Having sat down on a sofa, I groped some newspaper nearby. On a turn recent date, the latest issue is designated. I considered familiar photo below. I got a pendant from a pocket, and compared the photo of the girl to the photo in the newspaper. Similarity is amazing – same person. From below, under the photo small article, in the paragraph from ten offers. In it said that from suburban orphanage children run every week. The last run away Elizabeth Sokolova, whose photo is observed by all, the residents holding this newspaper in hand. One offer is devoted to information on the strengthened trial of police in this puzzle as losses of children from a shelter. The guess is considered that there was mentally unbalanced maniac kidnapper. It is supposed that it is a certain Sergey Yuryevich Sokolov who tried to steal repeatedly his daughter from orphanage. Witnesses of its intentions to entice Lisa from a playground assure that the type as obsessed, the psychopath looked.
I think, they should consider also fault of workers of a shelter. It is possible to allow that tutors of orphanage unworthy treated with orphans, and it is possible, resorted to violence. All got used to blame maniacs while in article it is told about escapes, but not about kidnappings. But it isn’t so important. In the photo I recognized the girl, and she is similar to the daughter of that as now it is known, Sergey Sokolov whom I finished off recently.
Hands fell, the newspaper fell to a floor, the eye was fixed forward, and thoughts somewhere in zero gravity. I want to find this girl. I don’t care if the police perhaps already looks for her, I will try to make it the first! Ask, why it to me?! After all in the world fully same to nobody necessary and it is possible to become interested in them. Unless the difference between children is great, all of them are equally small. But something pulls me to this child, pulls, as to the native.
What I will tell about the police, hardly they will begin to tire themselves with searches of the strangers not necessary for them children. Whether already it is really so important for them?! But they also don’t penetrate that it is about the child. Nobody knows what’s with the girl and where is she. This news has to be learned, but not pass by. No one will become interested, all are excited by the problems. Having considered the photo I understood whom killed. It appears my victim which now feeds small fishes and other inhabitants of a reservoir, called Sergey Sokolov.
Here I decided to start immediately clarification of details about life of my victim, after all it can bring me to Lisa. Ask, why to me it? I don’t know, but something in me speaks to do so. My idea is higher than all rules, but after it’s said that rules are exist in order to violate them. Isn’t it?! Especially I want to try very much to find the girl.
Having learned enough from this newspaper, I curtailed it, put aside, and thought. A minute later outside rustles and illegible speeches were heard. Right there the door opened. Christina entered and having noticed me told
– Hi brother.
– Hi, – tearing off my mind from gloomy thoughts, I answered. It didn’t interest me anymore where my sister was. The main thing is she returned live and healthy, and the rest is unimportant.
– Are you ok? – having noticed my severe thoughtful face, Christina took an interest.
– No, everything is all right. How was hunting? – thoughtlessly I asked, without having thought why.
– What? Which hunting?! What do you take me for? We aren’t able to afford to play about blood every day. You and know about it yourself. – With these words the sister passed and sat down on a chair.
– You are manumission, do what you want.
– I don’t deny, but I am not so mad, – Christina crossed the legs and crossed hands before a breast.
– Sorry, I didn’t want to call you by the spoiled bitch, – I monotonously and smoothly said. Words took off imperceptibly as if thoughts sounded aloud. I didn’t wish to tell it by no means. It turned out because the head was occupied by another, and conversation with Christina only distracted me.
– How you called me? – the sister was indignant. Her face changed, and on it there was a grimace of the offense mixed with some soft rage.
– I’m sorry, I didn’t want to offend you, – having regained consciousness and having left a trance, I justified.
– I didn’t expect such from you, – with these words Christina got up from a chair and went to the room.
– I didn’t want., – with expression I threw after the sister. It is sure, she heard, but it won’t change anything.
My words were of course not from pleasant, but for some reason I didn’t regret about them. Probably it is good that I told it. This is the result of that boiled for many years. All the time I dreamed to speak and it wasn’t represented a case. Constantly I was at the sister’s lead. Where she wouldn’t go, everywhere dragged me with herself. Parents sang under her pipe: if she wants that I was near her, mother and the father will force me to carry out desire of the younger little sister. But after all it is youngest for some two years, that damn two years. So was when we were part of human race. I remember, it was lived before that when it was possible appear in front of my friends without Christina, they were pinning me up: “Left the sister at home?” It angered.
