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Danil Koretsky
For his… (Antikiller-5)

Even in the cinema, the law has a different look: from the stern, with a fanatical thirst for justice in the eyes, the face of Clint Eastwood, to the comical face of Louis de Funes.

And the attitude towards him is correspondingly different - both on the screen and in life ...

Any use of the material in this book, in whole or in part, without the permission of the copyright holder is prohibited.

© Koretsky D.A., 2014

© AST Publishing House LLC, 2014

© Electronic version book prepared by LitRes

Prologue

If you bought a donkey, do not think that all the roads are yours.

Eastern proverb

All this was strange. He knew that things were not going well with his longtime partner, but that he would drop everything and lather to fly away from the country - and he could not think! What does all of this mean?! Is it really a classic "kidok"? But they have known each other for many years, he helped the banker many times, saved his business, money, and life several times ... Alas, he was convinced many times that gratitude passes quickly and only fear can hold a bony hand by the throat for many years ...

Korenev honked, drove a silver Mercedes, Passat, several Priors off the runway, ran into a route Gazelle, cursed and blinked. "Gazelle" reluctantly slid to the right. I stoked the gas, fired softly forward. From the window of the minibus, a guest worker driver in a cap glared at him frowningly ... Disappeared.

Fox leaned back in the seat, put his right hand on the armrest. The red-hot canvas of Melekhovsky Prospekt obediently lay under the wheels of the BMW. A few years ago, when the Golden Circle bank gave him a power of attorney for a car, Khondachev emphasized: "the latest model." You won't say anymore. Not the last. And to hell with it. In truth, the new generation of the "seven", the very last, the Fox disappointed. The Bavarians screwed up - the protrusion on the hood is kind of stupid, the headlights are off topic ... He would not have moved, honestly. Even if Khondachev offered him to replace the car. But he didn't offer. And now it's flying away...

Morgue-morgue-morgue.

And this is already in his mirror the main beam is flashing impatiently: give way!

The fox looked up and frowned. Black bike. It tingles, almost scratches the rear bumper with a wheel. Shows his coolness - they say, all my roads ... Fuck you!

Drowned more.

The bike lagged behind for a second, but immediately flew back. Morgue-morgue-morgue.

“And you will have a morgue, and a gurney, if you are tired of living ... Where are you climbing, horseman?”

The arrow approached the mark "130", crawled further. Fox taxied relaxed, not removing his hand from the armrest. Cars in front of him flew off the lane like paper candy wrappers. He has nothing to worry about, the wheels tenaciously hold the asphalt and all the guards know the “seven” of the head of the Tikhodonsky criminal investigation department. Well, what does this horseman think to himself? Conspired, right?

Behind the bike roared unexpectedly loudly, in a bass voice: the road! He is there, in the same place, by the bumper. The fox shook his head and straightened up in his chair. “Now you really pissed me off…”

Over the avenue, gaining altitude, a plane flew by - a huge, white-bellied one. He has already arrived: there is the terminal. Fir-trees-sticks, I almost slipped through!

The fox quickly looked in the mirror, showed a right turn, slowed down, turned the steering wheel - less than a second. At that moment, a black bike jumped out from the right, almost hitting the side. Slightly swerved, flew forward. Korenev simultaneously hit the brakes and the horn. Moron!

Another bike whistled next. Two more. Powerful silver-black machines, sturdy figures in helmets.

The last biker, without turning his head, put his hand behind his back and gave Fox the middle finger.

“Completely insolent!” Lis thought. And he noted that this wording comes to mind more and more often.

* * *

Tikhodonsky air terminal, a little to the side - a separate mansion, once it was called "for official delegations", then "deputy's", now without fanfare - "VIP-hall". Everything is completely in the spirit of the times: there is a list of important positions, those who hold them are free here, those who do not occupy can pay a substantial amount and be equated with the rank of big bosses.

Near the lattice gate, according to the new rules, not a policeman, but an SAB officer served 1
SAB - aviation security service.

He did not know the lieutenant colonel by sight, looked indifferently at the certificate, habitually asked:

- Are you paid?

The question was understandable: the head of the UR is not on the list of “Vipovites”. But a couple of years ago, no one would have asked him.

- I'm escorting Khondachev.

Sabovets nodded and opened the lock, along the paved path, among the rose beds, the Fox went into a sprawling one-story building with large windows. Marble, carpets, ficuses in tubs - Soviet chic. The hall is almost full and, of course, not by those who are included in the coveted list. The second category behaves noisily, uninhibitedly, reveling in cognac, whiskey and the power of money.

