Zlata slept in a deep sleep for twenty hours. Only by the evening of the next day, the charm of Morpheus gave way to another stronger feeling, which put the Armenian woman on her feet and carried the hurricane wind to the kitchen. The naked pupa devoured the food with terrible speed. I was afraid that she would be devoured, and she would begin to feel sick. We agreed not to be zealous for the first time, to eat again at night if there is a desire.

The desire arose, and I again made sure that she did not glut. If for the first time Zlata alone mastered a huge pan of fried potatoes, which I counted on for three days, one ate scrambled eggs from five eggs, ten sausages I had previously boiled in a saucepan, then at night this miniature beast took bread and milk and jam. I was afraid that an unknown ailment caused a complete lack of measure in her body. Zlata sharpened in a terrible way, scaring me with a mechanical chewing of everything edible. By five in the morning she finally calmed down and fell asleep.

Monday came. I had to go to work. I left a note on the kitchen table in the hope that Zlata would find her there when she woke up. After what happened, I had little idea about the duties of the Klyuchnik.

“In any case,” I thought, as I was leaving the porch, “it’s time to call the old impotent Muller and ask how he’s doing.”

I still did not know what caused the terrible disease that had afflicted Zlata, but I already knew that girls were afraid of insanity leading to death, and therefore they hit the locks on the vaginas. Klyuchnik's ring all this time remained on my penis, giving confidence. Something told me that it is in him that the secret of the miraculous healing of an Armenian lies.

“Anyway, but she felt better,” I recalled last night.

Zlata did not scream, did not masturbate and did not rush at me, like an abnormal one.

I got to the corner of the house, and then came face to face with two representatives of the valiant police.

- Dmitry Nikolaevich? - they immediately recognized me. - Come on, please, - one of them took me by the elbow.

Fooling around, shag cops grandmother was not possible. I lived in a rented apartment and I never held a subpoena in my hands, disowned her by phone as I could when my mother called.

“Carefully tear it into a thousand pieces and throw it into the garbage chute,” I taught her. - And if the district police officer comes, tell me that he went to Russia to work, say that he got married, that he is well there and that he is waiting for Russian citizenship. And if a war comes, he will still fight for ours, so let him not be worried about his fate at the military registration office and sleep peacefully. Homeland on the castle.

Locked...

And here the valiant guards lead me to a police UAZ, put me in the back seat, offer to “go to the station” to “ask a couple of questions”. I have no objections, of course. I am glad to try and help in the investigation of a serious offense.

We arrive at a solid old building in the Chelyuskintsev area, at the entrance of the sentry, in the parking lot of official vehicles with signs of power: beacons, symbols, tinted glass. I am being led along the path of least resistance, I only have time to grab the sign above the entrance: “General Directorate for Drug Control and Counteracting Human Trafficking”. We rise to the second floor, around people in police uniform, fussing, darting around the offices.We pass to the far end of the corridor, open the tall iron door, black, with a gilded sign: "Head of the Main Department Khomich Viktor Vladimirovich." The convoy stuffs me into the waiting room and shuts the door behind me.

A cop girl in a uniform standing by the cabinet turns for a second:

- Dmitry Nikolaevich? Please sit down.

Her order, expressed in a deep chest voice, does not tolerate delay. I fall into a chair near the wall, chew on the remnants of semantic reactions to what is happening.

“Eco brought me in,” I restrain a heavy sigh, so as not to attract the attention of the hostess of the dressing room, who meanwhile has climbed into the bottommost drawer.

This is yesterday's graduate of the Academy of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, and maybe just a student undergoing practical training. In any case, a young goat drew a blue shirt with epaulets, a dark blue tie, a short skirt of the same dense as school uniform material, colorless shiny tights, black suede ankle boots, put all this stuff on display, bent over in three deaths near the closet . She has a gorgeous pear-shaped ass, cheap cow thighs on thin goat hooves.

- Not tired of staring? - the goat straightens up, angrily looks at me. Severe childish face, flushed, radiates hatred, arrogant Cop eyes look for no mercy, suppresses all sentimental in a person. She could work in a slaughterhouse.

Blue-eyed fury with a cap of light brown hair, pulled at the back of the head, throws sparks from his eyes. Graciously, like a faun, steps to the table, sits down, changing the angle of view. I would be happy to fall under the table. Only at the table she is, and I - on the contrary. The table is also without a front wall, through. The boss apparently decided to have some fun.

- What are you not looking? - Fury spreads the legs under the table. “Look,” she orders, and I can't disobey. I stare like a fool in her crotch. There are ordinary white panties.

- All looked? - it is as cold as an iceberg. Severe and ruthless.

“Yes,” I mumble in response, leading my eyes to the side, shyly covering them with my hand.

It is difficult to call what happened, an act of intimate revelation. Rather, it was an act of visual rape.

- Maybe you're a pervert? - a girl in uniform hisses, spewing hate. Her cold icy gaze paralyzes the will. - It seems like an idiot. Not a drug addict, she spreads her legs under the table again. - Obviously not a drug addict.

The call of a landline phone on the table interrupts the reasoning of anxious bitch.

After hearing brief instructions, she hangs up, nods toward me at the door, smiling maliciously:

- Go. There you will right now put in the most tomatoes, - bitch relishes every word. Especially the "most."

In the office Khomich creative mess. The Polkan himself is a real wolfhound, a natural bloodhound. The look knocks recognition without words. Sharp whiskers, sharp icy eyes, a sharp, shapeless nose — all this on a plump hara with a double chin and bags under the eyes. A healthy boar with combed black pile feeds me with a strange uncomfortable look.

“Sit down,” in a hoarse voice, he announces the beginning of interrogation with predilection.

He is wearing a uniform: a school suit made of thick, like cardboard, matter, sea-colored, a blue shirt, a black tie. Diamond-shaped badge, shoulder straps, shiny iron buttons - that's all men's jewelry. Women of balzakovsk age are dragged from such polkanov. In appearance he is no more than forty.

Observing minimal propriety, the wolfhound proceeds to the job:

- Where were you on Saturday, May 16, from 19 to 24 hours?

“At home,” I blurted out. A picture pops up before my eyes, where I stick in a ceramic tank, hanging eggs in a white bowl.

He does not believe a single word:

- Do you know that you bear criminal responsibility for giving knowingly false testimony?

I fall into a stupor. I would not know that. But this is not important. Polkan conducts reconnaissance by force, without marking my status. Who I am for him - a witness or a suspect - is not yet clear. To open up, to start giving frank confessions, I am not ready.After taking the Klyuchnik oath, I unwittingly became a slave owner. And this is an article. Try to prove later that the key on the neck, which unlocks at least four vaginas, does not express my personal attitude to the matter.

“Yes, we know,” I swallow nervously, realizing that I am confused.

Khomich stretches into a smart-eyed smirk. Now lay out the last trump card:

- Received a signal that you took part in a secret ritual associated with human trafficking ....