I remained alone in the room on the first floor. Christina escaped to the room, offended. And I needed only to think, how to occupy “the majesty”. I remembered about a pendant with photos, and the hand itself stretched in a pocket. But I didn’t find it. Once again I searched the clothes, and it is again empty. What the hell?
I came off and rushed to a corridor on the second floor. I saw each centimeter of a floor, but also didn’t find anything. I entered the bedroom. I checked the straightened bed with the crumpled blanket, I investigated a floor, and even a table which, if I’m not mistaken, didn’t approach long ago. All search results was defeated.
Tousled, excited from loss of a pendent, I returned to a drawing room and landed on a former place where sat recently. Having clutched the head and having leaned on a back, I wondered in thoughts: Where it could get to? But my brain didn’t issue the answer. As if I was under alcoholic intoxication.
Having calmed down, at last, I paid attention to the clothes. In them I hunted. Ther were a black sweatshirt with a green t-shirt under it, dark blue jeans and black gym shoes with white laces. I looked of course as the street mugger, or still any street punks. I remembered that wiped blood with the hoody, and it is better to remove it. It is good that there is a water supply system and electricity, and the clothes can be washed easily in the washing machine. All other getup quite suited me: there was the same, except the hoody. I looked at a watch, they showed me exactly eight. Passed only two hours since I woke up. In the head right there the idea woke up. Without waiting a second, I began to embody it.
I went upward. I glanced in the cupboard. I need to replace the hoody. The solid leather windbreaker of black color caught sight (I absolutely forgot about it). I removed it from a hanger and threw through one shoulder. Having closed a cupboard I hurried having taken with myself sunglasses from a table down. Under way putting on a windbreaker with glasses, I left the house.
The car already waited for me at a porch. Or I didn’t tire out our Lexus in garage when arrived, or Christina took it. All the same, it’s convenient for me.
Chapter 5
In ten minutes I drove up to bar where killed the other day as it is already known, Sergey Sokolov. This type had a little daughter. I don’t know the name of the girl, but I hope to find it out soon.
I parked the car at a roadside, near two high buildings. On the first floor of one of them the institution necessary to me just settles down.
Having passed couple of steps from the car, I stopped, having seen ahead the drunk company of people. Their behavior guarded me. Leaving Lexus alone with these types, I doom my car to “violation”. I hoped that it isn’t necessary to do, but it was necessary to park the car on the alarm system.
Having left Lexus under dim light of streetlights, I moved to bar. Over an entrance to an institution, casting on dark asphalt pink shadows, a big neon sign with the name of the bar “Flamingo” blinks. Before doors I was stopped by some drunken type.
– Hi son, – he told, then inhaled a cigarette.
What the hell I’m his son?! This word isn’t applicable in my case at all. If he would know that with my real father, and how old is he, the jaw would droop lower.
– Can I can help you? – I inquired, with severe a look removing points.
– Have you got any cigarette?
– It seems to me, it isn’t necessary to you.
– Don’t pay attention to this, – the stranger grinned. – It now will come to an end.
In a hand of this man the two-centimetric bull-calf smoked. He made the last inhale and having thrown the cigarette rest under feet, crushed. The stranger was similar to the biker. Clothes and a hairdress eloquently told about it. The leather vest which is put on on a naked torso was unbuttoned, and gave out on display a huge, roundish stomach with the black hair, a path going from a navel. As footwear black berets on a heavy sole serve. The leather bell-bottoms fixed by a wide brown belt on a waist. Yes what to list, all clothes on him were from leather, certainly from artificial, I understood it on a smell (about other smells I will keep silent). On a neck the choker lengthways covered with thorns is tense. On the head of the biker the leather bandana from under which down to shoulders the light brown, greased hair hangs down is dressed.
– I am glad for you, – I indifferently hemmed and stepped forward. But the importunate interlocutor partitioned off to my way.
– E-e., hang on. You don’t want to drink? I will adjust a woman for you, – the type wasn’t appeased; he pointed a finger at group of the people standing near an entrance to bar.