In the corner, behind a screen of green vegetation, by the window is the silhouette of a tall man in a gray suit. He is straight as always. The suit is impeccable - crease-resistant superwool-250. The face is impenetrable. Gray hair is neatly styled. He watches the planes, or maybe he just thinks about something of his own. Nearby, on the right hand, there are two strong guys, two mountains of muscles, they barely fit in the comfortable chairs of the VIP room. The third is on duty at the ficus. When the Fox entered the hall, the guard instantly moved, being between him and the owner.

- This is for me, let him come, - said the man at the window, not taking his eyes off the airfield.

The guard returned to his seat. The two got up from their chairs and stepped aside so as not to disturb the conversation.

“Good training,” said the Fox.

“I thought you weren't coming.

- Still would. You haven't said anything to anyone. And not a word to me. Be encrypted, Petrovich. It was already through my channels that the news came - out, Khondachev collected his belongings, with ends abroad ...

- Well, not the fact that with the ends ...

The fox stood next to him, looked out the window: what is so interesting there? The tractor pulled a huge liner with a red arrow on the tail and the inscription "Austrian".

- To Vienna?

“Yes,” Khondachev nodded. Then Munich. And then it will be seen ... From whom did you learn?

- Yes, what's the difference, Petrovich.

- I did not want to advertise.

Strange explanation!

“Your money is safe and sound,” the banker said without taking his eyes off the truck. - Safes are inviolable, even if the license is taken away. Vinogradov rules there, he is fully aware, if you want, you can pick up everything right today.

Very strange! When an old friend keeps two and a half million dollars and euros in your cell, you should say soothing words to him ahead of time, and not when he grabbed you before leaving. And a friend helped you, and not your deputy, on whom he must now rely! In addition, today the safe room is already closed!

Khondachev seemed to read his thoughts, turned around, looked straight into his eyes.

Do you think I want to dump you?

The look is direct, honest, with hidden pain. The fox would have been ashamed of his suspicions, but they were based on hundreds of life cases, which he knew well from the nature of his work. And he just shrugged. This gesture could mean: understand how you want!

“It was just a crazy time. I couldn't eat, didn't sleep... Yes, and hoped to the last. I'm going without things: only last night I made a decision ...

He took out his phone and dialed a number.

- Ignat Vasilyevich! Sit where you are, don't let go of Ruslan either. Filipp Mikhailovich will call in now ... Korenev. Do whatever he wants! Yes. Yes. I hand over the phone, he will tell you everything ...

The banker held out the cell phone. Not a platinum "Vertu", an ordinary iPhone. The fox took it mechanically and brought it to his ear:

- Korenev!

- Hello, Philip Mikhailovich! he heard Vinogradov's voice full of respect. - I'm sitting here, waiting for you! Tell me what should I cook? Maybe call collectors?

Khondachev's deputy was always impeccably polite and diligent. Fox thought. You have to strike while the iron is hot. But if today he takes money from an already closed bank with security, then tomorrow the whole city will know that the head of the UR kept a huge amount of cash from an escaped banker, with whom he was repeatedly suspected of non-business ties. It is better to take one of your own as a cover and quietly, without attracting attention, pick up everything tomorrow.

Thank you, Ignat Vasilyevich! I'll go in the morning!

- Well, whatever. I look forward to anytime...

“Which one of his own? – suddenly flashed a thought. “Where are they, these “friends”?”

- And what about Litvinov? - he asked. - Remained the head of security?

- Not. It's been two months since he left. He did not like the work, and then endless checks began, the hassle ... He filed an application himself. I've given a good severance pay.

Fox was not surprised. Just shrugged.

- Why didn't you contact me? Once I was your "roof", and I did a good job ...

Khondachev carefully watched the maneuvers of the red and white liner.

“You couldn’t help me in this situation, Phil. Not your level.

- I don’t understand something ... That was mine, now it’s not mine.

I didn't understand either until recently. Didn't believe it was possible.

Khondachev thrust out his clean-shaven lower jaw, moving it like a boxer after a missed blow.

“It's a car, Phil. Tank Corps. Criminals, raiders, all this trash that you fight with, that we had to fight off together, compared to them, it's just ... I don't know. Children who started a fight in the sandbox. Even those frostbitten Muscovites from the Consortium are just kidnapped teenagers, Phil. And then there are the tanks. Iron.

