Dia’s Birthday

1

On November 18, Dia turned twenty-seven.

On that day and the next, Cord took time off from work. There were no difficulties: the active stage of the investigation into the dead man in the park was completed, and no new victims had appeared yet. The hype about the Villain had gradually subsided: compared to the massacre at the hospital, the murder of Madam had already gone down the memory hole of society, and the frozen bum turned out to be of no interest whatsoever. Probably, people are just tired of this character. Or maybe the Villain himself did everything he wanted and retired.

No one understood exactly what he had been trying to achieve, nor whether he was a maniac in the full sense of the word.

Cord was puzzled by another question: what to give to a person who can afford everything?

Fiddler suggested the answer:

"Isn't it obvious? Give her something that will leave an impression."

Cord clearly did not expect the reaction that followed his proposal:

"Dia, how would you feel about going to a resort with some friends on your birthday?"

The girl almost jumped up to the ceiling with joy.

A week before the date, they were busy choosing a location. Cord visited travel agencies and collected advertising brochures, and then he and Dia carefully studied them and decided on one called the Tranquil Village recreation center.

"Look, there are huts there!" Dia pointed her finger delightedly at the photos. "And palisades!"

Cord liked it too. The booklet stated that the recreation center was not only "inspired by the best examples of traditional architecture" but also "will immerse you in the life of our ancestors thanks to an incredible level of authenticity, from clothes to old recipes." The next day, Cord made a call to the location and reserved a two-story cottage with its own bathhouse. If they were going party then, hey, let's party!

Then they contacted their friends. Dia phoned Sky (they began to chat so carefreely about their girlfriend affairs that it seemed as if Dia had utterly forgotten the purpose of the call, and indeed, only twenty minutes later, she recollected why she had called in the first place and invited Sky and her mysterious boyfriend to the party). Cord also had to call Mort and Fiddler. Since they had no phones or pagers, he had to walk first to the Wolfpack (Mort laughed and slapped Cord on the shoulder so that he almost fell), then to the bridge (Fiddler only nodded with a smile, but when Cord left, ran after him and caught up and began asking a ton of questions: What should he take with him? Where would they go? What would they do? And even more questions, half of which Cord had to laugh off).

Dia then called her father at the Palace and told him about her plans. Tsar politely declined the trip, referring to work, but Dia was not surprised. She understood the burden that was on him. Tsar, however, did offer to organize a motorhome for them, in which they could comfortably get to their destination.

On November 18, at six o'clock in the morning, the whole company gathered at the gate of Dia's house. The driver was already waiting for them in a seemingly ordinary minibus that turned out to have a small luxury apartment inside, which amazed almost everyone.

They all finally met Sky's mysterious guy. It turned out to be a twenty-year-old good-natured chubby guy named Peace—a person as unremarkable in appearance as he was likable: in the first fifteen minutes, he found a common language with literally everyone. The guy, who spent his childhood in a hippy commune, had inexhaustible baggage of tales and was extremely pleasant to talk to.

***

Three hours and two hundred and ten kilometers later, they arrived at the five-meter-high wooden walls of the ostrog1. Yes, the recreation center turned out to be a small fortress surrounded by a relict forest. The massive wooden gate was decorated with carved pagan runes and had a gatekeeper in traditional felt boots, a red coat with colorful embroidered designs and a red sash.

"Come in, dear guests!" he announced loudly.

Cord did not know how authentic the gatekeeper really looked, but the girls, by their delighted whoop, loved it.

***

While the friends went in search of the cottage, Cord went to the registration office to pay. The amount per day turned out to be highly significant, but Cord agreed to it: the main thing was that he managed to surprise Dia. Still, the major event would be tonight!

Ten minutes later, he caught up with his friends, who crowded around the guide near the gate. Noticing him, Sky separated from the crowd:

"The-e-re are horses," the girl could not suppress a desperate yawn and therefore smiled shyly. "There are trails, a skating rink, a slide," Sky's index finger spun in different directions. "We found out where everything is!"

"Well done!" praised Cord. "Where is our home?"

"But we didn't find that," the girl winked slyly.

They walked up to their friends, and Dia clapped her hands happily.

"Cord, it's so cool here!"

"Good! But I think you all need to find our cottage. I will come shortly, and someone will pour me something…"

"That is a wise thought!" Mort announced.

