Red Star

Chapter 14

That evening I left all my purchases and the money that had survived from the Shpilman Family with Lehi. From him, I called Mitrich at the pier and found out that Stepan Kuzmich was ready to sell his hangar and boat, and would be at the pier the day after tomorrow, on Sunday, waiting for me with my "brother" at 15 o'clock, in the trailer at Mitrich's.

I thanked the old man, said goodbye to Lech, who was still shopping, and rushed home. There I got a well-deserved kick for coming late, had dinner, and found out that on Saturday my mother was going to sew something for a friend, and on Sunday she was going to a meeting of graduates of LITMO (Leningrad Institute of precision mechanics and optics) and would return late. And since my grandfather is in Moscow, I'm on my own for the weekend. The news was pleasant and I went to bed with a calm soul.

Already lying in bed, I remembered about today's story of Lehi about a maniac. Apart from Chikatilo and Mosgaz, I didn't remember any of them. Heeded... In my mother's room, the TV was on, and she was watching the new film "Dog in the manger" with Boyarsky, Terekhova and Dzhigarkhanyan.

He slid out of bed, crawled under the Desk, and pulled his "divine artifact"out of the toy box. He shifted, settling back in bed, and, with the usual sinking heart, started the iPhone.

Frankly, stay in this time I always expected that the iPhone will no longer work, it breaks that disappear wi-fi, that will disappear the iPhone, or even what kind of trouble will happen to him. But time passed and everything remained the same. I built up a lot of theories in my mind, but it was not possible to test them.

Once I even took my iPhone outside and went with it quite far from home, holding the iPhone to my body in my left coat pocket, and clutching the handle of the Mauser in my right. Hiding in one of the entrances, I launched the device, but it worked smoothly and just as confidently showed the full wi-fi signal-I, and the GPS program determined my position in the Russian Federation, in the city of St. Petersburg in 2015!

I even tried calling the future on my companion's phone. But there were no beeps, and the call didn't go through. Yeah, that would be too good. Most of the theories collapsed, and I decided to take what was happening as a given until something happens that changes these circumstances.

So, I went to "Yandex", in the search bar without any fuss typed: "maniac Leningrad 1978 year of r**e of Schoolgirls", there were 80 thousand answers, in the first line there was some p**n, and already opening the second, I knew in a minute that in the USSR there was a whole lot of maniacs, already more than fifty pieces. As for the bastard who was wanted by Retluev's associates, his name was Sergey Grigoriev and he was a previously convicted r**e driver, a long-distance truck driver who committed more than 40 r***s in the seven years from 1977 to 1983.

Plus, the investigation did not find out how many more r***s he committed since 1972 - the moment of his release from the colony, where he was omitted and spent all the years with Parasha.

Then I began to type in" Yandex " specifically about Grigoriev and collect all the information available on the network about him, listening carefully so as not to get caught by my mother. We managed to dig up a lot of information, there was even a list of "proven episodes of criminal activity".

That's when I got sick. The next crime was to be committed on may 14, 1978, exactly nine days later.

***

All Saturday, I painfully came up with a solution to the problem. The easiest and most realistic way was to make an anonymous call to the police. I already had more than enough information about Grigoriev, so I was quite able to compose a message so that people would be interested in it and check it out.

One thing stopped me. I have been in the USSR for 76 days and so far all I have achieved is to put the criminal General's "stash". Is it too much or too little in two months? Many. Becoming one of the richest people in the country as a child is a lot.

But if you consider that I can't legalize this money, and I can't even hide it properly yet, then this is negligible. So I rummage around the train stations changing clothes and disguising myself, looking around and shaking. Is this my fault? No. When I critically evaluated my actions, I didn't find the best solutions.

I decided to use the iPhone, although the previous attempt with "how to become a millionaire in the USSR" ended in a complete fiasco. Long stupidly sat in front of the search bar "Yandex", not knowing what to type, finally typed: "How to save the USSR". Well, of course, something similar I expected: 2 million responses! Everyone knows I'm the only i***t. Well, let's go...

