Force

1

"I doubt it," Chief shook his head.

"He would survive dismissal from the investigation, but you can't fire him. For him, work is everything."

Chief sighed and put his hands on the table.

"Cord, you have known who the mole was for a long time."

"Of course. But the information that he leaked to the journalist did not harm us, and I did not intend to spoil Force's life simply because I was supposed to."

"Hmm." Chief gently tapped his index finger on the table. "If you, Cord, had reported this as soon as you learned about his activities, everything could have been smoothed over. Force, of course, would have received a reprimand, lost his bonus but remained at work. But now—"

"And he would have lost his beloved woman," added Cord, "whom he loved with all his heart."

Chief raised his hand palm forward: be quiet.

"The situation is now this: as you are aware, Force is the prime suspect in the journalist's murder, of course not as the performer, since he had an alibi, but as the possible initiator of a hit. He has a motive—the break-up of their relationship. There is also an opportunity, although it may be rather non standard. If he really is innocent and has nothing to do with it, we will prove it. But given that the information has leaked to the media and another major scandal is about to erupt, the chance that Force will keep his job is minimal, even if we prove his innocence in the journalist's death."

"But can you at least get him out of the solitary detention? Place him under house arrest, under my supervision and responsibility, for example…"

Chief smiled wearily.

"I'll think about what can be done."

2

On April 22, two days after the murder of Flaminga, Force was placed under house arrest. Chief used his connections, and the judge wrote out the necessary papers for him. Of course, none of their colleagues thought Force was a killer, but certain members of society seemed about to reopen the mad witch-hunt.

On the first day of home confinement, Cord and Force drank together to calm themselves down. When his friend left, Force found he was feeling a little better. Then he went to the nearest convenience store and bought some vodka.

In the coming days, he would become a regular customer there. And the saleswoman, seeing his vast figure, would go to the warehouse for orders prepared just for him.

Twice a week, a police officer came to check whether the "prisoner" was in place. And in the evenings, Cord came and showed him the case materials.

"But this is against the rules—"

"When did that stop me?" Cord chuckled.

"That's true."

Force thought Cord had looked at him longer than usual.

***

On April 28, Force got a call from Chief.

"I would like to inform you personally," he began. "Although we haven't found the killer yet, you are no longer a suspect. But…" Chief paused, apparently collecting his thoughts. "Because of your activities and connections to the murdered woman, the Commission instructed me to inform you that you have been dismissed, effective the second of May. You will receive a full month's salary, and you will have to pick up your things within the next week. I'm really sorry, Force, there is nothing that can be done."

Force, with the receiver to his ear, stared blankly at himself in the mirror. He had lost weight, grown thin in fact, his face was red, his hair was unwashed, his beard had regrown, his eyes looked empty. What's the point now…?

***

The next time, Cord noticed the vodka bottles set up along the wall in the hallway. Did Force start drinking? How long ago?

"Do you need help?" Cord asked him about the bottles.

The friend shook his head.

"Let's work."

And they worked, like before, but not quite. Cord tried to convince the Commission to give Force a chance for reinstatement, and in response, he was told that if the killer was found, they would think about it. The opportunity was flimsy and looked like an excuse, but they didn't give more.

Find the killer… Half listening to Cord's version, Force thought he had already found him.

***

From work, besides his personal things, Force grabbed something else—his notes and copies of materials that he needed. Longingly, he looked around his former workplace. If he was successful and did what he intended to do, he would come back here. But…

Betrayal is not something that would come easily to him. So he decided to run away.

***

Force did not have time to study the issue in detail, and the seller, it seems, suspected that something was wrong but still helped him make the choice. So he got some mountaineering rope. He hoped it would be strong enough for his plans.

Back home, Force put himself in order, took a shower, shaved, put on clean clothes. Then he took them off: he realized that first he would have to work a little because, in his two-room apartment, there were no crossbeams or roof supports whatsoever.

Force wondered if there was anything solid that could support his weight. He looked up at the ceiling. Yes, it might work.

