Vladimir Sorokin - Ice Trilogy (New York Review Books Classics)

23:42, Moscow Suburbs, Mytishchi, 4 Silikatnaya Street, building 2

The new warehouse of Mosregionteletrust.

A dark blue Lincoln Navigator drove into the building. Stopped. The headlights illuminated: a concrete floor, brick walls, boxes of transformers, reels of underground cable, a diesel compressor, sacks of cement, a barrel of tar, broken wheelbarrows, three milk cartons, a scrap heap, cigarette butts, a dead rat, and two piles of dried excrement.

Gorbovets leaned on the gates. Pulled. The steel sections aligned. Clanged. He slid the bolt shut. Spat. Walked to the car.

Uranov and Rutman climbed out of the car. Opened the trunk. Two men in handcuffs lay on the floor of the SUV, mouths taped.

Gorbovets came over.

The light turns on somewhere here. Uranov caught the string.

Cant you see? Rutman pulled on a pair of gloves.

Not too well. Uranov squinted.

The main thing is we hear it! Gorbovets smiled.

The acoustics are good here. Tired, Uranov wiped his face. Come on.

They dragged the captives out of the car. Moved them over to two steel columns. Tied them tight with rope. Took up positions around them. Silently stared at the bound men.

Five people were visible in the headlights. All of them were blond and had blue eyes.

Uranov: 30 years old, tall, narrow shoulders, a thin intelligent face, a beige raincoat.

Rutman: 21, medium height, skinny, flat-chested, lithe, a pale unremarkable face, a dark blue jacket, black leather pants.

Gorbovets: 54, bearded, not very tall, stocky, sinewy peasant hands, barrel-chested, crude features, a dark yellow sheepskin coat.

The bound captives:

1st: around 50, stout, ruddy, well-groomed, wearing an expensive suit;

2nd: young, puny, hook-nosed and pimply, black jeans and a leather jacket.

Their mouths were taped with semitransparent packing tape.

Lets start with this one. Uranov nodded toward the heavy guy.

Rutman took an oblong metal case out of the car. She placed it on the cement floor in front of Uranov and opened the metal locks. The case turned out to be a mini refrigerator.

Ice hammers, two of them, placed head to tail, lay inside: long, rough wooden shafts, attached to cylindrical ice heads with strips of rawhide. Frost covered the shafts.

Uranov put on gloves. He picked up a hammer. He stepped toward one of the bound men. Gorbovets unbuttoned the fat mans jacket. He removed his tie and yanked his shirt. The buttons popped and scattered, exposing a plump white chest with small nipples and a gold cross on a chain. Gorbovetss coarse fingers grabbed the cross and jerked. The fat man gave a low moan. He began to make signs with his eyes. Rolled his head back and forth.

Respond! Uranov cried aloud.

He swung the hammer back and hit him in the middle of the chest.

The fat man moaned louder.

The three stood still and listened.

Respond! Uranov commanded again after a pause. And again he hit him hard.

The fat mans insides growled. The three froze and listened.

Respond! Uranov hit him again, harder.

The man moaned and wailed inside. His body shook. Three round bruises appeared on his chest.

Lemme whack the fucker. Gorbovets took the hammer. He spit on his hands. Swung it back.

Respond! The hammer crashed into the chest with a juicy thud. Splinters of ice scattered.

And again the three stood stock-still. They listened. The fat man moaned and shuddered. His face grew pale. His chest began to sweat and turned purple.

Orsa? Orus? Rutman touched her lips uncertainly.

Thats his guts grumbling. Gorbovets shook his head.

Lower, lower down. Uranov nodded in agreement. Hes empty.

Speak! Gorbovets roared and hit him. The mans body jerked. It hung feebly from the ropes.

The three moved very close. Turned their ears to the purple chest. Listened carefully.

Guts growlin... Gorbovets exhaled sadly. He swung back.

Reee-spooond! Reee-spond! Reee-spoond!

Bang. Bang. Chips of ice flew out from the hammer. Bones cracked. Blood began dripping from the fat mans nose.