...I read all Saturday without stopping. On the Internet, there were even entire thematic sites on the topic of the so-called "popadantsev". Well, that is, people who somehow got into fantasy worlds or into the bodies of wizards, generals, kings, etc. Then my own memories came back to me, and I remembered a book I had read a long time ago about how an Earthman swapped souls with a space Prince and won the galactic war and, of course, the love of a space Princess. Cool, by the way, book, sorry I don't remember the name. You can find it in Runet, but there is no point in wasting time.

There was a lot of literature about how the "popadans" helped Nicholas II, Stalin, Beria, Masherov, and even our Leningrad Romanov!

At some point, I had a crazy hope that I was not the only one, that I could find someone and unite with someone. But as I read, that hope died.

Texts about "popadantsev" in fantasy worlds and other times I missed. I looked at the Stalin era only briefly, but I began to read several works on the topic of Brezhnev's time with a sinking heart carefully and in detail... The first hour and a half. Then, too, quickly and obliquely. Because it's crazy. Delirium of delirium! f*****g graphomaniacs, you should really be shoved here and see how you are here with your f*****g recipes, not that you would save the USSR, but how you would be able to arrange your fate! I was freaking out...

The vast majority of these opuses were based on a single plot: he went to the Soviet leadership; convinced that he was immensely cool and, being a genius in all areas, raised the USSR to yawning heights. How to "get out" and how to "raise" was displayed either schematically and fantastically, or carried the absolute delirium of a mad graphomaniac. And after all, none of them even had what I have - a working iPhone with the Internet, and a lot of "money" with gold!

However, a couple of works still attracted my close attention. The first was written with Frank banter, jokes and anecdotes: the dude was transported to the USSR at about the same time as I was. But! He was an adult, in his forties. And "composed" all the popular songs of Soviet and foreign pop! He had a laptop with all the words and music, but without the Internet. Ha!..

To read, although for the most part and obliquely, it was easy and funny. The main character was an outspoken crook and Combinator, only the situations around which his success was built were unreal and frankly fabulous. But the main thing coincided, songs - a source of large and legal earnings! Although I thought of this myself, I still noticed a lot of useful things in this area. However, the author finished his story by sending his hero to the office of the intelligent and understanding Andropov.

The second work was even called "Saving the USSR". And, in the beginning, it described my situation as if it were a carbon copy. Something took an adult back to his childhood, the end of the 70s. This same something gave him the opportunity to use the collective memory of humanity - here I, sinfully, almost began to howl with a sense of luck, it seemed to me that the author was really masking his possession of some device like mine! But further, further...

Then everything went downhill - unrealistic situations and fantastic combinations. The main character began to teach district Committee secretaries and school principals, manipulate the KGB and the CIA, and trample the path to the infallible Communist-Leninist Andropov Yu. V., in addition, he began to sew jeans for speculation and earnings.

I broke down when the hero came to sewing jeans on a home sewing machine, in the presence of imperturbable parents watching their genius-tailor child.

After swearing for a couple of minutes at the top of my voice, since the walls allowed it, I closed another window in afika and put my head in my hands.

***

07.05.78, Sunday (my 77th day in the USSR)

On Sunday, at 11 o'clock, I went to see Lech. First we went down together to work out in the hall, where the main attention was paid to the Leh formulation of my left punch to the liver. His argument was based on the fact that teenagers are not really taught to defend themselves from this blow, why, since the strength is not yet enough to effectively break through it. But if my punches are stronger than those of my peers, then maybe the left one will work, it will be a trump card, if anything. And anyway, it's Releev said to work, so there's nothing to discuss. He has accurate information that in the sports school of the Olympic reserve of the Zhdanovsky district, a very strong guy takes out everyone in one gate. Therefore, Releev called this morning and said to work.

"No, he won't come today. They have a reinforced regime, the maniac is caught by the entire city police-Lech answered my question, expressed by the look.

