It was a quiet June evening. I was sitting on my balcony. The balcony was located in Lozenets. I believed it to be the best place to live in Sofia. Quiet streets with elusive spirit of confidentiality and old stories. Neighborhood of old inheritance, cunts, gold diggers, nouveau riches, some ordinary folk, some cool dudes pouring Jazz, Rap and occasional Heavy Metal from their windows, former agents of the Bulgarian KGB, current gangsters and generally people who know where to live.
The balcony was on the second floor and had the following advantages:
- It was covered by a tree and when when sitting you couldn’t be seen from the street
- perfect place for two for:
a) breakfast, coffee, sweets and Ala-bala
b) romantic evenings with beer, little cocktails, candles and quiet conversations
c) the acoustics of the street was such that the week whispers from below sounded like the AC/DC concert at the stadium across the boulevard. The feeling was that the life flows bellow you and you can dive in whenever you want, or you can let it flow if it seems a bit muddy.
The balcony was quite bigger than it’s physical dimensions of 1×2 meters.
In general a perfect place for little evening meditations. At that moment the tree resembled Santa Claus riding the sleigh with the reindeer. When high a man could see how he slaps them fatherly with a bass croak “HO – HO – Hooooooo” and a thick beer burp.
At the time of the event I have not smoked weed for about two months.
This evening I contemplated if I should smoke smoke some and limit myself to the gazing of the sleigh or should I wait till the Christ age (a few months left). As a result I rolled myself an extra thick one, hoping to hear Santa fart and laugh. I liked the old man.
I was just about to light it up, when I heard boom, bang, slap. My initial smiley curiosity abruptly evaporated. What was happening below was dead serious. Sinister.
There were three of them. The beaten was producing only indistinguishable sounds. Similar to those of a pig before the slaughter but so frightened that the sounds were quiet, desperately defeated. The one who spoke sounded sinisterly confident. I figured he was at least 110 kilos. A Boar I thought.
- Carrion, cheating Rafa was a huge mistake. Now we are going the have a hard party. I will cut you and Joro will fuck you. It will be long.
Joro was making slimy sounds. Something in between a murmur and a dirty laugh. Apparently the prospect of fucking Carrion was appealing. I imagined him as a muscled up fagot.
- I have 200 K, please take it and let me go. Tell Rafa that I ran away.
The voice was dry, muted, with tears in it. Meeting with those two, has frozen his shit for years to come.
- We will take it.
Wisely concluded the Boar.
- C’ Mon Carrion, let’s go to your place.
A loud slap followed.
At that precise moment an Infinite Second of crystal clearness landed on me like a sack of bricks:
- 200 K
- Cash
- I am a poor slave of the capitalist society
- I want to be free
- If I take the money, no one can connect me to the incident
- I will have to kill the gangsters
- Could I kill a man?
- Am I capable of killing two heavies?
- If they cut your carotid artery, your mass won’t help
- Killing gangsters = a good deed
- My grand grand dad has killed 2 Turks with his knife during the Balkan wars. It’s probably good for boars as well
- It’s a little foggy outside. So unusual in the summer. Even the rats were snoring. Perfect weather to sneak unnoticed.
The Second has hardly begun to flow and I was already upright, like a cat, with my senses heightened, relaxed as a spring, quiet and blended with the shadows. Santa froze and I sensed his bewilderment.
The Boar was at least 130 kilograms. A HUGE, FAT motherfucker. The Fagot was above 100. The broken silhouette of the Carrion erased all doubts in regards to taking a human life.
They stopped at the entrance of a building across the street.
I set down. Somehow I knew the Boar would look around before entering. I waited until the 3d floor window lit up.
The Second continued unabated. The world was different, the old one a distant dream. I was moving in light catlike strides. I grabbed the knife and came down the stairs. Quietly, without turning the light on.
There was an office building with cameras across my entrance. I walked around through the bushes and jumped the fence. The entrance where the three went was opened. But I already knew that. Somehow. I slid up to the 3d floor. Light was coming through the peephole but you could hear noises only if you press your ear to the door. Muffled and unclear. They were trying to protect the sleep of my dear neighbors.
At that moment The Second shattered. I knew that if I ring the bell and someone of them opened the door, I wouldn’t be able to handle him.
Seeds of doubt were sprouting. A moment shorter even than The Second shone and shed light on two options:
A) I let the slow world return and than get home and forget
B) I grab The Second and don’t let it go
I did not let it go. The tranquility was deafening. With a metallic sound. The door was opening to the outside, thus leaving a blind spot at the stairs to the floor above. I would wait there when they come out. I pressed my ear to the door and the time stop flowing for me. I just registered it. In about 15 minutes I heard the voice of the Boar
- So if they have no Dunhill, I’ll get you a Marlboro
A jolly beach tune sounded in my head. I did not expect this. They were separating. A Present! I accepted it graciously. I moved to the blind spot and waited for the Boar.