The fox chuckled in disbelief.

“But who gave you such a kick, Ivan Petrovich?” Secret Masons? Aliens?

“The hell knows,” Khondachev sighed. “In a sense, yes, aliens. System. I didn't fit into it. And my bank is in the top ten of the country in terms of assets. It's not muhra-muhra, Phil, seven hundred billion. Good bite. Means what? At expense.

“I think you are being dramatic, Petrovich. And you fuss. Raider capture, hitting, blackmail, what else is there? Nothing new. We have already gone through all this. You blew up early.

Too late, Phil. If I had known, I would have laid down under them from the very beginning.

The fox was silent. Khondachev looked at his watch, looked at the scoreboard. He signaled to the guard at the door, he called somewhere on the phone. A few minutes later, a serving trolley loaded with cognac and sandwiches rolled up to them. The guard quickly refilled the glasses.

- Well, for all the good things that happened. Thanks Phil.

Khondachev raised his glass, looked through it at Lis, took a sip and put it on the table. The fox tasted the cognac, raised his eyebrows, looked at the label. Camus, thirty years old. Very good. I drank to the bottom.

– And now what?

- I do not know. We need to sit out far away ... And not in the big leagues, of course, - Khondachev said sadly. - If you want, come. You will work for me as before ...

Thanks, Petrovich. But this is not my level. – Fox in focus looked on interlocutor. “It’s not for me to give out podzhopniks to well-fed burghers.

- Well, then - be healthy.

Khondachev held out his hand. The fox shook it. He only now noticed a woman sitting quietly and motionless in the distance. Beautiful, but very pale, floury shade, face, circles under the eyes - even age is difficult to determine. Probably the wife. She got up and walked over to them.

- Ivan, in my opinion, landing begins ... Maybe we ...

She looked anxiously at the Fox, as if he was in danger. Or should come.

"We'll make it in time, don't worry," Khondachev said in a sort of wooden voice.

The woman returned to her seat and froze in her previous position. Outside the window, a gangway was brought to the Austrian Airlines plane. Two minibuses were already parked at the exit from the VIP lounge.

Khondachev looked at the scoreboard again and finished his cognac. Exhaled. He pursed his lips.

That's it, Phil. It's time.

* * *

On the way back, I saw them again - in the parking lot near Polyana in Selmash. Four bikes. Silver black. And above the entrance to the cafe (a gate with a gate in the Cossack style) hovered a helium-filled rubber pig with a bunch of dill in its mouth. The fox suddenly found himself hungry.

A big bald man in leather was spinning next to the motorcycles. Seeing the Fox parked in the BMW, he snorted recognizingly, threw down his cigarette and returned to the hall.

A cramped room with a low ceiling, wooden tables and chairs, the smell of smoke and fried meat. There are few visitors, but almost all the tables are occupied. The three of the bikers were working on beer and kebabs, only the crunch was standing. They glanced at the Fox who came in - hefty, tattooed, arms like hams - again buried themselves in the plates. There was an empty double table next to them.

The fox came up and pushed back his chair.

The chugging stopped.

“Busy, papa,” boomed one.

- For "nausea" in general, a separate room is laid, - the second one threw through his teeth, looking somewhere past. - And then they beat the minced meat, they will spoil the whole appetite ...

This is his Fox saw in the parking lot.

- And why be rude, young people? he asked vividly.

Lis was never vengeful or touchy. Ordinary cormorants on motorcycles, the usual road conflict, of which there are a hundred in Tikhodonsk every minute. No one was hurt, the equipment is intact. What else? He just got hungry.

- No offense, dad! Now the crankshaft will come. He will roll you into a pancake along the way. So row better, don't light up!

“And what do I need your advice for, young man? Fox was surprised. “Put them up your ass and sit up straight.

The bikers stirred. They obviously did not expect such a response. The bald man got up from the table. He was a head taller than Fox.

- Dad, you didn't stick, I see.

- Sha! There, the crankshaft is coming! someone interrupted him.

The toilet door slammed. A broad-shouldered, cropped to zero, with a full-bodied peasant beard, in dark glasses burst into the hall - apparently, the Crankshaft. He noticed the Fox, stopped for a moment. Then he smiled in all his mouth and resolutely went at him, pointing his beard.

Philip, great! growled Crankshaft.

The fox only now recognized him. Did not believe. It was as if he had been hit with something heavy.

- Valentine, fucking loaf ...

