Fly Hunter: The Story of an Inquisitor. Nikita Dandy

oh, what a scoundrel… Then I immediately realized that something very terrible had happened. I struggled to sit up, so sleepy, my head was heavy, like a kettle of water, and saw Gulshan naked, naked, even though she was covered with a blanket… And when I saw blood on myself, I immediately understood whose blood it was and who was to blame… Poor girl. May Allah see, I didn't want this, but because of me, they ruined your life. Ahmed stumbled, if he uses such dirty tricks. Does he really think he can break me with this?.. Today I will go to the capital, to the palace, to the emir's palace."

      Ahmed admired the presented "evidence."

      – Look at these pictures, no, just look at them, – he suggested to Aman-Jalil, as if to an outsider. – Titian, Renoir… Listen, did you forge them?

      – What do you mean, boss?

      – They take a picture of a hooker with a pimp, then paste the faces of the ones they need onto them, and shoot a second exposure?

      – I haven't dealt with that yet, boss, sorry, I'm young, I'll learn, but the photos are fresh and real, like those peaches you received, like those grenades, figs, and grapes…

      – I believe you've paid honestly.

      – Don't worry, chief, everything's by the book officially, but of course, a gift from your admirers, more so from admirers of your talent, from those who follow your path and are happy that it's you leading them.

      – Did you get anything for yourself?

      – Just a little: a small crate of peaches, an even smaller crate of grapes, a very tiny crate of grenades, and figs, it's embarrassing to say, a tiny one, the driver took a bit too, because of his broad shoulders, hardly noticeable…

      Well, you couldn’t say the car wasn't seen. But Ahmed already knew everything anyway. They brought him information about all his supporters who held important positions, too… And now his assistant came in and laid out a summary of reports in front of Ahmed. Ahmed glanced over it briefly, making marks as he went, and suddenly went pale.

      – Jigit, it's all over, Sardar Kareem went to the emir's palace. If Nadir is there, he'll definitely arrange a meeting with Iosif Besarionis out of spite. You wanted to become the chief inquisitor of the region, didn't you?

      Aman-Jalil understood everything.

      – He went by train?

      – By train.

      – Don't worry, boss, give me your personal plane, and I'll be in the capital before Sardar Ali… I swear on my father, he won't return alive: two gangs, a hundred coins, a lump of sugar, and the case is closed. Don't fret, boss, worrying gives you wrinkles on your forehead.

      Every night, Ahmed had the same dream: he was chasing some neighbor girl around a bright sunlit construction site, they were both fourteen, and Ahmed, catching up with Ika, grabbed her breast, tight like an unripe peach, and Ika squirmed, evaded, and it all started again… The same thing. A sweet and painful dream… Ahmed never actually grabbed Ika's breast in real life, the neighbor girl died of diphtheria at eight years old, she never reached fourteen in life, and in the dream she never was older than fourteen, the same happy age. And this dream, the same one, never left Ahmed throughout all the years, it came to Ahmed in the mountains of the Sierra and here, at the peak of glory and honor, power and wealth. No matter how many women Ahmed had, not one of the most beautiful, passionate, loving women appeared in his dreams, Ahmed never saw his children in his dreams, or his parents, whom he vaguely remembered in reality. Ahmed had gotten used to this dream and loved it, and would be surprised and saddened, if not frightened, if he didn't see the expected dream.

      Aman-Jalil had never been to the capital. It surprised him with its senseless bustle, but upon closer inspection, he realized that most of those running around were visitors, eager to hit ten spots at once.

      With Aman-Jalil came two gangs, and in Aman-Jalil's safe were the evidence: both boys had participated in the robbery and murder of the carpet merchant Jumshid. The boys willingly agreed to serve in the government instead of going to prison and to follow Aman-Jalil's orders without question.

      All three went to the railway station to meet the arriving train carrying Sardar Kareem, who was going to the capital to seek protection and justice from Iosif Besarionis with the help of his friend Nadir.

      The train arrived remarkably on time, without being shot at or robbed along the way, without plunging into a ravine, without any bridges collapsing under it, which Aman-Jalil secretly hoped for.

      Sardar Kareem went straight from the train to Nadir, and Aman-Jalil followed him with the gangs. To Aman-Jalil's relief, Nadir was away and expected back the next day; one of the boys "eavesdropped" and skillfully overheard a conversation between Sardar Ali and Nadir's wife. She invited her husband's friend to stay at their home and wait for Nadir, but Sardar Kareem flatly refused, saying he had somewhere to stay, and leaving a basket of peaches as a gift for his friend's wife, he left. As he passed the criminal, he heard Sardar Kareem mutter clearly:

      – It's not right to stay under the same roof as your friend's wife when he's not home. The laws of the mountains still exist on Earth…

      And Sardar Kareem went to the ancient "Inter" hotel, and Aman-Jalil followed him with his helpers.

      Suleyman was a philosopher: "When you stand behind the counter for so many years, giving out keys to visitors, and dozens of people pass in front of you every day, you involuntarily start studying them," he thought, "often I turn out to be right. Studying becomes a second profession, interesting, captivating, like everything else you love, and the main interrogators from the main administration have something to tell… When this mountain man came in, stubborn and proud, I recognized him immediately; I love to read the memories of the strong of this world, while reading, you live his life, and the 'great standing' behind the counter doesn't seem so burdensome. Nadir wrote about him in his book, his portrait, one to one, probably, and they took a picture of him in this costume, not another, they're all poor honest, only such a person can put his chest under a bullet, covering someone else with it. I would buy him a jacket in gratitude, but he won't cover me from a bullet, but his boss for a good soul. I would not have covered my boss for any rugs, and he would not have covered someone else's boss… He took the cheapest room, a pantry, not a room under the very roof, a former attic, one narrow window, and that's the yard, not the room, and he carried the fibrous, cheap suitcase upstairs, very light, probably half-empty… Three more similar, clearly compatriots, entered with this mountain man, and one immediately sat in a chair, covered himself with a newspaper like an inexperienced spy, who recently went in pea coats, and from under the newspaper was examining the legs of the women passing by him. Such a small one, but with such a big nose… The other two, more like wrestlers from the circus than civil servants, as they are in their documents, demanded rooms next to the hero. Oddly enough, they don't look like paupers at all, especially the one who covered himself with a newspaper, what is he hiding, I will recognize you from the first presentation even through a hundred years, if the nose does not fall through. I tried to explain to them that even criminals are not kept in such cages with us, one of the gangs, snorting, said: "You understand a lot in which cages we keep criminals," and I was confused. And they stubbornly stood their ground. The inexperienced spy finished reading the newspaper and came up to us, looked at me with the eyes of a killer, listened attentively, and then ordered to give them the requested rooms. There were only two free ones, but they took them, and when I wanted to register them, the big-nosed man sternly looked at me and said, "We'll settle up in the morning, then you'll register"… They didn't have any luggage, just a small briefcase and that's all… When I hinted that I wanted some tea, the big-nosed man counted out three groschen to me one by one and said, "This is for your tea with sugar, you didn't ask for sugar, this is so you remember my generosity"… Either a straightforward idiot or a cheeky one, like the world has never seen…”

      Until late at night Sardar Kareem was transcribing Ahmed's sins onto paper, describing in detail each case,