The Place Where

by Rodion Pretis

  * * *

  For a while, Jeremy was almost invisible. He was very busy - he went to meetings and helped in the campaign to retain the shareholders of Southern Cable. Natasha also came across to me not very often. When we did meet, she had a guilty look, as if she was the cause of what had happened.

  On Monday in the park, I told Mo about everything that happened. She listened to me silently, then carefully looked into my eyes, trying, as I guess, to see in them whether there really was anything between me and Natasha.

  Finally she said:

  “The time has come to cast a spell.” A spell that will change him forever.

  She looked around, making sure that no one was looking at us, quickly kissed me, clicked on the children and left.

  Two days later, she handed me a scrap of paper with a London telephone number and a female name written on it.

  “Remember the name and number,” Mo said, “and then throw the paper away.” Call this number from one of Jezzer's phones at any time when you are sure that he is not in the service, and ask this woman. It doesn't matter if they connect you to her or not, just don't hang up for a minute or two.

  - What is it, Mo?

  “The less you know, the less harm it can do to you,” she replied. “Consider it a philosopher's stone.” He will turn a presumptuous piece of shit into a miserable piece of shit.

  “But won't it hurt anyone?”

  - In any case, not physically.

  I took a piece of paper, remembered the name and number and took the dog home.

  When I returned, Natasha was waiting for me in the kitchen. She made lunch for me. In addition, on the table were new copies of all those books that Jezzer had destroyed. I thanked her from the bottom of my heart and said that she should not have done this. She shrugged.

  - This is his money.

  “Aren't you afraid of him?”

  - No more. I'm leaving. I am going to settle with my parents and seek a divorce.

  She explained to me that his behavior that night was not exceptional. He often beat her, he had perverse sexual tastes, he cheated on her. Worse, he often mocked her, forcing him to have sex with his friends, and he looked at them. I did not doubt a single word.

  She warned me (although this was not necessary) that he would be in a terrible mood when he returned home and found her note, and that it would be better for me to keep quieter than water below the grass and hide books somewhere far away.

  “I would give you your remote so you can hide or break it,” she said. “But he took it with him.” He thought that I would give it to you.

  She smiled at me with a pale smile.

  I carried her bags to the taxi.

  JH returned at ten and found that neither dinner nor wife was waiting for him at home. He appeared in the garage, turned on the immobilizer and kicked me a little. He suspected that I also took part in Natasha's flight. Perhaps this was so.

  The next morning, he left home early. The very minute that the door closed behind him, I went into the house and dialed the number that Mo had given me, after making sure that the system was not set for recording.

  The secretary answered me. I did not remember the name of the company, I only remember that it was long. I said I want to talk to Elizabeth Collie.

  I was asked to wait. Sea waves appeared on the screen, filmed in slow motion, but there was no company logo. In negotiations on this line, prudence was clearly appreciated.

  Finally a young man came up.

  “I'm sorry,” he said, “but Elizabeth is at the meeting now.” Can I give her something?

  “No, I don't think so,” I said. - This is a personal conversation. You can't tell by what time she will be free?

  “About an hour later,” he said. - How to tell her who called her?

  “Henderson,” I said. - Jeremy Henderson.

  And he hung up, still having no idea what kind of game Mo had started. Then I went to the bathroom to wash off the blood and wash the bruises Jezzer had left the night before.

  In the middle of the next day, when I was preparing King to go for a walk, Jezzer returned home.

  He looked like a zombie. I did not ask what happened to him, especially when I saw that he went straight to the bar with drinks. I said that I was going for a walk with the dog. He did not answer.

  In the park, Mo and I sat on our favorite bench, watching the children run in circles one after another.

  Hearing my story, she nodded.

  “So it worked.”

  - This is my phone call?

  She nodded.

  - He was fired.

  - What?

  - Dismissed. Thrown out, kicked out, pushed into the neck ...

  “Moe, I'll tell you this as verbose, although I'm sure that this is not necessary.” It seems to me that I love you, and the only reason that comes to my mind as to why you are present in everything that I think, do or see in a dream is your mystery, all these incredible things that happen to you to the head. I would like to spend ten lives with you, because I know that you will never seem ordinary or boring to me ...

  She smiled. How I loved her smile, this light in her eyes!

  “... but at least this time, please stop being so mysterious!” Tell me what we did to him.

  “Get the dog off the leash,” she said.

  Despite my doubts about the suitability of the wolf as a companion for games, I did as I was ordered. The books ran and began to rush along with the children.

  “Jezzer was thrown out for disloyalty,” she said. “Wayne told me that Jezzer was involved in a committee set up against an attempted takeover of his company.” He knows the committee's defensive strategy. Now figure out what it will look like if he is caught on the phone that he is the head of the European branch development department of LBM, which coordinates this takeover?