Not to say that I was very tense because of the information about the "very strong guy", but I was wary, so I tried to conscientiously hit the cross with my left fist from the adhesive plaster pasted on the pear, and Lech held the pear and moved it slightly, imitating the movement of the opponent. At first it turned out so-so, but I was retrained as a child "left-handed" and after an hour of puffing and Lech's tips, something began to turn out. However, my left hand refused to move at all after an hour.

By half past two, Lech and I, dressed in new clothes and wearing sunglasses, got into a taxi and went to the pier at the Harbor. It wasn't particularly hot, but the sun was already shining brightly, so the glasses were justified. Yes, and Lech was already given just an unearthly chic!

"Moskvich" decided not to "Shine" and the taxi driver was hired to wait for a double counter. Lech was instructed by me to the limit, but did not argue, did not snort and listened carefully, because he was a little nervous.

The purchase process was, as they say, "without a hitch." Stepan Kuzmich, a kind of elderly little borovichok, with crooked eyebrows and small suspicious eyes, arrived in a beige twenty-first "Volga", with a trunk on the roof. He was accompanied by a relative, a tall, ungainly fellow. Mitrich fussed around the "borovichka" and looked respectfully at my "big brother".

Tension arose only once when Stepan Kuzmich heard that Lech wanted a receipt for the purchase and receipt of money from him, but when he learned that any amount of the purchase would suit him, he calmed down and wrote the required amount. As a result, for "two hundred rubles", Lech became the owner of the t-2 "Dolphin" shvertbot and a temporary shelter of the "hangar"type.

From the tea offered by the hospitable Mitrich, Stepan Kuzmich, who turned out to be Zyablikov (heh-heh!) he refused, carefully counted the money, nodded to everyone, and drove off, along with the escort, who remained silent all the time, leaving the keys, the receipt, and Mitrich, who was upset by his inattention.

Lech politely thanked the watchman for his assistance in purchasing the hangar, asked to replace the locks with new ones, which we bought at a hardware store on the way, and put four twenty-five rubles in the pocket of his old quilted jacket, counted out, in front of Mitrich, who was dazed with happiness, from the remaining thin wad of banknotes.

Then we" respected " Mitrich with tea for twenty minutes, examined the hangar and the boat, left the new locks and keys to the guard, and, having loaded ourselves into the taxi with relief, set off on the return journey.

11.05.78, Thursday (my 81st day in the USSR)

Over the past three days, Lech and I once again came to the pier to pick up the keys from Mitrich and, with the help of movers from Mebelny (25 rubles and two bottles of vodka), install a large iron three-column workbench on the first floor, next to the boat. f*****g heavy, mind you, workbench! From the iron spent on it, probably, it was possible to make a passenger car. We had similar monsters at school, in the office of labor. The decommissioned workbench, Lech bought for fifty rubles from the senior master of the carpool, where Ambulances were repaired.

All three cabinets of the workbench were locked with a common key, and since it was inexplicable to install a safe, and therefore dangerous, this replacement seemed to me very convenient and, so far, absolutely adequate.

Two more times I came alone, I had to get ugly on public transport so as not to attract attention. And two "bookmarks" from the Vitebsk railway station found their next refuge in the vast belly of the workbench.

Mitrich, absolutely captivated by the appearance and generosity of Lehi, each time sent him a warm greeting!..

As for today, instead of school, I went to the city championship 'Golden gloves'.

In the morning, from the gym, Lech and I were picked up by Retluev in his car, which, for these days, I saw for the first time. Ilyas looked really tired, his face haggard, and even his broad shoulders slumped. Cops often combed the city in search of the r****t, day and night. After the eleventh r**e, the Deputy Minister arrived in the city, which only increased the General nervousness in the search. This is all I learned from the words of Relieve, negotiating in the car with Alex. This time we drove longer, 20 minutes, the Dynamo gym was located on Ligovka.

This time it was more solid. Like adults! Organization, warm-up halls, 'cards of young athletes', order at the weigh-in, etc.

