December. The reign of winter. There's usually some trouble with winter in Manchuria. Either there's no snow, or there's so much of it that you can't help but think that China or Japan have invented a new weapon of mass destruction and decided to bury the Manchurians alive. The main feature is the cold. There may not be any snow, but the humidity makes even ten degrees of cold feel like twenty. Being outdoors creates an unpleasant sensation that your limbs are literally freezing off.

Only suicidal people would go without hats. Suicidal people and Syringa. Her ears are certainly not scared of the cold.

Another month as an errand runner. And apparently, they need me for something again, as I'm greeted by a smoking Syringa beside her car. After that job, she swapped her old hatchback for a new… hatchback. Why a hatchback?

"It attracts less attention," she once answered. "And it's convenient. Have you often seen gangsters in a hatchback?"

"Yes. I see them all the time," I nodded.

"Tsk… idiot… Anyway, it's convenient and unobtrusive. And I like the smooth handling of these models," Syringa stroked the steering wheel. "Plus, the back row folds down, and you can load a lot of bodies, guns, and everything else that might be needed in our line of work. But that's just in addition. So far, we haven't had to load anything like that."

A lot has happened in a month. Let's just say, this month has been a lot livelier than the previous two. Either there was more work than just being on the lookout, robberies, couriering, drop-offs, and assistance in break-ins and carjacking, or Malu was just taking on everything he could, or we just started getting "lucky" with such things, but the team started getting other assignments. Sometimes for all four of us, sometimes for someone specific.

Much to my regret.

Before this, I was always a minor accomplice who could only get a suspended sentence. I was involved only in petty stuff, for which most juvenile criminals were caught. In such cases, you could downplay everything, whine, and say that there are problems in the family and that you went down the wrong path to escape from them.

You're hardly going to get away with debt collection like that. This became our first job after moving up to a new level. And to refuse - well… I was free to refuse, as I wasn't part of the clan, just a regular criminal from the backstreets who was offered a side job. But if I refuse now, they might refuse me later. And I needed the money.

And it's not like I was going to kill the guy, right?

The first outsider with whom I had to have such a conversation was some young guy with a mop of straw-colored hair who looked like a junkie. Skinny, perhaps once a football team leader and the school's first heartthrob, but now just his drug-ravaged ghost. He looked pathetic and only inspired pity.

Like in that song, Alex and I came from around the corner.[1]

I still remember that moment - we stopped him and started reminding him about his debts. Alex had a way with people, so he did the talking, and I just backed him up and stood by. It was our first time, so we didn't know all the intricacies of this business. As Alex later confessed, he had never been in debt collection before, so this was new to him, too. Out of inexperience, we felt sorry for the guy.

We approached the matter too softly and amiably. We stopped him, reminded him of the debt, saying that he couldn't go on like this, he was angering important people, and he should pay back the money or at least part of it for starters. In response, he began to justify himself in fear. Then he said he needed more time, and so on and so forth. And after that, obviously not understanding who he was dealing with, he moved on to accusations and even threats.

The guy sensed our softness. He began to push back. And after he shoved Alex with the words, "Who are you to tell me what and when to pay back?" - we realized we had been too polite. Unfortunately, not everyone understands kindness, mistaking it for weakness. And the fact that we just wanted to resolve everything without violence, he perceived as our fear.

We hit him a few times and pushed him to the ground, reminding him of his place. And even then, I tried to be softer than necessary. I didn't understand the main point of all these debt collections then - to instill such fear that the person can't think about anything but the debt. But after the guy abruptly got up and tried to hit Alex with a stone, leaving a scratch on his forehead, I didn't hold back my strength. Neither did Alex, for that matter.

A few centimeters off, and the guy could have cracked his head open. That was our mistake.

That time, we beat him up with our feet, more out of surprise and fear for our own lives than out of anger, to the extent that he started crying. He tried to scream, but a few kicks to the face solved that problem. One of us broke his arm, I don't know who exactly, because we were just trampling him at that moment.

As we were told, we needed to remind him of his debt - no one demanded that we collect the debt the same day.

After we were done with "reminding," then Alex said:

"You know... for me, good old robbery is better than this."

"You think it's better?"

"I think that there we rob those who have money. Everything is clear and understandable - we openly take from them. But here... well, I don't know, pushing weak people with no money into borrowing from you... and then going around collecting... It's too..."

"Disgusting?"

"Something like that."

And after that, things escalated. Beating something out of this one, doing that, intimidating that one, going with that one for a show of force.

During one of these shows of force, I almost died when we, Arrow's people, went to some auto repair shop to collect tribute, and the desperate owner started shooting at us with an automatic, hiding behind cover. I still remember how a bullet clicked a few centimeters from me, embedding itself in the car's hood as we scattered.

The man was shot then, by the way, by Malu, and the auto-repair shop was burned down.

That same month, I killed for the first time.

It was just me and Malu then. We had to get some money from a guy who shorted the clan on drugs. I already had some experience and was with a friend involved in this much longer than me, so I wasn't too worried. Looking back at that moment, I suspect that Malu purposely took me to that job. Probably, he had some plans for me, given how eagerly he was pulling me into all this.

