Gunpowder, money and a glass of red

It didn’t take them long to persuade him. A shift occurred in Massimo’s head. He himself wanted to go out and take a walk around the area. The appearance of a healthy Jorge in front of him seemed to start blood flowing through his veins.

The first thing they did was visit the cinema. There, in one of the halls, the second part of “Dirty Harry”, filmed three years earlier, was shown. But this film is timeless. You can watch it ten years later and do it for the hundredth time. Clint Eastwood was magnificent. Cool, fearless, vigilant; he’d find anyone, no matter where they hid. The guys were sitting in the last row. While watching, in passing, Jorge said that it would be nice to take an example from this guy. If you do everything like Dirty Harry, you will conquer any peak. And Jorge also hinted that they should also acquire the same deadly tool. The.44 caliber Magnum shot no less powerfully than it looked from the outside.

The next stop after the film show was the nearest diner. Massimo greedily devoured two plates of chicken cutlets with french fries, three glasses of Coca-Cola, and a 200-gram chocolate ice cream. Pablo and Jorge were not surprised by such an appetite.

After a hearty lunch, the whole trio boarded the train, which headed towards the coast. Less than an hour later, Massimo, Pablo and Jorge were sitting on a bench on the waterfront promenade. The weather was sunny and clear. A light breeze was blowing. The view was enchanting. Calm ocean waves covered the wet sand, palm leaves swayed faintly in the wind, and crowds of beachgoers filled the beach. Some fried their bodies under the rays of the sun, others kicked a ball in a noisy company. Most were splashing in the ocean. Sun loungers, towels, straw hats and drinks with plastic straws were everywhere. Behind the benches, on one of which the boys were sitting, runners in sunglasses often rushed by. Pablo’s attention was caught by a young woman of about twenty-five running by.

– Look, look – Pablo noticed in a hurry. – What luxurious standards…

He spent a long time feasting his eyes on the runner, examining her bare limbs, which were glistening with sweat, catching the attractive glare of the daytime sun, until the girl disappeared from sight.

Pablo turned around and continued:

– I heard a couple of months ago that a new island was being developed a few kilometers from here.

– And what? – asked Massimo.

– And the fact that nudists began to develop it.

– Are there nudists in these places? – Jorge was surprised.

– That’s what I’m talking about.

Pablo began to develop his thought in an unexpected direction:

– Anyway. One man owns a small yacht and takes tourists around the open waters. So, he found a new part-time job. Every Thursday and Sunday, he takes clients to this island who were looking for a free beach to sunbathe in the nude. After some time, he himself began to sunbathe in the nude, so that, so to speak, he would fit in with the others. And the boat remains unattended. He simply drops anchor and leaves with everyone else. I saw this yacht. It has high sides, so it won’t swim close to the shore. And now the most interesting thing that I learned is that these perverts leave all their belongings and valuables on the yacht before leaving. It’s like they’ve been doing this for a long time, they know each other, they’re all one friendly bunch and they trust each other. I would ignore this story, but a whole crowd leaves their belongings unattended. They collapse on the sand and do not move until sunset.

– Continue – said Jorge, intrigued.

– There is a boat station nearby. I still have enough left from my savings. We can rent one high-speed motor boat, I’ll find out where this island is, and we’ll drive there. The island is empty. Until recently it was uninhabited.

Massimo suddenly intervened:

– We’ll need oars. The last two hundred to three hundred meters the roar of the engine can be heard.

– Listen, Massimo – said Pablo. – Actually, I wanted you to, well, stay on lookout, with a good vantage point on a second boat somewhere to the side. In case one of the nudists moves, you would give a signal. I don’t want to risk it. You’re still learning the ropes…

Massimo interrupted him sharply:

– I don’t care. Look at him – pointing to Jorge, who sat between them. – He was lucky last time. He might not be sitting here right now. It’s too risky for two. Where is the guarantee that while we’re getting the loot, no one will get on board and that none of them will have a gun or a knife, like then? If suddenly someone among us gets wounded, at least it will be easier for two of us to drag the wounded. And then, I’m already tired of sitting around doing nothing. I won’t go and bend my back for pennies. And I don’t really know how to do anything. I’ve spent my whole life in poverty as it is. Enough.