Valka Litvinov. Former commander of the Tikhodon SOBR, former boss security of the Golden Circle Bank. Leather pants, a jacket, some kind of stupid T-shirt with skulls - at first, for some reason, it seemed to Fox that Litvinov was playing a role, he was a “mole”, he was introduced into a biker gang in order to develop both tede and tepe ... But no. Of course not. He hasn’t been in the police for a long time, besides, Valka was the first to recognize him, greeted him, the “mole” would not have done that ...

- Well, what are you looking at? Did not recognize?

Chuckling, Litvinov-Crankshaft shook Lis's hand warmly.

- And the guys tell me: they met the brakes of one on the “behe”, on Melekhovsky, he almost cut off the Gorilla. Well, why, I say, it was necessary to drive along the roof, I would remember for a long time ... And it was you, it turns out! Haha! You're getting old, Lis!

“I just don’t like it when they breathe down my back,” the Fox said restrainedly.

- I know that.

Litvinov turned to the bikers:

“Here, remember this man!” This is the head of the criminal investigation department Korenev, my friend! Stuck, Gorilla? Once again you blow on his back, he will tie you up with a “swallow” and hang you on a lantern to hang out! And I will add!

The gorilla behaved unexpectedly. He left the table, stood up - legs together, hands at his sides - sharply and low bowed his head, as if in some kind of samurai ritual.

“I apologize for my rudeness and inattention, Master,” he muttered. Bow to the Fox. “And you, teacher’s friend, please forgive me…”

He didn't seem to be kidding. There were a lot of people sitting in the cafe, many of them were watching this scene with interest, but the Gorilla did not seem to care at all. Following him, the remaining two bikers left the table and word for word, gesture for gesture, repeated the strange formula: "I'm sorry, Teacher... I'm sorry, friend of the Teacher..."

- Okay! Sit down, eat! - allowed Litvinov. He looked at the Fox, smiled, winked:

– What did you think? Where there is respect and discipline, there is order! Let's go to Artyom, he will seat us comfortably.

The owner of "Polyana" freed up a table for them in the opposite corner, transplanting two Uzbeks. The waiter quickly brought hot cakes, lamb shish kebab, misted glasses of beer. The gorilla and the rest of the bikers were sitting in their company, talking animatedly, neighing, shouting at the owner, at the Uzbeks - in general, they returned to their previous state, not a trace of their former deference. Obviously, this audience manifested itself selectively ...

- So what happened? The fox ran a finger around the bearded face of the force support commander. - You do not know!

Litvinov chewed and smiled broadly. It didn't suit him. As if a smiley face was painted on the tank turret with bright paint.

As life has changed, so has the appearance! There was SOBR, there were seizures, there was a war in the Caucasus, everything is clear there. And then this fucking "Circle" ... I swore off - not a foot in commerce, I always despised comers. A - went. Everything is different there - no adrenaline, no drive ... Yes, you eat, Philip, it's getting cold ...

“Eat,” the Fox grunted and put a piece of fragrant meat into his mouth.

He and Valka were comrades - not friends, not drinking buddies, just workmates. But in this kind of work, comrades are closer than friends. Now it seemed to Lis that Valka had changed. Not only acquired a shocking appearance - before he was not so talkative.

- ... So I bought a used Harley. I drove for a month or two, ventilated my brain, and somehow felt better. Connected with the young. You know how they are. Bikers are a corporate cult, like the cops it used to be. Strangers greet you on the road, all that. Always help if needed. Of course, they pose as hell knows what, it becomes funny to me ... But on the other hand, they need to be educated. Are you even listening?

“Of course,” said the Fox. The meat was really tasty.

- Well done!

Litvinov batted his eyes at him and chuckled:

- How are ours?

What are "ours"? Beetle retired, Voloshin, Hussar - too. I'm the only one left...

The former commander of the SOBR, and now the leader of the bikers, sighed:

- Yes ... I recently met a hussar on the highway. He and his family traveled south. Well, they waved to each other, I escorted him five kilometers with the boys and turned around ... Well, how are you yourself?

- Fine. As usual. Although ... - Fox waved his hand.

- Have the thieves settled down after all these cases?

In the biker's eyes, for a moment, the former keen interest flashed. He seemed to know who was behind "all these things."

- Yes, it's different.

Litvinov carried a piece of meat in a bowl of adjika and took a sip of beer. It seems that the criminal situation in the city did not interest him much.