The friends laughed in unison.

***

The girl who was their guide took them to a beautiful wooden cottage and explained where everything was.

"And don't worry: we have heating," she said with a smile. "If you want to use the bathhouse, firewood is already included in the bill. Enjoy your stay!"

In contrast to the outside appearance of the cottage, the interior was quite modern: sofas instead of hard benches, a kitchen with an electric stove instead of a vast wood stove, normal lighting instead of old candlesticks, and, most importantly, a comfortable bathroom with toilet paper instead of a pit with straw. The guide had explained: "No one wants complete authenticity; the guests only want a little illusion."

The friends unpacked and went about their business. Sky went to take a nap (she had met them right after work today and passed out almost immediately); Dia began to study the program given to her by the guide; the men went to inspect the site and the baths.

The day started off beautifully.

2

Half an hour after the friends arrived, a gray pickup truck drove into the parking lot of the Tranquil Village.

It was time to cross all the t's and dot all the i's.

3

At ten in the morning, there was a knock on their door. An employee of the resort had come to offer them their options for lunch: would they go 'cafeteering' (that's what they said!) in the main house and what kind of cuisine would they prefer—peasant food or boyar2 cuisine. After some discussion, the friends decided to get by with a simple lunch and leave the haute cuisine for the evening.

An hour later, two employees brought them a large pot of shchi3, two loaves of freshly baked rye bread, and rolls with cottage cheese and lingonberry jelly for dessert. The lunch turned out to be hearty and so tasty that the company ate absolutely everything.

Then they went to have fun.

First off, they went to the wooden slide, which was higher than their cottage. A bunch of kids were screaming and sliding down it on everything from sleds to pieces of cardboard and were not in the least afraid of the monstrosity of the construction. However, Dia and Sky immediately shook their heads: nope. Fiddler and Peace took a step back, and Mort looked thoughtfully off into the distance.

"Cowards," Cord chuckled and, cast a farewell glance at his friends, went to join the shouting boys. Having asked one of them to use his sled, he began to climb the stairs with the most heroic air. He was not at all afraid; rather, he went forward recklessly. And when he rose to the top and waited for the child who had just gone down to get out of the way, Cord suddenly realized that this time his intuition had let him down.

How to put it nicely? The slide was not smooth.

Realizing what he would face and what a chicken he would be if he turned around and went back down, Cord breathed deeply, sat down on the sled, and closed his eyes. He exhaled and pushed off…

Ouch! Oh! Damn! AAAAAaaaaahhh…

Having finished half in disgrace after having run straight into a snowdrift, Cord shook himself off, returned the sled to the boy who ran up, and then, grumbling, returned to his laughing friends.

"To hell with this slide!" he summarized.

Cord would have said otherwise, but it was impossible to swear in front of children: that is a prerogative of children.

***

The friends went to the ski and skate rental point and then to the ice rink. They had a little argument about what to do first, but Fiddler correctly resolved the issue by stating that while they had the strength, they needed to engage in the most demanding activity and leave the more passive ones for later. This argument was entirely convincing and agreed upon by everyone.

On an almost empty skating rink, the friends had plenty of space to go all out. Mort cut across the ice like a hockey player; Dia, despite her pregnancy, fluttered about like a figure skater; Sky, who was just learning to skate, was skating hand in hand with Peace and as far away as possible from Cord; Cord, trying not to look like a fool, ended up looking even more like a fool, was racing around and from time to time spectacularly crashing and falling all over the place; Fiddler, leaning on his elbows on the fence, laughed without malice.

An hour later, they handed in the skates and took up the skis they had rented. The friends chose the middle route—seven kilometers through the forest, then along a small river, up a hill, down into a field, and again across the forest to the ski base. The route has been designed for two hours of slow walking, but they took three because, after the active skating, only half of them had any energy left.

Dia turned out to be one of those with energy, and from the start, she and Sky out-distanced everyone and disappeared from their field of vision. Mort and Peace followed—the two men had found they had a lot in common and were discussing this and that. Finally, taking up the rear were Cord with Fiddler.

For the first time, Cord realized he wasn't thinking about murders at all. He seemed to be in another world—a world without cruelty and brutality—and he definitely liked it!

