late at night, falling asleep, Dobronravov decided that he could use Matilda in his company 'Volga-Stroy Invest' and could invite her to the position of the general director, not lower, but it is necessary to limit its functions and duties. "Moreover, there is an executive director who will sign all the necessary documents, including those that Matilda will not have to see," the servant of the people thought, falling asleep with thoughts of his people.
Sledgehammer.
Sledgehammer was furious. One beginner merchant refused to pay tribute.
"Lame," Sledgehammer asked, "and did you politely explain to the huckster, who is the boss in Zavolzhsky district? And tell me, how did he knock you out with one blow?"
"He is rabid," answered Lame, "it is impossible to talk with him. He must be just beaten."
"Indeed? You've already beaten him, I see," Sledgehammer smirked, "and what's the name of store?"
"Everything for fishing and hunting," Lame replied.
Sledgehammer pulled a new Glock 17 out of his pocket, took out the store and stared stupidly at the cartridges.
"Call out Fix," said Sledgehammer, "I do not want to kill anyone, we'll go parrot the boy."
At the same time, Sledgehammer returned the magazine to the clip and hid the gun in the inside pocket of the jacket.
After half an hour a tinted jeep with three daredevils rolled along the embankment of the Volga River, making a couple of turns, and stopped sharply near the new store "Everything for fishing and hunting". At the entrance to the store the group stopped – Sledgehammer was interested in a sign near the door.
"Literacy for that is – to read signboard very ease," said Sledgehammer, quoting the Russian poet Mayakovsky. Behind his shoulders were the full 10 classes of Soviet high school. "Entrepreneur Khlipko O.V." read aloud Sledgehammer.
"Well, let's go and see what this Khlipko is like," said Sledgehammer with a smirk, and, feeling a surge of energy, went with the comrades inside the store.
"Just don't fire unnecessarily, you have the iron fist, ram him between his horns once," Lame said, trying to not show out the fright.
"Not pee in pants, Lame, we'll just talk. And you, Fix, don’t touch the gun," Sledgehammer turned to his second comrade, "if need be I'll pull out."
Entering the store, Fix silently looked around, spit out the chewing gum on the floor and said, "Where is this flimsy guy?"
Then, seeing the one old visitor of the store, Fix said, "hey, Antiques, the store closed for tax audit, get out."
"Fix, you didn't have been learned the politeness to talking with old men?" Sledgehammer said indignantly. Then he went up to old man, patted him on the shoulder and said, "Excuse him, sir, this dude is crazy. Do you want to buy something for fishing?"
"No, I just went to look, a light expensive here," said old man and slowly went out.
There were posters, fishing tackles on the walls, tents, sleeping bags, inflatable boats and various utensils on the shelves, hand-made hunting knives was lying under glass showcase. It was knives with multilayered steel with embossed leather covers to them. Sledgehammer was examining the knives and only now noticed the little dude about thirty-five years old, coming out of the cabinet. This was an entrepreneur Oleg Khlipko.
"Hello," said Oleg Viktorovich, "how can I help you?"
Oleg and Sledgehammer's views met. Sledgehammer, as an experienced boxer, instantly appreciated the opponent.
"He is sinewy and swift," thought Sledgehammer, "the second average weight, the protruding joints of his fists identified him as a fist fighter. No wondered he knocked out the Lame with one blow."
However, feeling his superiority in weight, growth and the number of battles conducted in the ring and street, Sledgehammer did not confuse the calm and confident eye look of the store's owner.
"Are you asking how to help? By money," Sledgehammer answered cheerfully, and he and his companions began to laugh loudly.
"Are you from the Bank?" Oleg Viktorovich asked.
"From the bank ‘Sledgehammer’," said Lame and everyone giggle again.
Oleg looked at Lame and recognized in him today's visitor, which had tried to extort the money. "It's good that them is not from the Bank," Oleg thought, and this calmed him even more.
"Good humor," Oleg said, not hiding his joy, "but what concretely did you want?"
"For short," Sledgehammer began his speech, "you will give me money every month for our man. Just if you want your business work and make a profit. You'll pay to us, we provide your safety. If you pay regularly, you will not have the visitors from epidemiological service, firemen, cops or other bastards. How much will you pay – we'll now determine," looking at the goods, finished his speech Sledgehammer.
Fix took out his pistol, smashed the glass showcase with a handle, and took the knife he liked in an embossed leather cover. "A good knife, thank you, bastard," said Fix, and smile.
"It's not funny anymore. It's sad," said Oleg Viktorovich to Sledgehammer and continued, "you will no need money, the Ambulance will come for free."
"Dude, you probably don't understand who you're talking to," said Sledgehammer and approached Oleg at arm's length. Sledgehammer was half a head taller and once again felt his superiority.
"Well, Sledgehammer, why do you talking to him? Hit him between his eyes," Lame intervened in the conversation, standing three meters to the right of Sledgehammer.
"Lame, did I let you to speak?" slightly turning the body to the right asked Sledgehammer. And instantly from this position, he made a blow his Crown Knocking Hook on the right. But before Sledgehammer's fist reached its goal, as at this very moment, Sledgehammer felt a sharp pain in the left temporal bone below the temple. How Sledgehammer was falling, he could not remember. Sledgehammer usually was able to withstand the blows, but now he came to his senses only in a minute. Slowly rising, Sledgehammer found the enemy by his eyes, but did not hurry to move towards him. As if from afar he could hear the screams and curses of Fix. And Fix at the same time held the pistol on his outstretched hand in the direction of the Oleg. Oleg was completely calm, and this made Fix even more nervous. Then Oleg began to slowly raise his hands to the top to the level of his shoulders and slowly approach Fix. "And where were they only taught to hold the pistol on his outstretched hand?" thought Oleg, moving closer to Fix and depicting his own defeat.
"Probably he taught from movies, Hollywood," thought Oleg and spoke loudly and calmly, "you won, you're a tough guy!"
The gun rested against Oleg's forehead. In such situations, Oleg were more than once, and not only in training, but also in real combat operations, while serving in hot spots and in the intelligence battalion. "You won, you're a tough guy," once again heard Fix, and at that very moment, there was a lot of pain in the brush area, and also suddenly his own gun pointed at his left eye appeared in the face. Fix looked at the muzzle of the gun and realized the futility of his life, which would take several grams of lead. Fix knew perfectly well what a shot head looked like, and with horror presented his own head with an inlet and an exit aperture of a bullet.
"When my brains will fly apart, where will I be?" thought Fix. He began to retreat to the door and tried to say something like "do not shoot," but he could not find the words. Then Oleg unnoticeably