- And I'm glad that I jumped off this topic ... Look, today one question with the "Wolves" needs to be settled, my fighters asked. He sat down and drove off,” Litvinov winked briskly. “Now I have a different set of problems. There are several groups in Tikhodonsk - "Steppe Wolves", "Night Angels", "Bandidos", and more ... And we are "Kolenvalovsky"! Gotta keep the brand!

- And how did you drag your lads? They look at you like you are a sensei...

“So I teach them karate,” Litvinov laughed. “Otherwise you won’t educate them!”

He turned to Gorilla's table, whistled softly - the bikers immediately stopped eating, jumped up and began to pack up.

"All right, we've got to go," Litvinov took the helmet and got up from the table. - Another time, maybe we'll sit down and talk about everything.

Chapter 1
Professional liquidation

Accuracy is the courtesy of a sniper.

Proverb

Boatswain

The valve has always lived by its own mind. And everything would be fine, but his mind is specific. They will tell him: do as people do, and he will do exactly the opposite. They say to him: you owe Repkin three hundred thousand, you have to give it back. And he broke Repkin's legs, rolled his "gelding" on the hood, and then drove over the skull with a baseball bat. That's the kind of person he is. Who is to the right in this situation, and who is to the left, is not a question for him at all. The valve is not interested in questions, but in facts. Borya Repkin, his former business partner, is in the First City Hospital on stretch marks in a deep coma - this is a fact. And he himself is worn on a powerful ruby ​​CL-600, healthy and contented with life - this is also a fact. True, how long it will last, the Valve did not guess. He is such a person.

But something told him that he was doing everything right. In his incomplete thirty-two years, Valve crushed the car depot in Balashikha and a dozen pavilions at the famous Lilac Market. He built a palace on the banks of the Chernavka River, once a month he traveled to Minsk to play blackjack and roulette, and rested strictly in Madeira. Drank Chivas Regal. Strictly. I rode a sports "gelding" in the back of a coupe. They told him: a compartment is an awl, a compartment is an ambush, it’s crowded there and there are only two doors, if the guard is scammed in the front, they will block you, then they will butcher you like a boar. The valve only neighed cheerfully at this: I ride whatever I want! How long he had left to ride, Ventil, however, did not know.

But Boris Repkin, his former business partner, knew. Everyone thought that he was kapets, but in the evening of the ninth day the pupillary reflex returned, and after another week he could at least speak. When the harness gathered at his bedside, Borya's first words were:

“Sew on the son of a bitch… Smear it… Any money… Find a better killer…”

Rushed to carry out the order. Search. Be interested in specific circles, where they can cut off their heads for an awkward question.

They said there is one, but in St. Petersburg. And expensive. But the best killer in all of Russia, and orders are coming to him from abroad. Moreover, not only the neighbor ... Such rumors are always exaggerated, but, as a rule, they contain a considerable amount of truth ...

Few people knew the boatswain, but many heard about him. In certain circles, of course. And they heard from afar, sort of like Bigfoot. Like, there is such a specialist: very accurate, works cleanly, fulfills all the conditions of the contract.

This time the condition was simple: the dog must die anywhere, but not in Moscow and not in Balashikha. Well, well, so - it means so ...

So welcome to Madeira. The boatswain has never been to Madeira. Looked at the map, it turned out - an island, not far from North Africa. Palm trees, rocks, waterfalls, beaches. But ... Such a bold "but": it's still an island. Ferry and air service. How to carry weapons? And how to hide? The crime scene is quiet. The last case of murder ... Dear mother, in 2008. In short, it doesn't work. He will roll up to Madeira some other time, on vacation ...

It remains Minsk. Not an island, and not even a foreign country by and large. No visas, no passports - sit down and go.

This is the fifth order, not counting Python and Garik. But those were not ordered to him, but he filled his hand, so Lebed put him on the working rails. Previous orders were in Saratov, Ivanovo, Voronezh and Baku. The hardest thing was in Baku, because there are real roadblocks, wolfhound border guards, and other problems.

Orders are lowered by Lebed. The boatswain does not know any details, and they are not interesting to him. He lives in solitude, he does not shine in thieves' circles, as befits the people of his profession. Because, contrary to the existing ideas among the inhabitants about the high criminal status of hired killers, in fact, everything is exactly the opposite - this craft is despised and dangerous. The lads hate the killers with the same class hatred that the proletarians felt for the bourgeoisie, and the poor for the rich. And not so much because they “take money for blood”, as the guardians of the “criminal law” justify, - they themselves do not care about ethics, and they themselves do not wear white starched gloves. The thing is that if tomorrow some nonentity is paid the most respected and authoritative member of the criminal community, then he will spit on respect and authority (which, by the way, protect better than armored cars and bulletproof vests) and blow his brains out as easily as some fucking bastard! This means that if the killer is discovered, then most likely they will be killed quickly and without fuss, just for prevention, since he poses a threat to any solid criminal.