My fight was supposed to take place in about an hour, so after all the paperwork, weigh-ins, and other formalities, the three of us settled down near the ring and watched the fights go on. Despite the noise and constant movement around Releev and then pecked his nose, but tried valiantly not to fall asleep.

Outwardly, there were no outright clumsiness or cowards at this stage. The guys were all collected, listened carefully to their mentors and were charged in the ring to fight. But the fights I saw did not impress me, it was more like an imitation of real Boxing.

Already shortly before the time of my fight, Releev revived.

- Okay, attention! This guy from Zhdanovsky... " he said, pushing me with his shoulder and slapping Lech on the back.

Blia... A real 'broiler' appeared in the ring. Blond, about my height, he was not impressive in size, but unlike me, he did not have a boyish build, but was already a real 'man'. Well-developed musculature of the arms and legs, confident look and easy gait... If we were in our own time, I would seriously suspect him of taking illegal drugs.

My stomach lurched uncomfortably. The guy looked like a mini-copy of Dolph Lundgren. But I'm not Stallone! Judging by the stressed indifferent face Relieve and frowning Leh, they also called for gloomy thoughts.

The informant judge in the ring announced:

- In the blue corner of the ring, the winner of the qualifying competitions among young men born in 1964, in the Oktyabrsky district, Oleg Sinyaev, 14 years old, coach-master of sports Arkady Samsonov. In the red corner of the ring, the winner of the qualifying competitions among young men born in 1964, in the Zhdanov district Yuri Misiunas, 14 years old, coach honored master of sports-Shota Gogua.

The 'broiler' raised its hand, and from somewhere to the left came a cheer and a few people shouting. Previously, no one was greeted with shouts, and the audience began to look around.

- Wow! I thought, he's also with a support group. I stood up to see who was working hard. Two girls ' voices were louder than the others, but there were also five guys in the 'group'.

The Gong sounded and the battle began. The opponent of Misiunas immediately 'turned on his legs' and began to try to keep the 'broiler' at a distance. The boy, outwardly, though much inferior to his opponent, but did not show fear and did not lose his head.

Went trial, probing blows, more imitating the fight than really dangerous. The athlete in blue underpants dodged and retreated, while the blond man danced and followed the opponent relentlessly, forcing nothing.

'Bang!'- imperceptible movement Misiunas dodged to the left and punched in the jaw, under the outstretched hand of the opponent. The opponent was jerked to the right, his legs buckled, and he fell awkwardly on his right knee.

'Breck!'- the referee's team and an open score. The boy in blue got up at eight, but I didn't have any hope for him. And so it turned out, a couple more missed blows to the head and his second threw in the towel.

- MDA-mumbled Lech.

- I warned, wincing, replied Ryleev.

I said nothing, straining my adult brain.

The support group was noisily celebrating the success of their favorite, but a couple of comments from adults and the hall was again relatively quiet.

Ten minutes later, I was announced in the ring. Meanwhile, I scanned the front rows with my eyes and was satisfied only when I found coach Misiunas, shot-what's-his-name, standing not far from the ring, watching me closely.

The battle began. I got a rival from Dzerzhinsk district. He was taller than I was, half a head taller, and he moved very easily. I began to walk around the ring at a walk and swung wide with each blow, so that the opponent easily walked away from these failed 'plops'.

I was hit a couple of times, but I managed to soften the blows with the movement of the body and head, and the opponent was not a puncher.

During the break, Lech started to get emotionally interested in what the hell I was doing, but the captain immediately shut him up and silently worked on me with a towel.

"Don't play too hard... you lose a lot on points already - Retluev only said after me when obeying the judge's command we went to the center of the ring for the second time.

Now I didn't take any chances and immediately struck a strong blow to the head of my opponent. Since the blow was still going in a sweeping arc, the opponent began to Dodge habitually, but this time, my blow went much faster, and the glove, nevertheless, passed casually on the head.

This was enough for him - he hesitated from surprise and got first on the left, and then fully on the right.

Frankly belated' Breck ' of the referee and the fight is over. Opponent on the floor.

On the way back, in the car, Retlaw said: