A Matter of Death and Life by Andrey Kurkov

Author:Andrey Kurkov [Kurkov, Andrey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Vintage

18

THE THIRD EVENING found me bored with playing bait. The very sight of coffee brought a bitter taste to my mouth, so, waiting and noting who came in, I opted for something stronger and more relaxing. Two possible Kostyas presented themselves, and I’d once been on the point of slipping out, until, buying a bottle of vodka, the suspect retired to the inner room, only to be escorted out half an hour later by two proletarian types just as drunk as he.

At 6.40 a third leather-jacketed young man appeared, paused in the doorway and looked round, before going up to the counter.

Two women sitting opposite got up and went out. I looked across to where Vanya was sitting with his beer. Vanya looked back, drumming his fingers on the table.

Song and tape came to an end, and in the silence that followed I heard rain. Which, having no umbrella, was the last thing I needed!

“Would you drink up, please,” Valya called, before setting Shufutinsky going.

The new arrival sat down opposite me, and putting his coffee on the table before him, playfully revolved the cup by its handle. His leather jacket was completely dry. Evidently the rain had only just started.

Suddenly a hard stare in my direction, and I was no longer in any doubt that this was Kostya.

“Got the time?” he asked.

“Five to seven.”

With a nod of thanks, he returned his gaze to his cup.

Had he not deliberately sat himself at my table, I would not have been so terrified, and my legs so a-tremble.

Some insects, it occurred to me, feigned death in the face of danger. But much good would that do me.

Again he was staring, now tight-lipped.

Thinking of what? Or simply attuning himself to what lay ahead?

A point came when I knew that if I did not get to my feet now, I never would.

Must go for a pee, must go for a pee! I kept telling myself, struggling to break free from paralysing fear.

When I did at last get to my feet, I saw a jerk of his hand slop the coffee he was about to gulp.

Trying not to rush, I walked from the café into the rain, and ten metres later turned into the courtyard picked by Vanya.

The rain made it impossible to tell whether or not I was being followed. In the courtyard I was at bay, in total darkness, noisily treading something underfoot.

Relying more on memory than my eyes, I got to the rubbish collection hut and froze. Then, cautious, hesitant footsteps.

With my blood running cold, I edged around to the back of the hut, and again stopped dead, mindful of the money I had about me, uncertain whom I had the more to fear: Kostya, or my advance-waiving bodyguard.

Over bricks and bottles I somehow scrambled to the doorway of the derelict house, slipped inside, and squatted down, breathing hard.

Again, a crunching of glass, then, over and above the gentler swish of rain, long minutes of silence.

Something hit the ground with a thud, then again silence.

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