This guy took orders, managed small batches of product, and commanded the stashers - dead drop runners for the purchased drugs - in a certain territory. An interesting character, who had previously served time for a double murder, also related to drugs.

When we went to him, everything seemed fine. He greeted us, didn't act tough, didn't try to push his own agenda... until we said that he'd shorted the clan.

That's when I saw a criminal in front of me, a simple-minded one, not thinking about the consequences, living day by day. People like that only act based on the current situation, not even thinking about the future, about what will happen in the next second. Such a person could just blow your brains out. Your average psycho who values neither his life nor others'. He was a copy of half the people I was dealing with in that regard.

At first, he denied it, then he got outraged, wondering why we were suddenly coming after him, an honest and innocent guy. Then, it escalated to threats against us. According to him, we should keep our mouths shut if we didn't want him to snap us in half, that we didn't even know who we were dealing with, and we were fags on top of that.

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The last part immediately got to Malu, who quickly switched from a barely maintained friendly tone to his usual, slightly unhinged manner. There were phrases like "Did you mix me up with someone else?", "I'll break you right now, you bastard," and "You're a dead man" in various interpretations. Even by then, I already thought this could end badly.

And so it did. When the guy said he'd turn Malu's sister into a whore if he had one, and this guy's kids would become his brothers and sisters, Malu punched him in the face. The guy even staggered a bit; his head jerked to the side from the impact.

As for me, I pulled out my gun. Not because I wanted to use it but because I got scared. My hands were already itching to reach for it while they were almost nose-to-nose, having a "man's talk," and everything just escalated. Once I had the gun in my hand, I even became calm. At least I felt stronger and more protected.

Then, a second later, recovering from the punch, the guy started to turn his head back towards Malu, his right hand pulling a gun from behind his back.

I don't know... I got scared. I was really scared that if something started now, it would be dangerous. I don't even understand what I thought when I did it; it all happened reflexively. Maybe I really wanted this deep down... Or I thought that it was inevitable...

In the end, my mind was completely blank. Standing to the side, I just raised my gun before the guy could raise his and fired.

A bang, a small red cloud on the other end, and the guy fell flat on his side - as if someone had punched him in the temple.

And there I stood with my gun still drawn, not understanding what I had just done. Unlike me, Malu looked much calmer, not even startled, as if things had gone how they were supposed to. He stood, hands in his pockets, over the body, looking at it unperturbed and smiling.

"Well, who's the fucking dead man now, you fucking fag?" he asked the body with a smirk, then glanced at me. "Box, you can lower the gun now."

"Huh?"

"Lower the gun," he smiled, placing his hand on my weapon. "Everything's cool, don't freak out, you did everything right, man. Although, you probably should've shot his balls off first… Whatever. And ease up your face."

"Huh? My... face?"

"Yes, face," he nodded. "You've got an impassive mask on. Looking at you gives me the creeps, like you don't give a shit about anything."

"It's just... just that I..." My gaze fell on the body, and a wave of nausea surged up to my throat.

"Yeah, I got it," he pulled out his phone and called someone. "Yes, it's me... About the case, your guy turned out to be a rat... No, everything's fine, but we sorted this issue out... Uh-huh, radically... No, I'm afraid there was no other way. He seemed ready to take us on, the bastard..."

I didn't care about any of this.

Unlike the first time - when I saw Malu kill a man - doing it myself turned out to be... just as easy. The only thing was the nervous reaction, like mild shock - my hands were shaking, my fingers weren't obeying well, but that was it. An hour later, I felt normal, though I did think about what I'd done.

By the next day, it stopped bothering me. For some reason, I wasn't tormented much by guilt for this murder. Maybe because I considered the guy a scumbag who deserved it. Or maybe because I was the scumbag now.

A week later, I was involved in a minor shootout, killing two more people. The bandits had become insolent, as Arrow said, and were terrorizing some stores. Because of this, the clan was losing money that those guys were taking with them. His capo didn't like this, which meant Arrow didn't like it, so we were supposed to dislike it too.

Malu then said that Arrow was looking for people not affiliated with the clan and asked me to come to the bar to discuss something. As it turned out, not to discuss, but to go with someone. And at that moment it occurred to me that they had selected me intentionally, and by “them” I mean specifically Malu. Again, I stuck to the idea that he just wanted to drag me deeper into this business.

"So, Box, you're going with these guys. Need to scare off the bastards, so they won't get wrong ideas."

That time, I was the only one from my team, plus four other guys. Why Arrow didn't send his own people, I didn't know, and I didn't care. I was only thinking about the job. Although the reason might have been an unwillingness to expose the clan in such a case and attract attention.

The guys were chatting about something, joking around, and I contributed to the conversation as minimally as was required. Being in the same car with them made me feel incredibly uncomfortable, as if I had found myself in a hostile environment where every move could result in death.

We arrived at some communal garages near apartment buildings, where there probably hadn't been cars since they were built. We got out, strolled around the area, and found the right group by the noise they were making.