Therefore, the killers work through Dispatchers. For the Boatswain, the Controller is Lebed. He has a certain reputation and extensive connections. He meets a lot of people and does business. Sometimes he is approached on a specific issue and a respected “colleague” says: we need a neat, serious person. This means that someone needs to be eliminated. Sew on, erase, bang, wet ... The word "kill" in these circles is not accepted. The swan is considering whether to take the order, not to take it ... And he passes the installation data of the “object!” to the Boatswain. If everything goes well, if the client is satisfied, Lebed calls: “Friends handed over cognac for you.” What is most surprising, cognac is actually present. Customers often put stacks of dollar or euro bills in a box with some Ararat or Hennessy. Why, Boatswain does not know. Maybe this is a special heartfelt thanks? No, most likely, the work of a killer for them is like an operation. Removing something unnecessary and harmful. And with surgeons it is customary to pay with cognac. But he himself does not drink this cognac: is he suddenly poisoned? He's not a surgeon after all... Leaves Lebed. And he pours out, does not even give up his harness. For the same reasons.

Two weeks in Minsk. Boatswain used to hear a lot about this city. Clean streets, polite people, a Soviet reserve, all that. In general, the city is like a city, people are like people. Only there are much more cops than in the same St. Petersburg. A lot of cops at every step. And there are almost no Caucasians, Uzbeks and other blacks. In general, they are. If you look closely. But for this you need to live here for a while.

He rented apartments that are rented for a day, lived for two or three days, then moved to another place. Private landlords do not look at the passport, they just take a deposit in case you break something or throw up. And then the deposit is returned. This is very convenient if you do not want to glow.

I traveled to different places where the valve happens. There are few such places. Actually, even one. This casino "Fagot" and the surrounding area. Valve does not go to other casinos, because Fagot is considered cooler. There is a hall for confidential games, called the ghost-hall (type "hall with ghosts"), where they play for high stakes. They say that with some luck you can meet a famous chansonnier drunk in the boobs or another celebrity. The valve also turns in this room.

Casino Fagot. The six-storey "Stalinka" at the corner of Independence Avenue and the square of the same name forms a square in plan with a patio and two narrow exits. Here is the hotel "Minsk", one of the oldest in the city. It is very expensive, pompous and notorious. Expensive cars crowding right on the sidewalk opposite the entrance are not hotel guests. These are the players. Mostly Russians. Pedestrians cautiously flow around Ferraris, Lamboes, and Maybachs rare in these parts, looking at them with surprise and wariness. All this resembles the landing of aliens. In general, Moscow and Minsk are indeed two different planets. One is bigger, the other is smaller, one is richer, the other is poorer. But the laws of celestial mechanics are the same for both, and they revolve around one star named Money.

Money money money.

Valve plays at Fagot every first Saturday and Sunday of the month. He does not fly by plane, he prefers a car. Sometimes, according to the mood, he gets behind the wheel. At a speed of under two hundred kilometers per hour, the road takes four hours - from the threshold of the house in Balashikha to the granite stairs under the sign "Casino Royal" in Minsk. Not much longer than by plane (taking into account check-in, waiting for luggage and traffic jams on the way to Sheremetyevo). For the weekend, he rents a luxurious apartment on Volodarsky Street, a stone's throw from the casino, with windows overlooking the Russian Theater. Leads girls. In the mornings, he gets drunk at the Yeast restaurant - also nearby ...

Actually, somewhere like this. Information for reflection.

The boatswain immediately cut off options with a casino and a restaurant. Too crowded. Liquidation with large quantity accidental victims, chases and media hype in a professional environment is called "farting". It happens that the customer wants exactly “fart”. But the boatswain does not subscribe to such cases. Let these stupid things be shown in the movies.

What remains? Apartment, street. And all sorts of details. For example, does he order dinner for delivery?