"You know, curiosity has been gnawing at me for a long time…" Fiddler, who was skiing along a parallel track, interrupted the silence. "You are a detective. So I understand why you carry around latex gloves all the time, but why don't you carry a service pistol?"

"Why would I need it?"

"Aren't you supposed to carry one?"

"I usually work with the dead and not with living criminals."

"Well, how about during an arrest?"

Cord shook his head.

"I don't go to arrests. There are other guys for that."

"And if someone attacks you?" Fiddler was not giving up.

"Then there are two outcomes: either I overcome him or I die."

Fiddler chuckled.

"The truth is," continued Cord, "in all of my work for the police, I have only been attacked once, and I neutralized the man in five seconds."

"I believe that. I remember how you fought at the Wolfpack. That was the first time I saw anyone wielding both hands to get the desired effect. You're ambidextrous, aren't you?"

"Yeah. From birth."

"Wow. That's great!"

"And then some! But I try not to get fired up, and in life, I only act with my right hand. I stop limiting myself, however, in fights, especially when they hit from all sides."

Cord stopped suddenly.

"By the way. Where are our friends?"

"What?"

"Look around."

There was complete quiet, not a single skier on the horizon.

"Maybe around the corner?" suggested Fiddler.

"I don't know. Okay, let's go ahead. Eventually, we will return to the base, anyway."

The ski trail meandered between the trees, sometimes opening onto a view of the river, sometimes leading into the depths of the forest. The friends were nowhere to be seen.

Cord and Fiddler had already begun to ski out into the open when they suddenly heard a sharp girlish cry:

"Attack!"

And snowballs flew at them. The first ones missed, but one landed right in the center of the skis Cord was standing on.

"An ambush!" he exclaimed.

Cord crouched down, detaching his feet from the skis, and Fiddler briskly rolled forward, opening the full view to him.

"Fiddler, damn it!" and then the first snowball, released by Sky, hit its target.

"Got him!" the girl screamed, laughing, and clapped her hands when a counter-attack snowball flew into her chest.

"Cord, I avenged you!" Fiddler announced with satisfaction, hiding behind skis stuck in a criss-cross pattern in a snowdrift.

"Oh, you jerks, you hit a girl!" Dia protested cheerfully.

Cord, freed from the skis, threw a snowball at her. She yelped and ducked.

"Mort, prepare your artillery!" she commanded.

And then Cord noticed the friends had not been sitting idle. They already had several piles of ammunition ready, but the biggest one, with really giant snowballs, was in front of a smiling Mort.

"Run, Cord, ruuuuun!" he yelled and threw the first snowball right at Cord's head.

Cord jumped back and rushed to the nearest cedar, hoping to find cover behind it. Mort and Dia continued to shower him with snowballs, Sky and Peace focused on Fiddler, who was also trying to retreat.

Cord hid behind the trunk and pulled off his gloves, hoping that this way he could mold "shells" faster. Another mortar-sized snowball landed nearby, forming a crater twenty centimeters in diameter. Wow!

Cord tossed two more snowballs, aiming alternately at Dia and Mort. And then the latter threw an especially giant shell and hit the trunk of a pine tree. Cord sighed with relief and theeen… he barely had time to cover his head from a snowdrift falling on him from above.

"Mort, we did it!" Dia joyfully jumped about.

Okay, little girl, you'll be finished!

The snow hit Cord near his collar, and the chill gave him a boost of vivacity. With a wild smile, he jumped out from behind the cedar, with snowballs in both hands.

"Oh damn! We really pissed him off!"

Mort, like a bull, rushed at him with a roar. Right before colliding, Cord took a step to the side, deftly put his foot out in front of his friend, and hurled a snowball at the back of his head. The roar gave way to a surprised cry, and Mort flew head over heels into a snowdrift.

Dia's eyes filled with playful fear.

"Heeeeelp! Save me!"

She threw a snowball at Cord's stomach, and it hit its target. Cord just smiled.

"Learn your lesson!" and threw the remaining snowball.

For a moment, everything seemed to freeze. The snow slowly slipped from Dia's flushed face. She brushed the rest off with her palm and shook her head.

"Well, Cord. Prepare to die!"

And, rushed to, she fell down with him into a snowdrift.

***

After the battle was over, the friends, having fun, laughing and reliving the brightest moments of the fight, set off on their route, all together now. They had plenty of time for fun and nonsense.