The door opened and hid me completely. When the Boar appeared to my view I was slightly above him on the second stair and he began to turn around to close the door. I jumped. The knife made a perfect ¼ of a circle and penetrated his throat almost without resistance. His jugular was gone but not the artery. The Boar was making snoring, surprised sounds. I gabbed him by the hair and dragged him in. There I cut his artery, dexterously avoiding the fountain from his neck. I closed the door. I should take care of the blood on the landing, I thought. I was already flying to the living room. I kicked the door in and stumbled upon a view I would like to have never seen. In general. In The Second I was merely registering it.
There was money on the table. Counted and neatly arranged, bundle by bundle. The table was between me and the stretched sofa on which the Carrion was bound, gagged and apparently fucked by the Fagot until recently. Now the Fagot had one of his feet on the ground, the other was bent on the sofa. He had a body of Mr. Gay of the Year. REALLY ripped.
The Second however was mine and barely trembled. I sped towards the table and jumped off of it almost vertically. I knew that if I continue the forward movement, I will slip on the sinful money. I hit him with both feet on the chest before he could lift his hands. He fell and so did I. My fall was calculated to the perfection. I landed on my feet, lounged forward and stuck the knife straight into his heart, which at this moment I somehow knew was directly above the tortured asshole of the Carrion. Fortunately the beefed up body of the Fagot with it’s enormous chest muscle took the big knife entirely, thus sheltering his victim from non-sexual contact.
The moment the action stopped was strange. Like an ocean abruptly receding. I had a metallic taste in my mouth. It was probably there before but I noticed it just now. It was time to clean up and beat it.
The Carrion was face down. He wasn’t moving. Just making little strange noises. This one was cute. I wanted him to live. I looked around. The Fagot obviously was fucking him with his socks on. This alone merited dismemberment. I took one off and blindfolded the Carrion with it. He barely moved. I ran to the kitchen and took a bag with ads of sunny Spain on it. Maybe I’ll go there. All that fog here. I threw the cash in. There are no fingerprints, so it’s just the blood on the landing and than Maui-Shmaui if I want to :)
BUT! The Carrion, our almost silent victim tonight. I turned his head and took a look. 40+ years old. Man. The embodiment of greed. But not bad, not bad. Just this endless sadness all around. Man, don't you know that greed has killed more people than wars??? I decided not to take the sock off and stare at his eyes. It was all clear anyway. The decision was taken.
I rushed to the bathroom and of course I found those old school razor blades (who uses them anymore???). The Second had it’s little roots even in the slow time. I removed the gag, opened his mouth and put the razor between his teeth. I loosened the rope a little bit. Now he could reach the rope with the razor. If he really wanted. He might have to push the razor with his tongue but it was possible. If he really wanted it.
I decided to talk to him in a heavy Russian accent. Covering the tracks so to speak. He had not uttered a word so far. Probably in shock or something.
I moved the Faggot’s corpse and slapped the Carrion on the ass with a bundle of cash. This made him move in a spasm. I removed the razor from his mouth and after a short contemplation I slapped another bundle on his ass. That's all dude. Your chance to have a chance equals exactly 20 K.
- Listen now. If you want to live you will cut the rope, take the dough and split to Greece. I was fucking around but I felt I was being manly and serious. Go figure. I guess I was enjoying myself.
- You will cross the Greek border by foot at the Vodni Pat village. Buy a sleeping bag. Than you will walk 7 days through Greece and on the 8th you will get a job picking up oranges. You will marry a poor Albanian woman with 2 kids and you will be happy.
It was hard to hold on to that heavy Russian accent without bursting in laughter. Playing God was fun.
- This will happen if you cut the rope in 5 minutes and clean the blood in 10. Otherwise there will be only beatings, fucking and Serbian folk music for you. Loose your phone immediately.
I didn't drop a giggle during the whole ordeal.
I bounced and slid with the sunny Spain bag by the stairs and to the channel. I crossed it, walked around and returned home from another direction. I was chirping blamelessly with a hidden smile in front of the office building cameras. The butter just wouldn’t melt in my mouth.
I sat down on the balcony chair with a lightness in my chest big as the world. Santa was looking at me seriously, very seriously, almost fatherly. Light jazzy summer music coming from an unknown neighbor's balcony was filling the night completely with Infinity’s beauty, making your heart hurt but hurt so well, like when in love.
I sighed and looked at Santa.
- I’ll see you tomorrow old man.
I rose up.
- Tonight I’m counting my money.
And at that moment, I swear, I saw Santa wink!
HE WINKED!!!