You can enter Fagot from the front door, or from the black one - here is the entrance for VIPs. The valve uses a back door. His ruby ​​gelding is always on the patio, in the covered parking lot. He is an ordinary Moscow gouging with a bunch of "money" - not a star, not an athlete, not a crime boss. Before the incident with Borey Repkin, he didn’t fall to anyone for a hundred years. But he likes to build a VIP person out of himself.

Fell out of the car - black tuxedo, white scarf, cigar in his mouth. He stepped on a scarf and nearly fell off. The guard caught him, took him by the arm. The second guard, who is also the driver, remained in the car. For some reason, Ventil does not get behind the wheel in Minsk. Probably because he is constantly drunk, but he doesn’t want to get involved with the local “gays”.

The boatswain waited twenty minutes. Then he drove out of the courtyard, parked the car on the street, where there are no video cameras. He has an old Citroen, he drove it from St. Petersburg. The body with a special vinyl coating, it can be peeled off in ten minutes, and the flamboyant blue color will change to inconspicuous white. There are two sets of numbers and documents.

He took a sketchbook with him and walked around the square to kill time. There are many people here, he needs a crowd. Went down to the underground shopping center, had a bite in a chain cafe. Twenty minutes before the start of the performance, he was at the entrance to the Russian Theatre.

Botsman has never been to the theater before. If there was anything really bothering him about this whole scheme, it was going to the theater. For example, are they allowed to go there with sketchbooks? And do I need to dress in some special way? Of course, if it were his will, the boatswain would put on a tracksuit with a hood and an unloading vest - this best clothes for work. But if all the spectators are in evening clothes, he will look strange among them and will probably burn himself. Therefore, it remained to rely on the chosen role. No wonder he let his hair down to his shoulders, his beard! He put on jeans, a dark gray shirt, a neckerchief, a beret, a jacket. In such a pederastic outfit, the sketchbook should look normal, not be striking.

Old building with columns. About a dozen people walk back and forth along the high porch or just stand. The boatswain also stood up, as if waiting for someone, only a little to the side, so as not to get under the cameras. He looked at the people entering the theater building. There were several couples in full dress - elderly people and also not very self-confident in appearance. The rest are dressed in different ways, young people come across in general in sneakers and T-shirts. And there were also tourists with backpacks. The boatswain calmed down a bit.

Heavy entry doors. At first it seemed that someone was holding them from the other side. He was a little timid, pulled harder than necessary, and almost hit the forehead of a lady with a high hairdo and a tiny handbag in her hands. The lady looked at him with cheerful surprise, said: “Wow!” Some gray-haired horseradish is with her, he also looked at the Boatswain, smiled:

- Artists are all scattered! But young people have a craving for art!

The boatswain apologized, held the door and let the lady pass.

A man with a shot through the chest was taken away immediately - a moderate wound, but he will most likely live. The bartender, who had been shot with promedol, was laid on a gurney in the yard, waiting for the second ambulance to be brought up. He was conscious, Captain Glushakov even managed to exchange a few words with him.

“They were locals,” the bartender said. “Because there are simply no others around. Maybe I've seen them before. Basically, older men hang out here, and these were very young rooks ... He pointed the barrel at me: “Turn out the cash register!” And I look into these holes ... well, which are in the bag on his head ... And I see: now the kid is pissing with fear ...

Night bar, robbery, snotty thugs. Such cases most often unwind quickly, like a spinning reel on which a brainless perch has fallen - just have time to choose a fishing line.

Gnedin wrote down the witnesses and briefly questioned some of them. Everyone paid attention to the youth and inexperience of the raiders. They even called each other by nicknames: Burdock, Nail ...

Soon Korenev arrived - gloomy, circles under his eyes.

- Well?

- Local gopota, Philip Mikhailovich, jerks. Apparently, there was simply not enough for a drink. They put garbage bags on their heads, took a gun, went to rob ... Witnesses, video from the camera, get out, Karpenko, I think I found the shells. There shouldn't be any problems, it will go to the disclosure!

Forensic expert Karpenko approached them, pulled off rubber gloves with his teeth, and lit a cigarette.

“Smoothbore again,” he muttered, examining the smoldering tip of his cigarette. - And the shells are similar - Italian, "Fiocci" ...

What do you mean, "similar"? Fox raised an eyebrow. Are you talking about Stepnaya?

Karpenko nodded.

- There were the same.

– I don’t know, Philip Mikhailovich. Of course, you can buy such cartridges in any weapons store ... Only it’s expensive, it’s unlikely that all hunters take such cartridges. We also sell Maserati, but only a few ride them. He sucked hard on his cigarette, exhaled, spat. - They need to be examined, it will be seen there. But what if?