They returned to the cottage and started heating up the bathhouse with birch logs. The smell was excellent! While the men were doing the bathhouse, the girls ordered drinks—mead4 for the men and kvass5 for Dia and Sky. As an appetizer, a beetroot salad with garlic, pickled cabbage, two types of jellied meat, and salo6.

With everything going on, they did not notice that they had heated the bathhouse to a sweltering eighty degrees Celsius. Therefore, the first to go into the steam room were the men who, except Mort, ran out of there five minutes later. Mort, laughing, continued to beat himself with birch brooms and added water to make even more steam.

After another two visits by the guys, when the bathhouse's temperature had dropped to fifty degrees, the girls went in. They sat for about twenty minutes, ceremoniously and nobly talking about all sorts of different things.

After finishing all the bathhouse procedures, the friends scattered to their rooms to relax before dinner, which was only an hour away.

4

He watched them from afar, frolicking on the rink, then they went skiing and disappeared for almost three hours. He had not gone after them: it was important that he not catch their eye. Later, when the company returned to the house, he allowed himself a break from surveillance in the hut he had rented. Still, from time to time, he went out onto the porch and watched the activity in the cottage across from him.

They didn't notice him. That was good. He didn't need witnesses. He needed to find a secluded place. And then he would talk to him.

5

It turned out that the dinner was not held in the cafeteria where they had ordered lunch, but in the Tranquil Village restaurant, which was located a little further from the center of the resort. Therefore, the friends needed to walk longer than they had planned, and after the bath, they felt too lazy to do so. But Dia insisted, and since it was her birthday, no one protested.

Dinner was elegant. Among the long list of dishes were porcini mushroom soup, coulibiac7, and many other things. The portions (except for the two-kilogram coulibiac) were small so that the guests had enough space to try all dishes. The friends were also offered a wine list, and everyone except Dia, who was pregnant, and Sky (they drank freshly squeezed pomegranate juice), ordered wine to their liking. Everyone was surprised by Mort: it turned out that the big fellow preferred sweet wines, while the rest considered them disgusting.

"You don't understand anything," Mort snorted contentedly. "Deliciousness!"

Cord, who had been trying all day to understand what historical period the recreation center had followed, now stopped thinking about it. He ate delicious food, talked with friends, and mentally prepared himself for the end of the evening.

He did not notice the surveillance.

***

An hour passed, another went by, and the friends were already slightly drunk. Even the girls were tuned in and stayed on the same wavelength as everyone, although they did not drink. The men had already emptied three bottles of wine, and Cord felt it was time to empty something else. Leaving the company sitting and laughing, he found out from the waiter where the toilet was and went there.

A minute later, completely unnoticed by anyone, a tall blond man followed him.

***

Having finished his business, Cord left the booth, and his gaze rested on the barrel of a pistol.

"Wow… Hi, Fam."

His former buddy was standing two meters from him—far enough to have time to shoot before Cord shortened the distance and close enough to not miss. Intoxication suddenly evaporated.

"Hello, Cord. I think it's time for us to finish this."

Familiar looked menacing: an underhanded look, a familiar pistol in his right hand, the left in the pocket of his sheepskin coat. Another surprise? Cord wouldn't have been surprised by a jab from a knife. Perhaps Familiar had guessed that Cord might try to attack him at close range and had taken countermeasures. Or maybe Fam just had two crossed fingers in his pocket.

"You caught me at the wrong time. You see, it's the weekend, so I didn't take the handcuffs with me."

Familiar snorted.

"Seriously? Are you kidding even now?"

"Why am I kidding? You won't shoot me."

"Where do you get that idea?"

"Why would you?"

"So that you stop chasing me."

"To spite mother, would you freeze off your ears?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Familiar grimaced.

"Think about it yourself. You came to threaten me to not jail you, but if you kill me in front of witnesses, you will be jailed for life. A strange decision."

"And where are the witnesses?"

"Behind the only door that leads out of here. And the pistol will bang so loudly that it will be impossible to shrug off."

Familiar's look changed. It seems that he understood what the fundamental flaw in his plan was, but it was too early to relax.

"Besides, I'm not even interested in you. Didn't I tell you I could have put you in jail at any moment?"

Cord moved forward.

