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Egor was a patient and kind man, he allowed poor families to train for free, and some children, whom he caught stealing, forcibly brought to school for training. He forced the children to "work out" the crime, one of such loyal and devoted students was a Gypsy. The coach caught the fifteen-year-old kid stealing at the central market, where he sold grown vegetables in the summer season. The kid stole a man's wallet, and he was literally kicked to death if it wasn't for Egor.
– Guys, guys! Good. You'll kill the kid," he yelled, grabbing the unconscious body.
– This scum cut my wallet, let him die! – feeling the blood and excitement, the victim hissed.
– I'll answer for him. Now he's walking under me," Egor said, taking a club from behind the counter.
Looking at the size of the guarantor, the two insulted and humiliated spat on the bloody body and turned around and went.
Egor dragged the kid behind the counter and ran to the phone.
– Vovik, is your car on the move? Come to me, thank you, brother.
Together with his best friend Vladimir, whom he considered a brother, Egor dragged the guy's thin body into the car and drove home. Svetlana the wife was scared, but quickly got her bearings. The family knew that it was impossible to call an ambulance, the police would intervene, and nothing good could be expected from it. The guy was washed, the abrasions and bruises were bandaged, they gave him broth from the cheapest bones through a tube, they ate it themselves, and the body slowly transformed into a live wolf cub. Only his eyes were burning on his face, but it was clear that any movement gave him hell of a pain. Egor introduced him to his family, wife, mother, sons and a friend. The boy didn't speak well, but he listened attentively. Egor took him to his first training session a month later and realized that he had found a great student. The gypsy, so called the kid, did not know his first and last name, judging by the short stories, alcoholic parents threw him into the Tver orphanage from which he escaped. For a couple of years he lived with homeless people and stole what he had to. Egor taught him ma
And on this hot August evening Egor was returning home with heavy thoughts. The market does not bring anything, only ten people go to school, everyone has left for the holidays in the villages, what to pay for the rent of the hall, utilities and, most importantly, what to buy food for the whole family.
An open door on the second floor in a five-storey building did not bode well. Egor taught everyone to close the doors tightly, the first ordinary "dermantine", and the second wooden, heavy with an iron bolt. The bolted door was ajar. Yegor silently descended to the first floor and took a stick for knocking out mailboxes. Silently entering his apartment, he heard the sound of water and moans, slipping into the bathroom, Egor saw his own wife slurping water from the brimming bathroom, where she was dipped with her head, a vile ex-convict drug addict was standing behind her and viciously lifting her robe. Sveta on her bent legs, tried to push off with her hands from the bathroom, but it was her few seconds.
Egor hit his legs with a stick, the convict broke like an aspen. Before he could recover, the fighter hit the bald skull with a stick with such force that pieces of the brain flew across the peeling walls of the old bathroom. Wiping his wife 's face , he asked in a whisper:
– How much?
– Two, – Sveta sobbed, – Egor, the boys …
But Egor was already standing under the door to the bedroom, silently opening the door, he saw that the children were alive. The elder kissed bandit's hand in tears, the younger one peed and there was a huge puddle on the floor under him. Before the children could utter an exclamation of joy, Egor wrung the neck of the second. Instantly grabbed the home phone and said:
– Brother, trouble. Take the gypsy from our training hall.
Under the cover of night, three male figures loaded two bags of potatoes into the trunk of an old Vladimir's car.
They returned in the morning, tired, with burning eyes.
Neither Yegor, nor Volodya, nor the Gypsy, nor the family ever remembered this terrible August evening, as if it had never happened. Egor's mother slept under the influence of sleeping pills in a small room, and when she woke up in the morning, she asked Sveta and the children not to be sad, and that she would definitely recover.
In September, exactly a month later, Anatoly Podnebesny, the head bandit who was looking at Tver and the Tver region, was stabbed in his own market, where he was collecting tribute. The killer in the hood was buying apples from a merchant, and when Podnebesny with his retinue caught up with the counter, the killer allegedly accidentally scattered apples, distracting bulls (security guard) and sixes (servants) and plunged a sharpener right under the heart. The mafioso died instantly, but the killer did not see it, easily jumped over the counter, dived into the warehouse and disappeared through the back door. At the exit from the warehouse, they found gloves and a black, long hoodie with a hood.
On this day, the Gypsy lost a fight on the tatami to Egor when he saw that people who should be afraid entered the hall.
Egor knew one of them, the bandit Kolya of St. Petersburg was a supervisor of a large district in Moscow, and they met at competitions and trained together to pass for a black belt, the first dan.
He didn't know the other two, but he guessed that thieves in law were interested in him.
– Let's get acquainted, nice person. They say you've filled up a lot of Dirty stuff… and finished two of his sixes at home?
– Who's talking? Egor asked calmly.
– Our ears and eyes speak, the source is true. Here they wanted to ask you, did you teach your fighter or did you go to the market to cut a pig yourself? – he coughed, but he didn't take the cigarette out of his mouth, – You see, the damned consumption, I've already leaned back for a long time from the prison, but it's a bitch paw, it's eating me.
– Yes, okay, Gray-haired, you'll live another hundred years, – the third, the most terrible, hoarsely remarked. A short fifty-year-old man, in a beautiful crimson jacket, and in his hands a black leather raincoat. But the eyes. Those eyes burned with a black fire of hatred and malice, as if you were looking into the eyes of the devil himself.
And from the outside it seemed that five men were talking to each other, peacefully discussing the weather and their sores. But only a knowledgeable person understood that after talking with these three, there were blood stains on the walls, shell casings on the floor and heavy black garbage bags.