(2.6) Sin With A Grin

Dmitri struggled to climb onto the old flatbed, refusing the help offered by Ivan. His bare feet were glad to be out of the snow. Within the crate was a bunch of pressurized gas tubes. Even though none of them said they were flammable, it was less than comfortable to be near them. After settling firmly against the inside of the crate Dmitri looked back at Yuri.

“So do you just want Vasili done, or are there any other requests? I might as well continue while my body count is at an all time high.” Sarcasm helped to focus the pain.

Yuri grinned, “Sure, kill anyone you see.” Dmitri was not expecting that answer, and, much less, could not distinguish if it was a joke or an order.

The elderly man waved a finger which caused one of the other workers to bring a blindfold and handcuffs.

“Oh that’s kinky Yuri,” Ivan laughed from below.

Dmitri raised his non-swollen eyebrow, “You must be kidding me on this one.”

Yuri’s smirk said otherwise, “Oh, most serious my boy. I don’t want you running off while there is so much work ahead of you. Now please allow the man to cuff you.”

I’m going somewhere I know nothing about, to kill a man that I’ve never seen, surrounded by possibly explosive objects, with no gun, handcuffed, and blindfolded. The only thing I do know is that there is sure to be a lot of guards, I may not have to worry about being a mobster for very long.

This seemed more like an execution than a test of loyalty. The workers outside hefted the crate door into place and began to hammer it shut. The irony of how coffin-like the crate had become was not lost on the teenager.

“Just remember,” a raspy old voice came from outside, “if you’re going to sin do so with a grin.”

This new boss of his was getting to be very annoying with his muses.

Dmitri answered by kicking the crate. It was a minute display of rebellion but seemed decent enough considering the highly probable event of his death soon to come. It was decided then within the youth’s mind that if he were ever to leave this world it would be as a mouse that fought a lion. Nothing less would suffice.

The blind boy was jostled forward as the clunky truck started off.

Yuri turned to walk back to his car with driver faithfully at his side.

“If it was anyone else that boy would’ve been dead and forgotten about in the sewers,” the old man said to no one in particular.

Ivan picked out the words as he returned to working in the vehicle yard. The comment caused him to pause and look down the road the truck had left on. There was no question in his mind as to the capabilities of the boss, which is why it was so baffling that Yuri hadn’t in fact left Dmitri in the sewers. There was something more to this that Ivan could not wrap his head around.

“I hope I’ll share another bottle with you soon Dmitri,” Ivan returned to work then. That young boy he knew for years at the docks was constantly on his mind the rest of the day.

*******

Dmitri sat in the dark with only his thoughts and the rattling of the gas canisters as company. He fought constantly to not think about how fast everything had changed. It didn’t feel like Sof’ya was dead, it felt closer to her simply being away on an errand or something. This emotion scared him, it felt improper and skewed. Even though, he was grateful that remorse hadn’t settled in.

The truck hit a nasty bump in the road that caused the canisters to rattle in chorus together. The jostle also woke Dmitri from his contemplations. He needed to get out of his bindings if he was going to survive this. It hurt like hell but eventually he was able to rub the blindfold up with his shoulder. It did not provide much help in the matter. There was only a small amount of vision provided by the slivers of light that tried desperately to siege the near impenetrable wooden walls. The handcuffs would be a different thing altogether. The teenager searched for anything that he could use to either pry off or pick at the restraints with. He was hesitant to use the gas tubes. As a less flammable substitute he tried to use a sliver of wood in his teeth as a lock pick. Many splinters later it dawned on him that it wasn’t the best of options.

“Well, let’s give you a try big guy,” Dmitri crouched up to wrap the chain around the head of a cylinder, “please don’t blow me up.”

He prepared himself for the pain ahead. The teen knew that if he was going to do this he had to commit and put all his strength into it. Dmitri steeled his nerves and braced the canister against himself. On three he would swing his arms towards his body and try to force a link loose.

The truck bucked on one.

He breathed on two.

Dmitri remembered three taking entirely too long as he starred at the canister’s head. The truck hit another deep divot in the road just as Dmitri’s hands swung in. There was a loud metallic pop and a flash of red. The combined force of the strike and the truck’s lack of suspension caused a separation at the neck of the cylinder. Said cylinder decided it wanted to take a closer look at Dmitri’s forehead.

The next few second were a wonderful daze. The teenager knew he was supposed to be in an incredible measure of pain but felt only happiness. He was happy that the canister hadn’t exploded, that his handcuffs had indeed broke, that the wooden crate was more comfortable to lie on than he thought, and he was especially happy that whatever gas it was inside the canister had leaked out. Dmitri took the darkness folding in around him with an immense grin on his face. Just before passing out Dmitri thought that there was some bit of irony that was eluding him. He soon forgot about it and fell into joyfully gas-induced sleep.

*******

There was a pounding sound coming from outside. The truck wasn’t moving anymore, had they stopped? Dmitri looked around stupefied. His latest metallic friend had stopped spewing its contents. Shame. He patted the metal skin. Then there was a shout.

“Open it!” Someone outside was very angry. Anger was bad.

“No vacancy!” Dmitri shouted back. The nerve of some people.

The pounding stopped. The crowbars came.

Dmitri was flooded with light that pinpointed his eyes. There was a lot more screaming now. The teenager let out a ’shush’ before he realized there were two men with Russian assault rifles leveled at him. Dmitri tried to stand up but his foot rolled on the empty canister and he crashed down on the floor, however, the unhinged canister flung forward. It hit squarely into the shins of one of the armed men. Did you know your muscles retract when you are startled? Precisely smaller muscle groups, like fingers.

The gunfire erupted above Dmitri. He was just about to say you shouldn’t do that as a bullet found the head of a red-ringed canister. This one was, in fact, volatile and was more than happy to let everyone know.