"Stop!"

"I need to wash my hands." The investigator calmly walked over to the sink and turned on the water. "The truth is, Familiar, you have just effectively checkmated yourself. If I arrest you right now, you will go to prison not only for your two murders but also for the others. Even if you didn't do them. And if you shoot me, the murder of a police officer will also be added to your charges, so life in prison cannot be avoided, and your daddy won't be able to help."

Cord stared out of the corner of his eye at Familiar's reflection in the mirror. The hand in which the pistol was gripped was trembling noticeably.

Suddenly Mort staggered into the toilet.

"Cord, where are you?" and stopped short.

The picture that opened up in front of him was stunning: an absolutely calm Cord washing his hands and an unfamiliar man pointing a pistol at the back of his head.

"Oh, we have a little misunderstanding here," friend replied. "The dude behind me, because of whom the story with the Villain began, thinks he can get rid of me but, in fact, can not. And you are a witness to that. By the way, is there something to wipe my hands with?"

The question vanished into thin air. But Cord noticed a roll of paper towels nearby. Dabbing his hands with them and throwing them into the garbage can under the sink, he turned to Familiar.

"Therefore, Fam, the essence of the situation is: if you shoot now, you are totally fucked. However, if you put down your pistol and quietly just leave, everything will end well. Get your affairs in order and hit the road to some tropical island for a year or two. Then the story with the Villain will quiet down, and you can return. I promise I won't go after you, and you know what my word is worth."

Cord turned to Mort.

"By the way, if you came to take a pee, the booths are free."

"Will you be all right?" the big fellow asked seriously.

"Familiar?"

The son of the head of the Central Police Department—an inadvertent killer and barely restrained neurotic—lowered the gun.

Mort nodded and entered the booth.

"But keep in mind, Fam. The Villain's case will be closed, so all possible information about you will be saved there, including your little trick today. You have about a month, and if after that if you are still in the city, well… Don't blame me."

"And my father?" Familiar croaked, barely audible.

"What's with him?"

"You said—"

"He's a good man, Fam, and a great boss. As if I have nothing better to do than turn him in? If, of course, you leave the city. If not, well... In short, his fate depends on your decision."

Familiar nodded. It was difficult to describe how he felt at that moment. He was overwhelmed with fear—but there was a relief. He reproached himself for his own stupidity—and he was thanking Cord. He hated him—but realized that the investigator was just doing his job.

I need to think. Perhaps I have a chance.

There was the sound of the cistern being flushed, and Mort stepped out of the booth. He looked at the men silently looking at each other and went over to wash his hands.

"Okay, Familiar, we have to go. Good luck to you."

And the friends went out, leaving the devastated man standing alone in the middle of the toilet.

***

Cord walked back to the table with Mort, thoughts rushing through his head. No matter how he tried to distract himself from work, it still found him. And now, for the first time, it had brought him into immediate danger. Yes, he had acted with professional cool, but inside him, there was still a shiver: if Familiar had fired, everything would have been over. His entire newfound happy life would have turned to dust, and for the first time, he realized how much he really had to lose.

He found the strength not to show it. And now, approaching the table with Mort, he would still do what he had planned and put a bright point on the end of the day.

"Where did you go?" Dia pounced on them playfully.

"Oh, nothing," Cord said evasively. "Men's issues."

"And what issues do men resolve in the toilet?"

"We measure our members!" Cord joked, although it was not funny.

"And which of you has more?" a spark of mischief flashed in Dia's eyes.

"I think she ought to know," Mort said to Cord.

"Listen, I can't say anything, you know? This is a complicated question."

"But if you say nothing, it will be worse!"

"Well, I doubt it would probably be any worse…"

"It will be!" Dia threatened.

"Damn, you know, that is not something that's easy to say all at once…"

"Listen," Dia whispered to Sky in her ear. "Is it really that important? Well… this question?"

"For many men, very much so," the girl smiled slyly.

"I wouldn't delay this," Mort shrugged, "in your position."

Cord puffed out his cheeks and exhaled slowly.

"Okay." He stuck his hand into the pocket of his jeans. "You're right, Mort. But… Dia," he turned, and she was already at attention. "As I said, this is a complicated question and… damn it…" Cord smiled nervously and put a scarlet velvet box in front of the girl. "Will you marry me?"