Pablo and Jorge thought for a long time, could not decide for a long time, but in the end they decided not to resist the will of their friend.

– Do you have any hoodie, a cap or something like that? – Pablo asked Massimo.

– No.

– Basically, it’s no problem. I’ll grab mine.

They shook hands.

Four days have passed. At noon it was already hot July weather – the most suitable for nudists to go to their secluded spot.

Massimo and Jorge were standing near the parking lot in front of a cafe. On Jorge’s shoulder hung a backpack with their gear for the job, which he checked several times. There was a pier about fifty meters away. After an hour of waiting, they noticed Pablo approaching in a motor boat. They walked along the pier and at the very end went down to the boat. Inside, as planned, were two oars that Pablo had rented from one of the fishermen at the boat station. He put the engine at low speed and taxied away from the shore, around the breakwater. Jorge unzipped his backpack and then pulled out a gray cap and sunglasses for Massimo. Jorge shook out the remaining contents at his feet, grabbing the bottom of the backpack. The contents included three pocket knives, five rolls of heavy-duty tape, two plastic bags, binoculars, several towels, some clothing and three used pistols with loaded magazines: one.25-caliber and two.45-caliber.

The boat continued to sail very slowly until all three of them had finished covering the inscriptions on the sides with tape, so that if something happened, no one would be able to identify this boat. Pablo stepped on the gas. Half an hour later a dot appeared on the horizon. After another five minutes, the figure of an island with trees began to emerge.

Soon Pablo slowed the boat. At Massimo’s request, he killed the engine. Then the two of them began rowing with oars, gradually circling the island. Fifteen minutes later the opposite shore came into view. Jorge grabbed his binoculars and began to scan the shoreline. About a hundred meters from the shore, he saw a passenger yacht with the inscription “Peterson” on its side. Jorge’s face contorted. His lower jaw dropped back as he shifted the binoculars slightly to the side.

– Well, what’s there? – asked Massimo.

– O-O-O-O-O… Holy hell.

– What do you see? – Pablo repeated irritably.

Jorge responded in a shocked tone:

– I have never seen so many asses before. – He paused for a couple of seconds. – Though there’s plenty of nasty stuff too. Damn it. Lots of old geezers here too. Why are they even here. Damn!

– Is there something wrong? – Massimo inquired.

Jorge responded in a reserved manner, sharply lowering the binoculars:

– There are as many naked female breasts as there are penises. I won’t be able to sleep after this.

Several dozen exotic sunbathing enthusiasts appeared before his distant gaze.

– Give it to me – said Massimo, snatching the binoculars.

He examined the beach, describing the scene as he looked:

– There’s a small, makeshift pier, right at the edge of the beach. The yacht is docked there, on the side closest to the beach. We can approach from the other side and moor at the far end of the pier. The yacht’s size will easily hide our boat. No one will notice us.

– Is there anyone on deck? – asked Pablo.

– I don’t see anyone. If anything happens, we stick to the plan.

After a short pause, Massimo tossed the binoculars into Jorge’s hands and said:

– Let’s row.

The two of them took up the oars. Their boat sailed along the shore so that the view of the vacationers was blocked by the massive yacht.

In about ten minutes the boat had already sailed close to the pier. Jorge kept watch. Massimo and Pablo each took one pistol, a plastic bag and a knife. Using the oar, Jorge moved the boat a little closer to the edge of the pier so that Massimo and Pablo could climb onto it without getting into the water.

– Hey, hey – Pablo whispered, exasperated, turning to Massimo. – Where’s the cap? Cover your face. Forgot about our arrangement?

– Don’t be hysterical – Massimo retorted, continuing to move forward.

Crouching down, they began to climb the ladder. It was quiet on deck. Pablo rummaged through the passengers’ belongings, and Massimo crept into the captain’s cabin. There he stumbled upon a safe. But only in jest could one call it a secure safe. The safe was made of aluminum, and the lock was one of the cheapest. In such a lock, the tongue simply rotated in a circle when the key was turned. There was no spring or horizontal bolt made of solid steel. Massimo inserted the blade of a knife between the door and the frame, and began to tap the lock’s latch through the gap with the edge of the blade. On the second attempt, the mechanism bent under pressure. Inside were documents for the ship, a notebook and some photographs. None of these held any value. Among the more significant items, Massimo discovered a gilded cigarette case, the contents of which he poured onto the deck; a box with some rare coins and other ocean relics; and a stack of bills from the day’s earnings. Grabbing the money, coins, and the cigarette case, Massimo went to help Pablo.

