Birds and a Stone. Anastasia Novykh

drink coffee like this at 3 a.m., close to those exotic individuals,” Chmil pointed to “the monkey house”, “with such special admixtures of various aromas?”

      Rebrov faintly smiled, already foreknowing where Chmil was driving at. And the latter continued to pile it on, “Just imagine: you are sitting and drinking black coffee at such a dismal night (it’s a pity it’s not Friday the 13th), under the light of full moon in black-black clouds, when vampires and werewolves agitate the city with their drawling howl...”

      At that very moment, a dog actually howled somewhere nearby. Kostushkin almost dropped his cup. However, aloud he said, “Aha! You’ll now tell about vampires... Stop duping me, noodle!”

      “Me?! Duping you?! Never! Rebrov won’t let me lie,” and he went on with an ominous voice, “Two months ago, in a neighbouring village not far from here, a vampire died under very strange circumstances. His name was Luka. If you visited his house and especially his little shed... you would die of terror! Even the operations veterans couldn’t sleep for several weeks after being there because Luka kept looming to them. Just imagine: a large preparation table, blood, bowels, stench, ten corpses hanging...”

      Kostushkin, being already impressed by the story, choked with coffee. He started coughing and rushed out to the lavatory.

      “What a fellow!” Chmil gave up. “Weakling!”

      “Well, ten corpses have been excessive,” Rebrov said. “For this guy, a single one would be enough for an effect.”

      “Oh, it’ nothing, I only wanted to tickled his nerves a little,” Chmil laughed off.

      At this moment, there resounded an acute, deafening telephone call. Chmil and Rebrov flinched simultaneously.

      “Yeah, brother, we all have weak nerves!” Rebrov said, grinning at such a reaction, and picked up the receiver.

      “Major Rebrov, officer on duty, fifteenth department.”

      “Come here promptly!” a trembling voice of an old lady was heard on the other side. “There... there is... shooting.., something’s happening, the boy’s crying...”

      “Just a minute. Please, give your given name, family name, address...”

      The old lady began to speak unevenly, being nervous and all along repeating that something had happened behind the wall, that the child’s crying, and that militia had to arrive urgently. At some mysterious level, the old woman’s troubled state passed to Rebrov as well. Something clenched inside him. But Major endeavoured to hold on in cold blood while clarifying all details of the situation. He was supposed to do so under regulations, although he understood very well how stupid and absurd these questions seemed to those on the other end of the line. A person was in a shock condition, and somebody was asking his or her name. But, on the other hand, someone had to keep composure in order to think sensibly and intelligibly no matter how tense the situation could be, for any kind of panic only aggravated the stress.

      After couple of minutes, Major finally clarified the matter. The telephone call came from neighbours living in the same private house with victims. An old married couple woke up because they had heard sounds similar to shooting. Afterwards, there started some ado, bustle, child’s cry. So, they phoned to militia.

      Rebrov strained his memory. The address seemed to be familiar. And suddenly he remembered... Of course! When Rebrov was still in the operations, he met the owner of that house. The latter was quite a good man who worked in the street patrol as a volunteer and once helped the operations to detain an inveterate criminal. He now had a private business, and lived together with his wife, ten-year-old son and aged mother. He and his wife sold clothes in the local marketplace. They were neither poor nor rich, just earning enough living. The man did not drink alcohol and didn’t smoke. He had some health problem, a sort of stomach ulcer... No, a drunken brawl could be anywhere, but not in that house.

      Rebrov became tense. A vague inexplicable feeling of unrest was growing like a snowball. “No, something’s wrong, something really grave has happened there. The operations group must be sent their immediately. Wait a minute...” The group was at the far end of the district. Rebrov counted the time: whilst he would inform them, whilst they would arrive, it could already be late. Too late!!! Rebrov didn’t know himself why he was so sure the operations would not be on time. But he felt at a subconscious level that something should have been done right away and very fast. Major sprang to his feet and rushed to the other room to take his jacket.

      “What is it again?” Chmil had no time to finish when Rebrov interrupted him, having paused halfway.

      “OK, Chmil, communicate the recorded address urgently to the operations. Have them go there as soon as possible!”

      Becoming aware of the entire gravity of the situation, Chmil asked, “Damn it, what happened?”

      “The old lady heard shooting and fighting behind the wall... That house is two blocks from here... Do you mind having a refreshing run?” Rebrov tried to speak more or less easy, but he was not really good at it.

      “Sure,” Chmil said in bewilderment, shrugging his shoulders. “What about the duty division?”

      At that moment, sergeant entered the duty room.

      “You play funny tricks at night!” Kostushkin said laughing, having taken this scene for a practical joke.

      “Kostushkin, you’ll remain on the phone. Chmil, call the operations right now!”

      Rebrov hurried to get his clothes. Chmil started calling the duty operations group.

      “What has happened?” Kostushkin got alarmed.

      “Militia officers not only sleep at night, but also work from time to time,” the senior lieutenant said sarcastically. “Why are you staring at me? Fulfil the order!”

      He contacted the operations and illustrated the situation.

      “Why, do I have to stay here alone?!” Kostushkin finally understood, and his eyes turned roundwide. “It’s contrary to regulations!”

      “But why alone? You have so many interlocutors here!” Chmil spitefully nodded in the “monkey house” direction, putting his jacket on. “One’s better than the other.”

      “Regulations do not permit this!” Kostushkin did his utmost to cover his fear with a hysterics.

      “Listen, you, milksop!” Chmil grabbed sergeant and shook him violently. “Stop harping on the same string: “Regulations, regulations”… Consider this an emergency situation. Do you understand?! Rebrov and I, we’ll come back soon. You will sit here and be totally fine. Are you scared like a molly?!”

      The last phrase had a sobering effect on Kostushkin. Rebrov, having dressed, appeared just at the moment.

      “All right, let’s go,” he commanded, checking his gun on the move. “Kostushkin, close the door after we leave.”

      “Should I call to the authorities, if it’s an emergency?” sergeant murmured with dismay.

      “Don’t you dare!” Chmil threatened. “Why disturbing people for nothing at 3:30 a.m.? Maybe, everything’s OK there, the neighbours might have misheard... We’ll see and come back. Clear?!”

      “Yes,” doomed Kostushkin mumbled.

      “I don’t hear you!”

      “Yes, sir!” he reported.

      “That’s a horse of a different colour. Good boy!” Chmil stated with satisfaction.

      “You’re wasting time on trifles. Let’s go quicker!” Rebrov hurried the senior lieutenant.

* * *

      It was pretty cold outside. The prickly north wind was blowing. The ground was slightly iced. No one was around. Rebrov and Chmil were running along the sleeping block of grey nine-storey apartment houses. Their tramping sounded loud all through the neighborhood, but hardly anyone heard it. Lights were already put out in windows, and dwellers were peacefully sleeping in this before-dawn hour in their cozy beds, enjoying their sweet dreams.

      Chmil