The owner of the office — Sasha immediately nicknamed him Grey (the other two were Singed and Greasy) — sat down in the chair, spun around to the filing cabinet, took out some papers, a folder, threw them on the table.
He slid the phone towards him, dialed a number, and said something quickly. Sasha didn’t catch what he said — he was too busy looking around, thinking: Everything is so ordinary, the furniture, the kettle, the teacups —are they really going to string me up right here…? It cant be.
Or can it be? It could. Wait and see.
Grey hung up the phone. Singed entered from the next room, judging by the nearby sound of a door slamming shut. He gently clicked the lock — to prevent interruptions, thought Sasha.
“Sit down,” said Grey, glancing briefly at Sasha. His eyes fast and inconsp