Pablo worked efficiently. By that time, he had already unearthed six gold chains, eight gold and five silver rings, four of which had precious stones. He also collected seven wristwatches, three pendants, an ivory smoking pipe with a carved design, a miniature lady’s mirror in the shape of a heart, eight wallets, and about a thousand dollars found loose in pockets. With the appearance of Massimo, the volume of loot increased significantly. To this were added eleven wallets, fifteen hundred dollars from pockets, ten gold chains, ten rings, four pendants, nine wristwatches, a pearl necklace, an aquamarine bracelet, three pairs of earrings, a rosary, a fountain pen, and the latest issue of Playboy.

Inspecting the volume of loot, Pablo suddenly thought:

How many perverts come here to bask their genitals in the sun!?

They hurriedly threw everything into a plastic bag indiscriminately, and when they had collected everything, they began to tie the bag tightly, just above the contents. After the knot was tied, the bag was turned inside out, effectively creating a second layer around the contents. Having finished with the first plastic bag, they placed it in a second identical one, trying to leave as much air inside as possible.

While Massimo was hastily tightening the second knot, a woman’s voice was heard from behind:

– Pablo?

Seized by a sudden rush of fear, they looked around. Behind them stood a naked blonde girl of about eighteen. Her feet were hidden under a layer of wet sand. She stood motionless, her eyes bulging. When her pupils fell upon the pistol lying near the robbers, her body seemed to freeze in total paralysis. The rustle of the plastic bag stopped. Deathly silence fell on the deck. The girl’s chin trembled. Her knees shook. After a few agonizing seconds, she barely moved her right foot back a few centimeters, starting to back away.

Pablo’s hands left the bag and reflexively reached for the gun. At these moments the girl turned sharply in the direction of the ladder. The barrel of the pistol was already aimed at her, but the trigger refused to budge, allowing the girl to take an extra few steps. Pablo removed the safety with his thumb. The safety was off, and the weapon was now live.

The girl began to run towards the ramp, leaving behind traces of crumbling sand. Soon the lead pierced the skin on her back. A chilling cold spread through her body, emanating from the.45 caliber.

BANG!!! BANG!!!

Two crimson holes on the golden tan.

Her body collapsed onto her stomach.

After two deafening bangs, Massimo flinching with fear and ducked away from the two flashes that followed each other. Pablo ran up to the girl’s immobilized body. His cool gaze fixed through the sights on the back of her head. Another shot. There was a ringing noise of a falling cartridge case.

Screams began to be heard from the beach. An uproar began.

Massimo picked up the pistol and the bag, its final knot left unfinished and now unnecessary.

Somewhere overboard the roar of the running engine was heard. Jorge scanned for friends on the edge of the deck. A second later Massimo appeared. He dropped the bag of loot, which splashed into the water, swaying on its surface. Jorge swam closer and threw the bag into the boat.

– Let’s jump! – Massimo said in a restrained half-cry.

He and Pablo ran to the edge of the deck and walked a few meters beyond where the boat was. Holding tightly to the handles of their pistols, they jumped off.

The screams of the yacht’s passengers grew louder. Separate words were heard. It seems that these were male voices. Someone plucked up the courage to run up to the ship with his head down.

Jorge swam to the place where Massimo and Pablo dived. They surfaced a few meters from the boat, gasping for air through widely parted jaws. Jorge gave it a slow pace, approaching as close as possible. Massimo swam a couple of meters, threw the pistol into the boat, and then stretched out his arms and grabbed the edge of the side. He pushed with all his might and scrambled over the side. Meanwhile Pablo held tightly with both hands to the oar that Jorge handed him. As soon as Pablo got into the boat, Jorge pressed the lever all the way, the engine roared and the boat rushed at full speed away from the shore.