He turned off the electricity in the hall. Then he brought a stepladder from the pantry, puffed his way up it, and began to carefully remove the light fixture from the steel hook from which it hung. Suddenly, he sneezed from the dust that covered it and almost fell off the ladder. With all difficulties behind him and the chandelier on the floor, Force climbed up again and pulled the hook with all his might. It didn't even budge. Fine, it would do.

Having descended again (after so much physical activity perhaps, he would even lose a few more kilograms), he went into the hallway and brought back the mountaineering rope. Sixty meters! He did not need that much, but he had had to buy a complete roll to not arouse even more suspicion from the seller. Anyway, it was better that there would be extra than not enough.

Force flung the rope over his shoulder, climbed the ladder again, and tied the rope to the hook. It turned out to not be so easy: the rope was quite thick and stiff, so he had to spend more time and effort on it than he had bargained for. Then he cut off the excess and finally made a loop just below the ceiling. A classic hangman's knot, as in a textbook: take the end, fold it in half, make eight loops and…

To hell with it all?

Force was sitting on the sofa and looking at the noose.

Am I really going to do it? But why? Because my beloved woman died? Of course, I parted with her almost six months ago, but… And what about work? It's not all over. I have a way to recover that. Even two if Cord didn't lie.

And Cord. I still have a friend. Is he a friend? Yes, lately, we have seen each other often, but it seems that Cord treats the meetings as a duty. He now has other friends with whom I am not familiar and a girl with a baby on the way. If I am already in second or third place for Cord, what will happen next? Oblivion? How will that be any different from what I am going to do now?

Yes, I might go back to work. Crane, Chief, and the rest will be there. Everyone except for Cord.

What should I do? Betray a friend or put an end to my own miserable life?

Force got up from the sofa and went into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of vodka and drank it in one gulp. He had decided: If nothing worked out now, I would take the second route. And then try again. Why not?

Realizing that he was sweating badly after the two-hour exercise session, Force retook a shower and put on a clean shirt, trousers, and boots. He went to the kitchen for a chair and dragged the ladder onto the balcony. He looked at the noose again and made his final decision.

I hope it won't hurt too much.

Force put his head in the noose and put his right foot on the back of the chair. Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward, balancing on two of the chair's legs. Force realized that he had only one movement left to make, after which everything would be over.

If only the pain did not last too long.

Exhaling, Force knocked over the chair.

The rope then slammed him under the jaw, and he felt unbearable pain. He tried to inhale, but could not. He twitched, swayed back and forth, tried to stick his left hand under the loop, and with his right, grabbed the rope, hoping to pull himself up, but his strength was not enough. Another convulsive jerk, another attempt to escape…

The hook ripped out of the ceiling, and Force crashed to the floor. Plaster fell from above.

Force burst into tears.

3

Cord noticed the hole in the ceiling.

"Are you crazy?" he suggested.

Force waved his hand towards the broken chair and the shattered chandelier.

"I don't know what came over me," his friend croaked. "Apparently, I drank too much because I don't remember doing it. In the morning, I woke up, there was a mess everywhere, I had no voice, and my neck hurt." To illustrate, Force drew back the neck of his turtleneck.

"Maybe you were running naked in the streets?" Cord chuckled.

"Anything is possible," Force forced a smile.

The investigation into Flaminga's death was progressing slowly because of the bouquet.

"The thing is that the bouquet contained peonies of a rare species for these latitudes, and the time of the year for peonies to flower is in fact just beginning, that is, the appearance of such flowers at the end of April speaks of the fact that they were imported."

Cord talked about several versions and assumptions: Flaminga's killer was probably someone for whom the door was opened without a second thought. For example, a postman or a courier.

"The problem is that not a single organization working with these flowers sent a courier to that address."

Force listened attentively to Cord.

"How are you doing with the Flaminga version?"

"Look," Force handed him the materials. "Theoretically, she really could be the Villain, only if she entrusted the murders to other actors."

Cord skimmed through the documents.

"Do you even want us to find her killer?"

"Well…" Force hesitated. "This is for… your job, right? How long can you not catch any more criminals?"

***

When Cord left, Force immediately set to work. He diligently convinced himself that he was doing the right thing. He had survived precisely to complete the story and to put away the true Villain—a dangerous sociopath, manipulator, and killer. Force was working on Flaminga's version just to divert eyes; he worked on the real case in secret from the one whom he now considered to be a former friend.