The forensic specialist raised his eyes, stumbled upon the hard, intense look of the head of the criminal investigation department.

“Act, act, Karpenko,” said the Fox in his trademark tone, as if the forensic expert should have been sitting in his laboratory and poring over these cartridge cases for a long time, and not standing here. - And you, Glushakov, do not sleep. Get me these scumbags fresh...

No sooner said than done. Captain Glushakov interrogated five of the most sober visitors on the spot, and issued summonses for the rest.

In general, everything converged at about one point.

“That kid whose head was broken, he is ours, from the boulevard, lives in the house next to me, his name is Burdock. As a real surname, I do not know, only by nickname. They gather at the auto repair shop, there is a whole gop company of them, the same scumbags ... My wife passed there somehow, it’s closer to her from the bus stop, and these guys said something to her drunk, then I went to figure it out. And this Burdock was there, and others, we all know them, we see them every evening ... "

“They were in bags, this was for disguise, so that they would not be recognized. And the clothes are such that every second person in the area has jeans, such inconspicuous jackets ... But then, when they left, I followed them out into the street, I saw how they tore off the bags, shouting to each other. Our boys, boulevard. They used to hang out in the “Mug” when Shket was still alive, and then wandered off, sometimes they hang out at the Peugeot station, there is such a nook behind the fence ... "

“The one with the broken muzzle, he just stood under the lantern, and the other poured water from a bottle on his head and yelled at him: “Burdock, stop, you moron!”

Connected the precinct. Raised registration lists of the Department of Internal Affairs. The drunks from Bagrationovsky Boulevard and the local criminal Pasha Ryabina, who once had friction with Shket's gang, added something.

By eight in the morning Glushakov knew the names, surnames and addresses of all four alleged raiders.

Antikiller-5. For your… Danil Koretsky

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Name: Antikiller-5. For your…

About the book “Antikiller-5. For his…” Danil Koretsky

Danil Koretsky is the author of a whole series of books with common name"Antikiller". His work has long found its reader. A dynamic plot, criminal showdowns, murders - everyone who is interested in this should definitely read the next book of the writer.

"Antikiller-5. For his…” is a continuation of the story of the protagonist, who finds himself in new, unexpected circumstances.

The situation in Tikhodonsk is tense to the limit. An entire family is found murdered on a country road. It soon turns out that the victims were relatives of the vacationer Gusarov, who, in addition to being a detective himself in the past, is also friends with the main character Korenev. Will the head of the criminal investigation department be able to help in the investigation and get on the trail of the alleged killers?

Danil Koretsky invites readers to find the answer to this question on their own, carefully following the dynamic development of the plot. He weaves all the events in his book into one ball so tightly that it will be very difficult to unravel it.

Moreover, an important component of the plot of the book “Antikiller-5. For his ... ”is the sudden return to the city of a famous thief named North. He begins to fight for power in the criminal world with such zeal that only Korenev can stop him. The North is under suspicion. But will he be proven guilty? Or will there be new suspects?

In parallel, a new gang called "Rooks" is being organized in the city. And Lieutenant Colonel Korenev, aka "Fox", becomes the object of surveillance. In the book "Antikiller-5. For his…” there are answers to all questions related to both the main character and the investigation he is conducting.

Danil Koretsky wrote a novel about how the changed characters of his previous books confront new realities and continue their difficult struggle with representatives of the criminal world. The story told in the fifth book looks quite convincing against the backdrop of the eternal confrontation between good and evil. Although in some ways, perhaps, it is inferior to the first books in this series.

In the book "Antikiller-5. For his ... ”is quite consistently told about the life and work of the protagonist. The task that he has to solve is even more complicated than all the previous ones. There are some lyrical digressions in the novel, with the help of which the reader can better understand the motivation and some actions of both Korenev and other characters in the book.
First of all, it should be read by those who are already familiar with the work of the author.

On our site about books lifeinbooks.net you can download for free without registration or read online book"Antikiller-5. For his…” Danil Koretsky in epub, fb2, txt, rtf, pdf formats for iPad, iPhone, Android and Kindle. The book will give you a lot of pleasant moments and a real pleasure to read. Buy full version you can have our partner. Also, here you will find last news from the literary world, learn the biography of your favorite authors. For beginner writers there is a separate section with useful tips and recommendations, interesting articles, thanks to which you yourself can try your hand at writing.