When the pulse returned to normal, Massimo rushed to ask Pablo how the girl knew his name. The explanation was surprisingly simple. The murdered girl turned out to be the one who told Pablo about these weekly secret cruises to the beach. She slept with him for two long months. In bed she became very accommodating. And even too much. She gave him everything. She told him all the details, down to the slightest minutiae: where things were left, who belonged to the club, their ages, and the times of arrival and departure.

– What were you waiting for!? – Massimo shouted, turning to Jorge. – Why did you let her on the yacht!?

– At first I ducked down so that she wouldn’t notice me, and when she climbed the ladder, I had to row to the pier because the boat had drifted away a bit. I needed time and… I’m sorry, guys.

Massimo immediately waved his hand, urging Jorge to stop making excuses.

Along the way, they took off their wet clothes, took out towels, dried themselves and changed into dry clothes. They tore the bags and poured the loot into the backpack, following with the pistols, tape, knives, and everything else. Meanwhile, Jorge was peeling off the tape from the sides, leaving it in the boat.

The boat stopped off the coast a couple of kilometers from the boat station. Massimo and Jorge rolled up their jeans to their knees, grabbed their shoes, the backpack, and the torn bags with the tape still wrapped around them, and stepped ashore on the vacant lot.

Pablo started the engine and rushed to return the boat to the boat station.

Massimo and Jorge dried their feet and then put on their shoes. They carefully collected the used tape into one wad, which they wrapped in the torn bags. Massimo threw his backpack over his shoulders, Jorge took the crumpled bags, and both slowly walked towards the railway tracks.

Less than an hour later they met Pablo at the train station. Jorge threw the plastic with tape inside into trash cans half a block from the station. They waited for the nearest train and returned to Little Rome on it.

Over the weekend, Jorge borrowed his father’s car. Driving it, they went to the other end of the city. There they found one of the pawn shops and pawned half of the jewelry. The second part was pawned at another pawnshop located in a neighboring city. Everything else – the watches, necklace, smoking pipe and other items – went into the hands of traders who operated on the black market.

The total haul from the job was over fifty thousand dollars.

Massimo bought a new TV, refrigerator and a tape recorder, updated the furniture, and made some minor cosmetic repairs. He hired workers who replaced the parquet and tiles in the bathroom, updated the plumbing, painted the walls and installed new interior and exterior doors. Now the apartment looked quite respectable.

Jorge stopped asking his father for a car because he now had his own silver 1967 Ford. Now he was driving his car every day, and not just on weekends.

And Pablo… Pablo was nowhere to be found for about a week. After his sudden reappearance, he explained his absence by a prolonged stay in the apartment of some Italian woman who lived a couple of blocks away.

After two months, everyone still had a decent amount of money left, so they didn’t have to worry about anything. But Massimo was worried. He couldn’t bear to sit still. When they were just developing the robbery plan, his mind was already cleared of oppressive thoughts. This fascinated him. Not much time had passed since the yacht robbery, and the thrill had subsided. The blues began to return. He needed to do something else. Any adventure could bring him out of this state. A new tribute run was the best and only acceptable therapy for Massimo.

It was late evening. Massimo was walking down the street. Thoughts about Aunt Barbara couldn’t leave his head. He urgently needed to chat with someone. He went into “A glass of red”. As he approached the bar counter, he was greeted by the owner.

– Look who it is? – Murillo said enthusiastically. A black shirt fit him well and, as usual, the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. The top two buttons were undone, revealing a thick gold chain from which hung a crucifix. – I haven’t seen you in a long time. How’s it going?

Massimo sat down on a chair in front of the bar, waved his hand languidly and said:

– Rough. The other day, I thought I was feeling a little better. But now I’m feeling down again.

– You know, it’s normal. You don’t have to think it’s a bad thing or that it shouldn’t be this way. It happens to a lot of people. I know she was the only person you had. But believe me, you’re not alone in this. So just be patient. Time will heal everything.

After a few seconds, Murillo placed a glass of water in front of him.

– Here. Have a drink.

Massimo wrapped his fingers around the glass, but things went no further. He looked at the bottom of the glass through the water, imagining how his own life had hit rock bottom.

– Crap. I feel so terrible – Massimo muttered under his breath in a bitterly trembling voice.

Murillo placed his wide hand on Massimo’s shoulder and said with care:

– Don’t worry. Believe me. You’ll feel better in time.