Cord is dangerous. I must eliminate him. Not for my own safety or to get my job back, but for everyone in this city. Such a person cannot be allowed to exist!

No, not a person! A monster!

4

Everything had almost gone up in dust.

Force was approaching the end, and he was overwhelmed with excitement. Soon he would do what he should have done a long time ago. The evidence base was there. Even if it was not enough for a prosecution, it would obviously be enough to start a large-scale investigation. The court would surely meet him halfway: only a true Villain and no one else could leave the investigation looking like it was run by fools for so long.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Damn it, I forgot Cord was supposed to come! Force glanced at his watch. Almost seven in the evening. Well, of course!

Having grabbed the documents laid out on the coffee table, Force stuffed them behind the back of the sofa on which he was sitting. His gaze fell on the diary, where he wrote down his thoughts and reflections on the case. Damn! Force pushed it into a stack of reference books lying on the table.

The doorbell continued to ring.

Force quickly moved the materials from the second pile—the fake one about Flaminga. The documents and materials ended up in random order, but that was okay.

So. Almost everything is ready. How can I justify taking so long to open the door?

An idea!

Force rushed to the bathroom and flushed the toilet. Then he rinsed his hands and walked to the front door at his usual pace.

"Hi!" Cord greeted him. "Why weren't you opening the door?"

"I was in the bathroom," Force demonstrated by showing him his wet hands.

***

Force brewed coffee, and they began to "work". Cord told him about the search for witnesses who may have seen the courier. Force presented his version of Flaminga's actions and his participation in them. In fact, it worked out pretty smoothly. Was the journalist really the Villain?

"I think she used the services of hired bandits," Force suggested. "Not even professional killers—they are too expensive, and you saw the conditions in which she lived—but hiring ordinary thugs for a fee would have been enough. The murders aren't too complicated, especially if you do not complicate them through interpretation."

"So you don't think that the killer was trying to create the appearance of unprofessionalism, for example, at the hospital massacre?"

Force nodded his head.

"I still think that is the case. The massacre was not planned, only the murder of the trucker. The rest was improvisation and, in my opinion, rather ridiculous."

Cord nodded. Suddenly there was a squeal from his belt. The investigator pulled the pager out of the case and smiled:

"Damn, I forgot about this. I will not stay long today. Dia is waiting." Cord showed the screen to Force: DINNER IS ALMOST ON THE TABLE.

Force smiled.

"What did she cook?"

"Chicken in beer. You uncork a bottle, sit a bird on it, and shove it into the oven. Then you hope the bottle doesn't burst," Cord chuckled. "Do you want to join us?"

"I would love to, but I would like to finish today." Force nodded at the pile of folders Cord had brought.

"Well, as you wish. I myself will devour everything. Although I could tear off a leg and a thigh and bring them tomorrow. Dia eats only white meat."

"Oh! Yes. Thank you!"

***

Force saw Cord out. It seems everything is getting carried away. I almost screwed up. Then a typical Force thought arose: The cups should be washed.

And then the doorbell rang again. Did Cord forget something?

Force opened the door and frowned at the stranger. Then he felt a sharp pain from a blow to the face—and sank into darkness.

5

Force jerked at the pungent smell of ammonia and blinked as his eyes opened. It helped little: they were watery. He tried to wipe them off with his right hand, but it barely moved. He tugged again. Tied. But not that fact that scared him as much as how weak he was. He was numb and barely felt anything.

Force sighed and tried to blink.

"Do you think he's blind?" The bass voice asked, worried. "You poured a liter into him, and that's a lot."

"Yeah, hell knows…" a familiar voice answered.

Force sighed again. Well, I was right.

Something wet and soft slid across his face.

"Now try it," the familiar voice commanded.

Force opened his eyes and found himself in a tiny, dimly lit room. To the right of him lay a mountain of sprouting and rotten potatoes (some people like to grow so many for themselves that then they do not know what to do with them). On the left was a storage rack, and a little further, by the door, there was a gigantic man holding a bottle and a large piece of cotton wool in his hands. In front of him stood Cord, clutching a towel red with blood.

"Wow… What's wrong with me?" asked Force.

