Rimanoa
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"Don't you see, the price didn't add up."
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed a number: "Richard, this is Faust, send the guys to 3 Jeremenkova Street, we need to clean up the trash."
"Will do."
I looked around and, not seeing someone, I said to Cepino, "Where's the KAMAZ driver?"
"You said to set his mind right…" "What, did you kill him or something?" "Yeah…"
"Idiot!!! I told you to fix his brains, not knock him out!!!" "Didn't they right themselves?"
"Where did you put the bodies?!" "Put it in the KAMAZ, by the crates."
"One more prank like that and you'll be dealing with Rimanoa."
Rimanoa was the "executioner" in the family, he was only seen once (except for the boss and those who sometimes took the condemned to him, but all criminals above the second rank knew his name; he is our symbol of invincibility, and if we had a flag, I have no doubt that with the boss in the middle and his right hand Roberta Tobia on the right, Rimanoa would be on the left (there are 7 ranks in total: 1 – simple bouncers, badasses and security guards (such as Jarno Galanzio); 2 – already experienced thugs (the so-called "bros": Gento, Penzalla); 3 – thug commanders (sort of like officers: Cepino (although this man, generally speaking, should be rank zero, i.e. corpse); 4 – liaisons and excellent chauffeurs (Lionheart and Garibaldi); 5 – – professional killers
(killers), as well as people engaged in private affairs and assignments ("managers"), all this – the highest officers (this is me, and I used to be a killer, now – manager); 6 – "ambassadors", advisors to the boss and "viceroys" (LaSkoltza); 7 – the boss himself) . Cepino fell silent.
Let's start a new one
10: 34 Aug. 15.
In the end I was taken to the doctor, the corpses were cleaned up, Gento was dealt with (what became of him is of absolutely no interest to me) and now I have to deal with the case for which I am to receive an additional five hundred thousand euros.
It turned out to be that a very rich daddy wanted to train his little boy in the skills of murder and all that went with it.
"First of all, – I said, when I arrived the next day in Brno at our big training center and saw this very student (a tall thin twenty-year-old guy with a "dirty" head, dressed in a nice expensive suit and holding an AKM over his shoulder; his eyes were empty, his brain, probably, too; in a word – a mediocrity) – I'm not going to teach you all the skills, you understand that right away. – I yawned – Secondly, the strength of a professional is not in his weapon, but in the ability to think quickly and correctly. – My voice rose sharply – So, put that thing on the floor!"
There was no one else in the room besides us, so even if he was a complete dimwit, could have realized I was saying that to him.
"Are you talking to me?" – he interjected. "Yes."
He threw the Kalashnikov with a tremendous crack about ten meters to his right. "Pick it up."
"You're giving it to me again?"
"Everything I'm about to say will be directed specifically to you, okay?" "Yes."
He raised the machine gun. "Put it down."
This time the AKM flew to the left and much farther away. "Pick it up."
After twenty attempts to understand that guns shouldn't be handled like that, I couldn't take it anymore: "Why don't you finally realize that you can't throw such things left and right!"
"Can only go back and forth or what?"
Now I understand why this job is worth 500,000,000 Euros in monetary terms. "He can't be thrown at all."
"I see."
"It has to be gently, affectionately, carefully placed." "I see."
"Demonstrate to me how it should be done."
He threw the object at his feet with such a dope that it messed up the floor. "And that's called putting it down?"
"He's lying…"
I moved closer, picked up the barrel and put it back down so quietly that I didn't even hear anything myself.
"That's the way it should be done." "I see."
He picked up the gun and tossed it back a little easier than last time, and I thought about the visible progress.
"Okay this exam you passed with a positive grade (I meant greater than zero), now let's see how you shoot… – I pointed to the leftmost target at the other end of the forty meter hall – Shoot."
He didn't get into any kind of stance, he just took the shot, one-handed. I was petrified: he hit the bull's-eye.
"Not bad, not bad. Now try lying down."
The apprentice did the same thing and hit the same spot, again shooting with only one hand – obvious talent was evident.
"Are you going to shoot with two hands after all?" "I'm more comfortable…"
"Try it though."
The sniper leaned his other hand against the barrel, which made the latter shake with such force that the bullet hit the "milk". It was clear that either he had only fired a pistol before, or there was something wrong with his hand.
"What's your name, kid?" "Michael Williams."
"Two, never tell me your name." "I see."
"Third, you must have at least five other names instead of your real name." "I see."
"Come up with some." "Michael Williams." "It has to be different." "I see."
"So that not even the initials match." "Uh…"
"Since you can't come up with one yourself, I'll come up with one." "I see."
"Your name is Amanda Last." "I see."
"Do you agree?" "Completely."
"Fourth, it has to match your gender."
"I see."
"So what?"
"It doesn't fit."
"That's right. You'll be James Last." "Good."
"So, James – I had already braced myself for another wave of misunderstandings, but nothing like this – Fifth, you need to stand out from the crowd as little as possible." "I see."
"So, what does that mean."
"I have to hide behind someone all the time…"
"No. If it's hot, you – walk in light clothes, if it's cold – in warm clothes, your gait is loose, your stride is not too big or small, you don't make eye contact or turn your head often and sharply. Things like that."