Wednesday, September 10, 2014

DON'T KILL

This book has been writing during 8,5 years since 2006. This work is a weak attempt to reduce the gap between cruel reality and eternal heavenly imperative every person has.
Types of many characters have been created due to rich material which had been got due to professional author’s work at international exhibitions all over the world.
Boris Gorowoi
translated by Daria Ilyina
DON’T KILL
Cold may rain, has been washing Vienna the whole night and stopped just early in the morning.
Gerhard Brenner was carrying a small suitcase on wheels and was holding a voluminous suitcase in his hands.
- Guten morgen.
The old chartered driver opened the boot, put there the suitcase and wanted to put there a coffer.
- No, thank you.
Gerhard, having put the suitcase on his thin knees, sat next to the driver.
A dark universal Volkswagen was driving slowly along one-sided streets of old Vienna, by Hofburg palace, along the third ring road and set out sprightly to the airport Vienna Schwechat. Gerhard Brenner, a thirty-nine years old producer, had major business. He was a bachelor and he listened just to his mother. Gerhard’s mother, Evelin Augusta von Trapp, a fifty-seven years old woman in the full bloom of her years with especial rare beauty, she inherited fifty million dollars from her late husband when the only heir was two years old. Mother, for all her life, has been enlarging their capital by all means and she has done it with inflation glance over and over again.
They are both united by all-absorbing cupidity and correct borders if they had existed they would have crossed them. Several times, Gerhard asked his mother about his father and about his death and also about that capital but his mother was keeping silent or was making a joke in reply and he has ceased understanding this topic since that.
The passenger was keeping silent till the airport and just at the end of the trip he said:
- Danke.
Gerhard got the waiting room, put straight his grey crumpled chequered jacket and sat not far from the bar gleaming with his thick glasses. The waiting room has been gradually filling with people. He didn’t notice that there were two people supervising him independently of each other.
One of them had big hands, a neck and a head, although he wasn’t tall, he was swarthy, he had predatory nose, dark sloppy eyebrows and unpleasant contours of the bottom part of his face. There was constant tension in his eyes. He was Turk but was born in Germany not far from W├╝rzburg. He served as a private soldier when BND special services noticed him. His name was Durmus Ekidge but he has often been called Turk.
Another tall one had puffy face, carrying horn-rimmed spectacles, was a nice opened man, he more resembled a worker of a big computer company than one of the best Mossad contract murderers who worked under cover as a butcher and who had a special number and account. His name was Ari Pick, also known as Hasia-Butcher.
Both representatives of that amazing hard job didn’t exchanged civilities due to their job but fixed each other moreover Hasia-Butcher understood that this meet with the Turk at the airport wasn’t casual. With animal intuition he got that there would be interesting.
The number of the flight BA 699\ CX 252 British - Hong Kong, company Cathay Pacific at 7:40 AM on the 19 of May 2015 from Vienna to Hong Kong with changing of plane at Heathrow shown up on the table.
*