"Mort overdid it," said Cord. "He broke your nose."

"Where are we?"

"In a vegetable storage room."

"Everything is floating before my eyes…"

"I poured a bottle of vodka into you. How much do you need to get drunk?"

Force just nodded.

"But not right away… I feel sick. Is there any water?"

The big guy handed the bottle to Cord, who raised it to Force's lips.

"Throw up…"

Cord immediately set up another empty aluminum bucket.

"More water…"

Again. And again, the bucket.

"That's it…" Force muttered.

"Mort, can you take this? And stay close by, please."

"Yeah, right away."

The big guy left. Cord looked at his friend carefully.

"Hmm…"

Force's face was smeared with blood because of the efforts of Cord, who had tried to wipe the blood flowing from his nose from his friend's face but just spread it around.

Force tried to smile.

"Do I really look so bad?"

"Like death warmed over."

Force's nose had been pushed to the left.

"Shall we fix it?" suggested Cord.

Force nodded and felt the latex-gloved hands of Cord grab his nose and adjust it with a sharp but precise movement. Force gasped in pain.

"Better?" asked Cord.

"Yeah."

"Shall we talk?"

"I thought you'd kill me right away."

"If I wanted to, I would have killed you back in January when I realized you had made me."

"What gave me away?"

"When you went to the summer house in the evening without me. If you had rescheduled the trip for the morning, hell, I would have never guessed because it would have looked so mundane. And so… I suspected you dug something up. And you, fool! You let it slip that it had to do with the doorframe."

"At that point, I did not suspect you yet. It just seemed strange to me that the wounds at the checkpoint and in the house were inflicted from different angles, and I decided to check."

"Where did I fuck up?"

"Not where, but when. Twelve years ago, when you stood up for me and started a fight. I noticed you fought unusually, and then you explained you were ambidextrous."

"Damn it," Cord chuckled. "But it's true. During the fight with Familiar, I first hit to the left, then began to beat from the right, and in the hallway, I had the ax in my left hand again."

"So you could strike rapidly," Force nodded.

"Exactly. Although I acted on instinct, as in any fight. But why didn't you turn me in?"

"After what you said that day. When you admitted you did not turn in Chief for personal reasons. Then on the way to the summer house, I thought about it and suddenly realized that I did not want to take you down. You were essentially defending yourself."

Cord nodded.

"I realized I could no longer allow Familiar to be free. Today he shoots at me, tomorrow at Dia, and the next day he will start hunting my child. Fuck knows what that crazy bastard would have thought of."

"You could have waited until the next day when we would have come for Familiar. After all, the saliva on the bottle confirmed that he was the shooter."

"And they would have jailed him for an attempt on my life. And if we consider he did not even wound me, then the time would have been very short. What good would that do?"

"The only thing I was tormented by doubts about was the death of the guards. Why did you kill them?"

"I did not kill them."

With a surprised look, Force looked at his… friend?

"You didn't kill them?"

"No, and I have no idea who did," Cord shrugged. "And I doubt it was Familiar."

"Then who?"

"The same person who eliminated the trucker, Madam and Flaminga."

Force dropped his eyes.

"So you didn't kill Flaminga? I mean, she didn't die on your orders…"

"If you were thinking that it was Mort, no, it wasn't. If I had wanted to kill her, I would not have let you know I knew about your affair with her. On top of that, I would not have stated in front of Chief the fact that she is known to me."

Force nodded slowly.

"You know what's funny?" Cord said thoughtfully. "We are now illustrating the saying: 'The road to hell is paved with good intentions.' We both acted outside the law but for a humane reason. I didn't give you up, and that led to Flaminga's death and your dismissal. You did not turn me in, and therefore you will die today unless, of course, you choose the second option."

"Which one is that?"

"You promise not to ever expose me."

"And you will believe me?"

"Have I ever not believed you?"

My friend… My best friend is right. Force smiled and then unexpectedly laughed.

"What are you doing?" asked a surprised Cord.

"I just… You know, Cord," Force's bloody face shone with a smile, "I tried to hate you. I convinced myself that you were a psychopath, a monster, that you were killing everyone left and right. Oh, and that you didn't invite me to celebrate New Year's."