The company consists of not many, five people. For three men two women. They are dressed as well as my annoying interlocutor, in leather, is a match for him. One of women carried the hairdress which is found seldom in the nature – a mohawk, but in this case it isn’t surprising. The lady with an exotic hairdress is dressed in a short leather skirt, on a neck a collar without thorns, the torso covers a red small topic without straps. I got such feeling that she simply pulled on a breast the shortest skirt in her wardrobe. Feet are packed into the stockings in a big grid and put in the varnished boots on a high stud, and on a face the deadly and awful make-up flaunts. Other woman looks more humanly. Long black hair, a directly going to shovels close a half of the face with a modest make-up. Black jeans, tiny sneakers on a small foot, a leather biker jacket under which the blue undershirt closing all maiden zones of bikini and a décolleté hardly disappears – here everything that makes a getup of this quite even the lovely young lady which to call the woman, is the same that to call a donkey a horse. I will give her about seventeen years, no more.
– Doesn’t interest, – with irritation I waved away. Ask why I talk to him instead of striking on a physiognomy?! I came here not as strong and immortal which can turn a stone and as the ordinary visitor into dust. It is masking.
– Well wait, – the man protested. – I didn’t even present myself. I am Mitya. And you?
– You are gay perhaps?
– What? – the interlocutor dumbfounded by my question, stretched the last letter “a”. His face accepted such ridiculous expression of surprise.
– Clung to me as the pederast, – I told with the drop of loathing reflected in my face. – You haven’t enough your blockheads?!
– Not, you that? I am as to the friend… No-no-no…
Having kept silent, I bypassed a barrier in the form of the annoying punk-biker and went further. He waved on me a hand, having thrown in a trace something like: “Moron”, and went. Before doors to the bar I stopped, having postponed an entrance inside for some seconds. My look fell to the girl with black long hair to shovels that stays in the company of nonconformists who loudly laugh, impudently drink alcohol from bottles and swear various curse words. On her face the unwillingness and even contempt for everything that happens to her now was visible as though something, or someone forces her to go to the wrong way. The little rebel, one and a half meter in height, in a protest to her parents makes mad hellbenders, boozes to fray to “ancestors” nerves. And where this silly found out these morons. The girl stays, pretending that to her it is cheerful and good. She caught my eye, and we silently about ten seconds looked at each other in the face. Having understood that glancing were tightened the little girl hung the head, I entered the bar.
Having appeared inside, the first that came to mind – punks on the street, and even that not absolutely pleasant type, not the worst subjects on the way for short time of travel to the Flamingo. I felt some strange smell as if one of drunken visitors fell asleep behind the most imperceptible little table, and died, and “aroma” of carrion dominates in the atmosphere now. But the others, persons interested to drink the cheap, diluted beer have a rest here despite everything. Such surprising, officer firmness. And where is the smell, garbage.? The bar counter at a distant wall is surrounded with a chaos of tipsy men on the right. One just barfed on another and a fight burst. The most sober, and on dimensions the huge character with a severe grimace, the height reaching two meters, grabbed with both hands of two robbers, burst foreheads of one about another, dragged up to an exit, kicked with a foot one of doors, and threw “a sweet couple” outside. All others stood still, and, seemingly, are afraid this strapper.
The space is filled everywhere by the round little tables arranged with small stools. In the center a platform of a square form with a pole round the fat stripper in a blue wig turns. Rare ugliness. I like the women with a natural hair color, with a slim figure and big, expressive eyes.
I approached the bartender.
– Fellow, you know Sergey Sokolov? – I addressed to him.
– Sorry, no, – the young man answered.
The bartender looks like no more than twenty years old. When I started talking to him, he furtively raised the head, continuing to polish the glass which already was sparkling crystal purity. His tidy, beige apron, tells about integrity of work of the young man, and about it tells his diligence nearly to wipe in a glass a hole a dry towel, so diligent it carries out the mission. And I on its place wouldn’t try so for these morons.
– Maybe you saw him?
– Sorry, – the guy said. – But you can learn from visitors.
The young man with light brown hair, a little gray, with big, blue eyes and long eyelashes, reminded me a prince which was stolen by awful trolls. His blue t-shirt completed a royal image and gave him big innocence.
– You don’t wish something to drink? – wearily the bartender took an interest, continuing to clean a glass.
– No, thanks, – I answered, looking round on the parties.
– As you want.
– And you why you are so sad?
– I didn’t see you here earlier.
– I wasn’t here earlier.
I see. Usually daddy’s son like you look for entertainments in more decently places, – with certain badly disguised by offense and contempt the young man stated.
– From what you took that I am a posh?
– It is visible.
– Hmm, – I timidly smiled. – What’s your name?
– Me? Vasya.
– I am Kolya. It is pleasant to get acquainted, – I gave a hand through a rack, the fellow unwillingly reaped it.