  - And the name of this head of the LBM department is not accidentally Elizabeth Collie?

  Mo answered with a slight nod.

  - So, what is next?

  “Then I found her name and phone number on FTNet.” Wayne did the rest. Last night, over tea, he spoke of a takeover attempt. I inserted by the way that my uncle Bernard was also involved in something similar, but he was caught in negotiations with the opposition when his company looked through a detailed list of his calls. I jokingly suggested that Wayne could earn a few points from the boss, advising him to secretly monitor how his employees use their phones. In the end, their calls are paid by the company, so everything is fair.

  Well, then on the list of Jeremy was the number “LBM”, dialed from his house at a time when he was not in the office. He could not provide a recording of the conversation to prove that it was not him. He was given ten minutes to tidy up his desk. Now, in all databases for recruiting personnel all over the world, “NOLOYALYO” will appear opposite his name in large red letters. He will never get a leadership position again, unless he finds himself a very expensive manufacturer of fake documents who concocts him a brand new flawless identification card, and besides, he will also spend money on changing fingerprints and the timbre of his voice, and he will be able to change the notes about his the iris.

  Three quarters rejoiced at the fact that the scoundrel finally got what he deserved; the remaining quarter worried about what would become of me now.

  - And what, now I will become the property of "Southern Cable"? I asked.

  “No,” Mo answered. “You will remain with Jezzer.” By law, you go to custody of a named person throughout the sentence. You can't be sold; he can only give you hired work and receive your earnings.

  I had a disgusting vision: Jezzer, interrupting the price of a local newspaperman ...

  “You have a much better position now,” Mo said. “If he becomes necessary for you, he will inevitably have to treat you better - just like Wayne has to treat me well if he wants his children to be looked after properly while his wife works to support the family budget.” So, taking into account the statement you made regardin
g your feelings, I no longer see any obstacles, why don't we celebrate this with a good French kiss right here in broad daylight. Just for the sake of children, I would prefer not to go too far ...

  I accepted her offer, showing more willingness than tact. We pounced on each other like teenagers, and this went on for a blissful eternity. We came to our senses only when we heard a dog barking right in front of us and a children's voice saying:

  - Phew! What are they doing?

  When I returned, Jezzer spoke to his lawyer:

  “... But listen, even if I really wanted to negotiate with LBM - and I admit that such a thought really crossed my mind - I would not even dream of doing it so stupidly and frankly ...

  The man on the screen sighed and began to explain something about the fact that the industrial tribunals had been abolished, and therefore he would have to resort to a civil lawsuit, which would cost a lot.

  I retreated to the garage, to my books. When I looked back at him in the middle of the day, Jazzer sat limply in a chair, lowering a recently emptied bottle of Panther Sweat to his knees.

  I went into the kitchen, perched on a bench and made myself sandwiches with jam. It was dangerous, but I needed to eat something.

  Jazzer burst into the kitchen with bloodshot eyes, talking to himself:

  “It was Wayne, the old mediocre bore Wayne Roberts ... Surely it's him.” It was he who invited Sir David to look at the call lists. He set me up to get my place ...

  He leaned heavily on the sink, turned off the faucet with cold water and began to splash in his face.

  - What an abomination! He continued. - What a vile mess! My wife left me, they kicked me out of work. Oh my god, what kind of binding did I fall into ...

  He turned to me.

  “However, my affairs are still not as bad as yours!” - He laughed abruptly. - Oh no! I do not lose! Henderson is the best, that's how it is!

  He opened the cabinet and pulled out his little onyx box. Before I could decide whether to stop him or not, he threw a couple of Iron John tablets in his throat.

  “Still the best, damn it!” - He said, fell out of the room and stomped up the stairs.

  I did not know what these pills were, but I was sure that he should not have taken them in such an agitated state.

  I went to the bottom of the stairs. Before I could figure out how to stop him, he appeared on the top platform, already in a suit. He held a remote control in his hand, and a real samurai sword was plugged in the silk belt around his waist.

  That was still not enough!

  - Get out of the way, loser! He said, waving a remote control in the air. - Just stick to me, and I will instantly immobilize you and cut off to hell your rotten eggs!

  Well then, I thought, stepping aside to let him stomp past. “You yourself wanted it, Jezzer, my friend.”

  From the kitchen window, I saw him standing in the middle of the lawn, lowering his visor, drawing his sword and began to cut through them air, occasionally emitting bloodthirsty cries when another ghostly enemy fell under the blow of his cold steel.

  This went on for about twenty minutes, and nothing special happened. I already began to hope that the tablets did not work and that I stuck Jeronimus in the wrong port.

