Rimanoa
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"You know that."
"It wouldn't hurt to refresh your memory." "Petrska ul. 7".
"He's all yours?" "Temporarily rented." "When would that suit you?" "On the hour."
"I'm doing you a favor." "Thank you…"
"You do realize that if even a small part of what you said is not true, someone is going to get hurt badly."
"Yes."
I hung up the phone and decided to get some more sleep before fifteen minutes past one so I wouldn't fall asleep at an inopportune moment in the meeting. When I woke up, the brief dossier was already ready: Jose Morten was born in 1971 (you can't tell by the voice, although my husky baritone in my fifteen everyone accepted as in thirty) in the city of Kladno, near Prague, moved with his family to the capital six years later, studied medicine, but after graduation became the personal doctor of the local mafia, slowly rose through the ranks, starting to carry out torture with enemies of the organization and finally seized power in his own hands in 2002. Appearance (a nice picture was
attached, with a BMW and several eagles nearby): tall, sturdy, brunette, square-shaped face. Special data: hates Jews. Methods: thinks everything is good, so he is unpredictable. Count: according to our calculations, six murders with firearms, edged weapons, explosives, poisonous and narcotic substances, as well as electroshock (so much for "he thinks all methods are good"; a real amateur; one thing is clear – he is not a plant agent).
"So," I barked, gathering six men (Galanzio, Cepino, Garibaldi, Gento, Reynato, Penzalla (the last three also bodyguards)) around me in a small hall, "gentlemen, we have an unpredictable man to deal with (it's always best to re-insure the morale of your men against shocks), so arm yourselves to the fullest, we'll go in three cars. Which ones do you have?" Replied Galanzio, "Two Skoda's and the boss's Mercedes."
"Alright, first group: me, Galanzio, Garibaldi, second: Cepino and Reynato, third: Gento and Penzalla, all will ride the Skoda."
"Nah, well, we kinda only have two of them," Cepino objected. "And Garibaldi's car."
"Ah, yes."
"So, your next assignment is to not ask stupid questions. Does everyone know where to go?"
"Yes," replied all but Garibaldi. "Where to?" – I asked Cepino. "D. 7 on Petrska Street."
"You're a fast learner!!! – At the moment of my speech, the mustachioed man vigorously tapped his fists, reminding me of King Kong – "We leave in 13 minutes.
Under the cover of night.
0:55 July 22.
"What exactly do you want?" – I asked Morten, standing ten meters ahead of the car, after the whole Skoda group, having passed the red gate of the garage d. 7 on Petrska Street, drove onto its yellow sand with clean tires. "Escort those trucks over there to d. 3 on Jeremenkova Street," he pointed to three KAMAZs, two of them with two people in each, the third with only one (obviously the second seat was for the main smuggler himself). "Let's go in three groups on different roads," I commanded.
We drove a little behind the "Russian light tank" along Petrska Street, then Truhlarska, turned off at Rybna, Hybernska, Rytirska. My cell phone rang.
"Hello."
"It's Richard." "Well, what else?"
"We have another important case…"
"Hey, I need a vacation too, send someone else."
"No one else can handle it, it takes an experienced person…" "There are no irreplaceable people."
"Maybe, but we haven't found anyone."
"First, tell me, what do you want?"
"Some work needs to be done in the city of Brno…" "Which one?"
"Teach one guy some tricks…" "Take him to the circus."
"I mean it…" "Me too."
"We'll pay 500,000 thousand…" "How long is this job designed for?" "5 Days…"
"Don't tell me that's where I'm supposed to arrive at five o'clock tomorrow night…" "No, five o'clock in the morning."
"There you go…" "Yes."
"All right, it's a deal."
We were passing Spalena Street when I turned off the phone, we got onto Reslova, Rasinovo, finally we reached Podolske highway and, having passed it more than halfway, we turned onto Jeremenkova Street. "The KAMAZ stopped at the next red gate, Giuseppe a little farther on. Morten got out of the "tank", approached the gate and knocked, which made the latter open with an unknown hand. The smuggler said something, and then the barrier moved away, the KAMAZ moved inside, the Skoda too. We found ourselves in the same garage as on Petrska Street. As we went along, it became clear that the people standing in front of the KAMAZ were the buyers (three fat men in white suits) and their bodyguards (three big men in black near each of them).
The room could hold a total of six long-haul vehicles. At the end stood a couple of containers. On the sides were large crates, canisters, cylinders, and the like. There were two more men looming at the gate (one of them had opened whatever it was he was looming at in the past).
Me and Jarno climbed to the surface, Morten went inside, and the fat guys went to the truck to inspect the cargo.
"Well, show me," the fattest, and obviously the main fat man, "what you've got. Morten jumped up and opened the doors, "Here, look," and behind them was a pile of wooden crates, mostly used for gas masks or "plastic ice cream scoops" (as I sometimes call things that are not needed in the business). The white blazer waved his hand to the black, and the two (let's designate them #1 and #2) hissed, reached in, and opened the first one they found. It was overloaded with grenade launchers.....
Satisfied with the result
1:40 a.m. July 22.
"Uh-huh… okay…" the right-handed shopper steadied himself as he looked at the weapon, "Where's it from?"
"Poland, Yugoslavia, even Russia, by the way, Russian guns are more expensive. – The seller praised his goods with evident pleasure, "First of all, they are better and, secondly, they are harder to get".
"When will the rest arrive?" "Any minute now."
"My time is worth a lot."
"We arrived ahead of schedule." "Okay, you can examine the board."
Nos. 3 and 4 went to the containers and opened them more than to the limit. Fresh European Union currency was revealed.
"It's all thirty million here."
Morten was on the spot in a bullet, "hugged" the entire pile of the first container he found, grabbed a wad of bills, flipped through them, sniffed, took out the money, checked it for light, sniffed again, and put it back.
There was a knock on the gate – a second party with an escort had arrived. The guard repeated his procedure. It turned out to be Gento's crew, Penzal's. They too climbed out of the car, and their ward vehicle was also opened and the contents examined. The bosses were inspecting the merchandise, seeming to take some pleasure in it. The next five minutes passed at this pace, and I realized that something had happened to Cepino, so I turned to Galanzio almost in a whisper, "Hey, Jarno, does Cepino have a cell phone?"