"Oh, that!" Cord smiled. "I was sure you were having a great time with Flaminga. I didn't want to embarrass you with a question and an attempt to come up with a refusal. So I decided that until you admitted to me you were meeting a journalist, I would not provoke you with that information."

"That's it… And you know I recently tried to hang myself."

"I know," Cord nodded, "considering that you never wore turtlenecks before, and you never pulled hooks from the ceilings, it was easy to put two and two together. By the way, that is what influenced my decision to kill you."

"Why?"

"If you hadn't tried to commit suicide, if you hadn't let me know you don't give a shit about life, we wouldn't be here. It's not so easy to kill a best friend who has never done you harm once in his life. But living in constant stress that a friend might betray you is also not healthy. You see, I can't lose everything now. I just started living like a normal person."

They were silent for a while. Until Cord asked:

"So what did you decide?"

"Decide?"

"Will you promise not to hand me over or will you choose death?"

Force smiled.

"Don't you think that's childish? I mean, really? 'Promise'?"

"I have a bad habit of trusting friends."

Force smiled and nodded. Cord is Cord.

"How are you going to kill me?"

"Let's assume…" his friend grinned. "Hint: The answer was at Familiar's house."

"You will hack me to death with agricultural implements?"

"Yeah, a hoe."

The friends laughed. Silly joke, but somehow they were amused.

Cord pulled a handsome engraved silver handgun from his belt.

"So it was you who stole Chief's award pistol!"

"Yeah. I knew only you could expose me because you know me better than anyone, so you could notice what others would miss. The microfibers of clothing, traces, and prints would burn, but there would certainly be something that did not be destroyed. I realized that if something happened, I would have to kill you, and decided to take the gun from the house."

"You thought of everything, right?"

"It's impossible to think of everything," Cord said dismissively, "but it is not too difficult to confuse and muddle an investigation. Especially if you know how they work from the inside."

"Where are you going to shoot me?"

"In the forehead, point-blank."

Force nodded.

"Then I decided."

"And?"

"I choose death."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I just thought… Suppose you trust me, and I betray you because it is right. You will go to jail, and I will never forgive myself for that. I have already lost my beloved woman. I will also lose my best friend. And again, I will try to kill myself. Perhaps that time it would be successful. If then what difference does it make when I die? My life is ruined anyway. So, Cord, if you don't want to go to jail for killing Familiar, you have to kill me. But I want this, and I ask you: do not back down. Pull the trigger and try to get out of this bullshit. This endless loop of death must be stopped, and I hope you succeed. We both deserved a better life than we had, but you still have the opportunity to live a good life. With Dia, the child… You will have a real family, just imagine! You will become a father… It is a pity that I will not see your son or daughter. But there is nothing we can do. We dug a hole for ourselves, and only one of us can get out of it: you, Cord. You have enough intelligence, cunning and dexterity to wrap the police around your finger. But first of all, you must know," Force smiled. "I've prepared almost everything to charge you with Familiar's murder."

"I know," Cord smiled. "I found the papers behind the back cushions of your sofa."

"Yeah?" Force was surprised. "How did you guess?"

"You're a perfectionist. You always have perfect order everywhere. And when I arrived, there was a mess on the table. You didn't open the door for a long time, and I guessed you were hiding something in a hurry. Checking out the couch was my first idea."

"Hmm. And it's true. Well…" Force gasped. "Will you give me a minute?"

"Of course."

Force closed his eyes and fell silent. Cord stood motionless, looking at his friend, whom he was about to execute.

Force raised his head.

"I'm ready."

Cord checked to see if the pistol was loaded and held it to his friend's forehead.

"Well… You are my best friend, Force. It's a shame it ends like this. We are both here only because we did not want to do each other badly. And that led us to this ending."

"Come on, not the worst," smiled his friend. "Goodbye, Cord."

"Farewell, Force."

Cord pulled the trigger.

And a shot rang out.

6

Potatoes are known to be very healthy. They contain not only proteins, carbohydrates and mineral salts but also folic acids, carotenoids, lipids and many other substances with terrible names. However, phenol-formaldehyde resins should not be contained in potatoes: they can be deadly.