be concerned. With no “bright” future ahead of them, the bandits are quite capable of putting an extra tax on the people who come this way. That’ll have an effect on sales, no question. People will just vote with their feet and look elsewhere.

“So, you want me… us to have a word with Gavrish?”

“We’re happy to compensate him, within reason of course. That could mean a reciprocal arrangement of almost any variety.”

So, it’s “we” now, is it? Well, yes, it’s not like the shopkeeper carries all the goods here himself, is it? He’s got people who take care of that side of his business. And it’s not like he puts the money he earns in a big chest. It must go somewhere, and there’ll be other organizations that take care of that.

“No problem. I’ll pass on your concerns to the management. But…”

“As I said, we’re ready to look after different interests.”

Is that a subtle hint about a cut for me? I’ll take it. After all, I do understand a little bit more about retail than about military matters.

“I imagine your matter will be considered with the utmost urgency. Good neighbours deserve a helping hand, don’t they?”

I leave the shop with a couple of bottles of brandy in my backpack. Turns out that’s the very first backhander I’ve ever received from a business. And it is a backhander, because the shopkeeper sees me as some sort of authorized representative of a serious organization. That de facto gives me a certain status in his eyes.

Alright, so now I have to think of something, and fast.

I find one of the bandits at the checkpoint.

“Tell Gavrish I need a word with him. I’ll be here in an hour.”

And off he runs, just like that.

I guess the boss takes his ally seriously. I didn’t even have to ask – the bandit leader’s clearly given some very specific orders regarding how I should be treated. Is that a good thing, I wonder?

Well, let’s say the boss doesn’t turn up in an hour. Sitting in a looted flat in one of the nearby buildings, I have a good view of the checkpoint and the people manning it. In fact, I notice a couple of guys with guns in the building opposite who are also watching over the bandits’ base. If I’m not mistaken, that’s where the boss sent the machine-gun team. That’s smart. The guys at the checkpoint have shotguns, which only pose a threat at short range, while the machine gun has them covered at a much greater distance. Someone’s got a good head on their shoulders. I’m learning slowly, and fortunately I’ve had some good teachers.