Dmitri’s high was burned away in the jutting flames that spit forth into the two guards. The canister’s eruption was quick and violent. The heat seared the teen’s back but luckily the flames didn’t catch. Less lucky were the two men who now lay alight on the ground. Dmitri scampered out of the burning mouth of the crate. He had no idea what to do and the gas still clouded his mind, his heart was racing.

He was in a ware house. But what did he need to do again? Gun. He needed to get one of the guard’s guns. Just as the weapon was pulled free of the smoldering hands it was dropped as soon as he realized metal conducts heat like a champion. Dmitri was just about to try and wrap his hands up in his long jacket’s sleeves when another guard had other plans. From around a rather large storage container rushed the man who wielded a similar weapon. It took just a single moment for him and Dmitri to lock eyes. It took less time for Dmitri to spring in the other direction than it took the guard to comprehend why two of his coworkers lay charcoal-ed on the ground. Bullets nipped behind Dmitri as he ran without any heading. He was in a maze of these containers stacked on top of one another. The warehouse was impressively large and voluminous, much to Dmitri’s luck as it allowed for an easy way to elude his chaser.

Unfortunately without having an idea where he was going Dmitri rounded yet another inconspicuous corner to find himself smack dab in the middle of a huge open area with lots of people looking at him. Only a handful of them had rifles the rest looked like regular workers. Shouts came from behind him that spurred the handful of guards to become a handful of angry guards.

There was another entrance to the maze of containers on the other side of the area. It was about thirty meters away and Dmitri never crossed such a distance faster. The guards hadn’t opened fire because of all the workers that were great bullet shields in their stunned state.

Another maze that led to god knew where. As he ran the boy took note of the scaffolding above that could allow an advantageous guard an all too easy shot at him. He also took note that the gas in his body was fading very quickly as his wounds were coming back to life. It felt like he was running awkwardly and realized he’d been running this entire time on the side of a numb foot. It hurt to even think about but it really hurt when tried to correct it. Apparently it had become disjointed in his flight. He crashed into one of the containers, rolling on the floor.

He needed more of that gas. But it was practically out of the question. As he stood up to head off again the sound of a door slamming open caught his attention. There was a small office structure just to his right and he saw the distinctive muzzle of a rifle coming out of the now open doorway. The shouting grew very close behind him. Dmitri prepared to run for the door, if he could catch the guard by surprise he might just have a chance. However, his wounded foot had another idea. He tumbled forward through the air just in time to see a trigger happy guard round the corner behind him. Luck was playing out its cards tenfold today for Dmitri. The guard’s rifle was pointed too high when he caught sight of Dmitri. Instinct caused him to be premature, an all too common problem with the inexperienced. The burst of rounds whizzed over Dmitri as he fell. The bullets left distinctive holes in the thin door of the office. The guard behind the door fell to the ground in unison with Dmitri.

The guard that was chasing Dmitri looked in awe at what he had done. Dmitri took the opportunity to kick the man keenly in the knee. The guard toppled over Dmitri and dropped his weapon. Both men fought against each other trying to reach for the most valuable piece of metal and wood in their lives at the moment. Their struggle continued as another guard came upon them.

“Move out of the way so I can take a shot!” Guard A.

“Just get him to stop biting my arm!” Guard B.

The pair rolled across the floor. Dmitri was about to experience the pleasure of a rifle butt to the back of the head when a brilliant yellow light flashed over them. Apparently the wooden crate he’d left burning wanted in on the action and exploded in fireball that kissed the high rising roof of the warehouse. Guard A was thrown against one of the metal containers with a head splitting crack. The blast left Dmitri’s chest heavy from the sudden change in pressure. His previous grapple had ended with a hay maker thrown directly into the guard’s jaw. There was a shower of burning wood everywhere now. Dmitri stood up to get a better look around, limping over to the office.

As he leaned against it for support he saw that there was quite a wonderful display of chaos erupting in the warehouse. There had been an unfortunate man working a crane right above the blast. The metal container in the crane’s wire arm was swinging around in a circle now. Workers and guards alike were rushing over to try and control the situation. They had all seemed to forgotten about Dmitri.

When the swinging container’s door flung open the absurdity of the situation flushed Dmitri. It doesn’t take someone knowledgeable in weaponry to know what a bomb looks like. Much less what a couple dozen of them look like. The explosives rained like deadly candy from the sky. Dmitri forgot about everything he’d been sent there to do and chose to leave post haste. The youth ran as fast as his broken body would take him to where he thought the most plausible exit would be.

Dmitri had not known it at the time, but dumb bombs usually require several hundred feet to prime their explosives before they become lethal. The word usually is included because you can prime it by spinning a little fan like object on the front or back of the explosive. Such an act could be performed by a bored worker or guard who didn’t know any better and thought the tiny rotors were not important. It would be most unfortunate if someone did this, as the bomb could go off from just a simple hit too hard on the nose.

Boom.

The teenager couldn’t hear anything beyond a constant ringing. All he knew was that he was surrounded by knocked over storage containers. Whatever bomb that went off had been of low yield and didn’t flatten the warehouse. As he crawled away, using one arm due to the other one not working for the time, it dawned on him that had the containers not collapsed around him he would’ve been caught in a fireball that had blasted out the interior of the warehouse. The wreckage was beyond anything he conceived of before in his life. It is one thing to see the after effect of a blast on the news. It’s entirely different to be in it.

There was no one left to stop him so Dmitri simply walked out the front door. Dmitri walked into the smoke filled winter air with an exhausted sigh. Before the singed boy loomed a familiar black sedan.

“I have no words to express how incredibly impressed I am with you,” the raspy voice was preceded with clapping, “So please accept ‘Good Job’.”