– It depends on how long that takes. I’ll go gray waiting for sclerosis to make me forget

– My niece works at a hair salon. Want me to get you in? She’ll quickly turn you into an old geezer. You’ll be old as mold. You won’t have to wait for gray hair.

Murillo’s efforts at this moment were in vain. Massimo did not react to such a joke. Then Murillo added:

– Or I could ask someone to get on your nerves. They say that nerves can make you age quickly.

Massimo’s face remained stony. Only the eyes moved a few times.

Murillo gave up. He looked down and returned to polishing glasses.

Massimo continued to sit at the counter, surrounded by dozens of customers. His right palm lay on his forehead, and after a while it began to shake. Through his open lips, it was noticeable under his hand how he clenched his teeth.

– Hey? Massimo? – Murillo said cautiously. He carefully removed his hand from his face. A tear slowly fell down Massimo’s left cheek.

Murillo raised his voice slightly:

– Listen, dude! Maybe stop making a scene. Yes, we aren’t soulless machines. We are all human. Everyone suffers, feels pain, loses loved ones. But are you a man or not!?

At his words, Massimo covered his face with both hands. His shoulders shook even more.

Confused, Murillo again placed his hand on his shoulder.

– Sorry. That’s not what I meant…

The Cuban stopped his speech, not understanding how to continue it.

– Just be patient. You’ll see. The sadness will lift.

Massimo took his hands away from his face and said without hesitation:

– Could you pour me something? I think rum or cognac will definitely help.

– Oh-oh-oh-oh… – said Murillo, removing his wide, hairy hands from the bar counter. – Now this is where you need to be careful.

– What’s wrong with that?

– You’re still too young. At your age, drinking in this state is dangerous. You’ll feel better, sure. But as soon as you sober up, your hand will reach for the bottle again. You’re too upset. You won’t know when to stop, and you need to know your limit. So take it easy.

– Murillo… – Massimo’s voice was still trembling -… please. I feel so terrible. I can’t take this anymore.

Murillo looked at the boy puzzled. He didn’t want the boy to drown his sorrows. But it was painful for him to look at the young man like that. The Cuban closed his eyelids, as if he was trying his best to suppress a bad impulse. When his eyes opened, he directed his gaze under the bar counter and stared for a long time. His long gaze was soon interrupted, he lowered his hand under the counter and took out a half-empty, barely transparent bottle.

– Is there anything stronger? I’ll pay – Massimo said languidly.

Murillo’s voice sounded firm and insistent:

– No. For your case, this is the most harmless thing. It’s not strong enough to get you completely drunk, but it’s quite capable of helping you with the blues.

Murillo placed a clean, polished glass in front of Massimo. There was the sound of the cork popping from the neck. The bartender tilted the bottle, almost resting the neck against the rim of the stemmed glass. A crimson stream of wine swirled along the walls of the glass. The pouring of the red wine gracefully caused the wine to rise, bringing it closer to the edges of the glass. When the glass was almost full, Murillo plugged the neck and returned the bottle to its original place.

Massimo’s fingers eagerly clasped the top of the glass and brought it to his lips. Without stopping, he drank the contents in one go. The glass was emptied in a single gulp. The stem of the glass met the bar counter. The remains of wine flowed down the walls, forming a cluster of several crimson drops at the bottom. Only now, when Massimo removed the glass from his lips, did the receptors on his tongue assess the quality of the drink. It tasted like real wine… and something else. This was no ordinary wine. Murillo said nothing about this, and Massimo wasn’t curious enough to ask. It seemed to him that this was most likely wine diluted with some other drink, but in a small amount so that its original taste was preserved. Which explained the strange aftertaste.

Murillo picked up the glass and said:

– Don’t leave. I’ll be right back.

The bartender retreated to the back room. During his absence, Massimo felt the urge to drink more than once, but this desire suspiciously became weaker. With every second, the craving for drink faded. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to drink at all, but he stopped seeing alcohol as a way to get bad thoughts out of his head. If he wanted to take a sip or two, then this desire was no stronger than on any day, regardless of his mood.

Murillo returned.

Massimo asked a question:

– Where’s your cook? I haven’t seen him around.

Murillo answered, keeping his gaze on the boy’s face for a long time, as if he was trying to read his expression: