Paparazzi. Novel

Vitaly Novikov

His job was to hurt to the celebrities. He’s a paparazzo. This is a business and nothing personal. He just lives and survives in the big city. One day he will meet her and…

Paparazzi

Novel

Vitaly Novikov

© Vitaly Novikov, 2017

ISBNВ 978-5-4485-3559-8

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

Oleg flounced into aВ prison cell, like aВ scared, confused rat caught inВ aВ cage rat trap. After standing for aВ few seconds at the small barred window, looking into aВ grey blur ofВ the sky, he rushed toВ the door, which finally went toВ his bunk. AВ little after sitting on the hard prison beds, he got up and again rushed into the prison cell. His concern was not transmitted toВ the second prisoner, an older man with dried-up brown face inВ aВ red plaid shirt and old black sweatpants. The old man sat on his bunk, hands folded on his knees and thought about something else. He was so deadpan, and his gaze was so complacent, what looking at it, one would think that his thoughts are extremely bright and good. Oleg walked over toВ the gray cold wall, and fixed his forehead toВ it.

“God,” he said quietly.

“Do you believe in God?” The old man asked.

Oleg turned toВ the old man. His face contorted unpleasant grimace.

“What? God? What the hell?”

“Sorry, I thought you were praying.”

“Me? No. It flew by itself mechanically.”

“You feel bad and you can’t pull yourself together.”

“Yes. Bad. How, maybe, okay here in prison? In this cell? As you can be and to live out freedom? I don’t know. For me it’s certain death. I wonder how you manage to keep cool.”

The old man laughed.

“I do not feel, that I have lost freedom. I just lost some freedom of movement. I was a free man, and I’m a free man. And you, as was, apparently, not free, and remain in this state. And what now to worry and torment yourself? Nothing has changed.”

Oleg did not know what to say to the old man. Of course, he’s wrong. He doesn’t know what freedom is? He, who lived as they wanted, independently, and very interesting, he thought. The old man wouldn’t understand, so it’s better not to tell him not to explain. Oleg lay down on the lounger on his back, hands clasped under his neck. You should try to calm down. He is not yet convicted.

Alena had open gray-green eyes. Sometimes Oleg thought she was too naive. Is she involved inВ everything what it is happened toВ them? He chased that nasty black thought, but it from time toВ time came again toВ his mind.

She was detained together with him on the eve ofВ the early morning. They were returning from aВ club inВ the car ofВ taxi. AВ taxi was stopped byВ patrol ofВ police. Police were asked toВ leave them out ofВ the car. They went out. On the back seat aВ fat COP found the bag with the drug.

“Is this yours?” He asked to Oleg and Alena.

Whitened Oleg negatively shook his head.

“No,” scared Alena mumbled.

“It’s not mine, exactly,” driver-a Caucasian denied belonging bag him, actively gesticulating hands.

“Maybe, it was forgot somebody of the other passengers,” Oleg suggested.

“We will find out,” another big police captain said.

They were taken toВ the police station, were taken blood for tests.

Oleg and Alena were snorting cocaine inВ the club. Alena had inured Oleg toВ cocaine. She knew where toВ get this white evil.

After aВ short interrogation, Oleg turned toВ the camera. The cell was small with two bunks, set against each other. It was aВ good cell. InВ other cells, prisoners had toВ sleep inВ shifts, sharing aВ single bunk forВ two.

The physical condition ofВ Oleg was normal. Breaking started inВ the morning. Then was aВ headache. Oleg suffered from bad thoughts. He was sure that it is himВ end.

Oleg lay on the bunk and thought about his situation. What will they have presented toВ him? He poorly remembered the questioning ofВ inspector. He remembered only the snatches ofВ conversation with the policemen and first Lieutenant inspector aВ cute brown-haired woman.