  There it was. Samurai opponents in Jezzer's head were already starting to change shape.

  (Later, ZhD explained to me how this happens. The tablets were made according to his own recipe, which included caffeine, ketamine breakthrough, some LSD and several other ingredients. Having got into Sir David's house, ZhD immediately recognized the owner of a hopeless junkie in his twenty-four-year-old son, after which in exactly twenty-seven-minutes I found and cleared his drug cache.

  Jeronimus ZhD concocted himself from beginning to end: he took a couple of Bosch paintings and, using one of Sir David's machines, assembled a connector that allowed them to be connected to the Bushido game. Initially, these images were projected into the subconscious, gradually intensifying to a limited animation, until they reached the point where, around Jezzer, pumped up with a hallucinogen that could cause nightmares even for a complete drug addict, hell was not condensing).

  Suddenly, I saw that Jazzer was chasing a neighbor's cat across the lawn, brandishing a sword - no doubt lovingly imprisoned.

  I ran outside, but it was too late. The cat let out an amazed howl and in one leap jumped over the fence, leaving half of the tail on the garden path.

  - Wait, HH, wait! I yelled. - Take off the mask!

  To my relief, he obeyed. He stood looking around with such a look, as if he had come down here from another planet. Then, throwing a mask to the ground in disgust, Jezzer strode to his Lada Ostrovnik.

  “This is Wayne, this is all the damned Wayne Roberts!” He framed me! They are all trying to break me - and Wayne, and our fucking sir David, and Natasha ... - His eyes fell on me. - And you too! He added, pointing to me with his sword.

  He opened the car door and threw his sword into the back seat.

  “Well, I'll deal with you later,” he said, including the ignition.

  "Lada", wobbling, rolled out onto the road and rushed away.

  I went after. He quickly disappeared from sight, but I already knew where he was going with his sword: to where Wayne Roberts, his wife, four children, and Mo were.

  The Roberts House was a ten minute walk from ours. I ran to him in two. Its facade overlooked a green lawn - a grass-covered space the size of a football field, with several garden benches, flowerbeds and a venerable old oak tree in the middle.

  Dzhezzerova "Lada" was imprinted on a low brick wall in front of Wayne's house.

  In the car, Freddie Mercury sang “We Are World Champions,” loud enough to shut off the aircraft engine. Jazzer stood on the lawn, swinging his sword and causing Wayne to go out and fight him like a man with a man, and not sit back in the house, like a shameful piece of shit, which he really is.

  All the lights in the house were on, but no one was visible through the windows. I prayed that at least Mo and the children would slip out the back door or barricade themselves securely inside.

  “Jezz ... Jeremy ... JH, stop, for God's sake, stop!” I yelled, rushing toward him through the lawn. He did not even look at me, but his left hand soared into the air with one smooth motion and sank again, pointing at me.

  I stumbled and fell, and could not rise again. There was a remote control in his hand. He immobilized me.

  I was lying on the grass about thirty yards from Jezzer, completely helpless, but I could see everything.

  Here's how it looked:

  Another four-wheel drive pulls up close to the fence, stops, and both duty cops come out of it. They exchange glances, as if saying to each other: "Tell me what to do, so that if we screw it up, everything can be blamed on you."

  These guys protect society from outside barbarians; they damn them have no idea what to do when they face a local resident who has a roof. They did not learn the art of psychoanalysis - and, to tell the truth, they never learned anything at all.

  Jezzer sees them, and again he has glitches about the demons. He turns, makes a terrible cry, raises his sword with both hands high above his head and rushes at the police.

  For one frozen moment, these idiots simply stand with their mouths open. Then, as if in a cartoon, they simultaneously turn and rush to run. A few more seconds, and the closest of them would end with a head cut in half exactly, and a sword stuck in the sternum.

  Jazzer stops, spreads his arms and bows, as if an invisible audience is applauding him. He sings along with the stereo in his car:

  “We are champion, oh my friend!

  When he turns to the house, the tip of his sword touches the cops' car. He stops, throws a slanting sly look at me and says:

  - What if? ..

  He opens the back door and again emerges from the car, holding in his hand a combat rifle with a large nozzle running along the base of the barrel.

  He laughs triumphantly, puts the rifle on the hood of the c
ar and plugs - damn respectfully - his sword into his belt.

  The rifle has three magazines fastened together. He pulls out the first of them and with satisfaction is convinced that he is full. Putting it in place, cocking the trigger. Then he crawls into the car again and takes out something like a weightlifter's belt with tin cans hung on it. He disconnects one of the cans, puts it in the rear end of the nozzle under the barrel of the rifle and throws the belt over his shoulder.