Six people.

Five guys and one girl, all looking like hooligans. They were sitting on boxes, bricks, or just squatting, discussing something amongst themselves in front of a small table bearing a meal aptly named "Alcoholic's Delight."[2]

"Basically, we need to get rid of this problem once and for all," said the leader of our group when we emerged from around the corner and saw them.

What started as a scare had turned into murder. Moreover, I couldn't back out now because I was already involved. The others wouldn't understand. And when they don't understand, you can get hurt.

We approached them. All of us had pistols, and only one had an old mini-Uzi, probably older than the owner himself.

When we got close enough, and they noticed us, one of them stood up.

"You guys lost?" He spread his arms slightly - as if he wanted to hug us - while one hand casually reached behind his back. Behind him, the rest of the group moved closer.

I didn't even wait. What's the point if it's all going to end the same way? If we don't shoot, they will. Ultimately, I knew what this could lead to. I knew from the start that, sooner or later, I would get involved in something like this. And I knew what needed to be done, whether it was right or wrong. I had taken on this job, and I had to finish it.

Because in front of me wasn't a person, but a mere mannequin...

I didn't believe my own words.

But that didn't stop me from raising my gun and shooting the guy in the chest several times. The key was not to think about it, to act. To focus on the task at hand. Literally a second later, other guns followed mine.

In movies, the "reality" is this: you shoot a man in the chest, and he dies instantly; a person falls to the ground from a single body shot; everyone aims for the head.

In real life, the reality is this: a person doesn't immediately die if you shoot them in the chest unless you hit the heart. A person could still manage to run a hundred meters and shoot you if you hit their body, which is why people always shoot multiple times, especially with a pistol. No one aims for the head because it's hard enough to hit a target, let alone a head, during a shootout at a distance of even ten meters. So, everyone always shoots at the body, and a lot.

Less than ten seconds had passed, and only the wounded were left. On their side.

"Box, will you finish off that chick?" one of the guys nodded at the girl who had taken a bullet in the belly and was now trying to crawl away as if her legs weren't obeying. They themselves were finishing off the rest.

What's it like to finish people off? I can say for sure.

It's sad. When they haven't done anything specific to you. And haven't done anything for which you would want to kill them. I know why Arrow wanted them dead, but it's not a reason that would save me from feeling remorse for the murder.

I walked up to her, raising my gun. The girl rolled onto her back at that moment, raised her hand as if trying to stop me, and had just opened her mouth...

Shot.

Her head jerked back, hitting the ground, and a moment later, her body went limp, and her outstretched hand fell onto her chest.

That was it.

I didn't hesitate because I knew that the longer you wait, the harder it is to shoot, and if they start talking, begging...

Even though I did it with a stone face, I felt pity and sadness inside. Just because... because. I felt sorry to shoot the wounded, I felt sorry for the girl, I felt sorry to shoot anyone who wants to beg for mercy. If I killed that guy back then out of surprise, not even understanding what the hell I had done, here I acted deliberately. There was no effect that would have blurred the emotional pain of what I had done. Moreover, I was even paid, which seemed to only indicate who I had become.

Yes, it haunted me for several days before letting go. I would compare it to the feeling when your heart aches from watching a super sad movie. I had to sit with a stone face in front of my sisters, pretending nothing was wrong, so as not to worry them unnecessarily. Otherwise, they'd drag me through emotional wringers and get upset themselves again.

But even after that, I didn't consider myself part of the clan. I mean, yes, I worked for it sometimes, but I was still just a freelance worker, a common street criminal who owed nothing to anyone. On the one hand, I couldn't count on the clan's support. On the other hand, I had no debts and could quit peacefully. I was not part of Arrow's people, just some random guy they sometimes invited to work.

The month went by interestingly. Very interestingly, albeit not as smoothly as I would have liked.

And now...

December. The very beginning of the winter that this city will remember for a long time. Syringa meets me beside her hatchback. Seeing me, she smiles and nods her head.

"Hi, Box, how's it going?"

"You're too close to the school. I asked you not to..."

"Listen here, smartie. I parked where it was convenient for me. Do you have a problem with that? No? If you do, let's talk," she immediately straightened up, pulling away from the car door she was leaning on.

I've already gotten used to it. That's just Syringa, enough said.

"Sure, let's talk. Park your car further away. Or I'll just take the bus myself."

"As if I care about you," she snorted. "It’s just that Malu asked me to pick you up. By the way, where is that idiot?"

"Ali? He's running late, rewriting a test he failed."

"Truly an idiot," she sighed.

"Should we wait or..." I suggested.

She thought for a few seconds.

"Will it take him long to write?"

"Just a standard class," I shrugged.

"Then screw him. Let him come by himself," she dismissed.

[1] One of the most well-known (in the post-USSR countries) old gangster songs starts with "them appearing from around the corner before their former accomplice who decided to ditch them and quit, reminding her of all she did, then killing her."

[2] Most likely, something like salami, bread, and cheap cheese. It takes almost no time to "prepare" and goes well with alcohol (and they are purchased together in the same place).