Real and Phantom Pains: An Anthology of New Russian Drama. John Freedman
Whaddyou mean rat?
BLACK GUY: It’s a child’s game. Anyone can see that.
POLICEMAN: Look, think what you want, but for the past two days, none of our boys were here.
BLACK GUY: Not even you?
POLICEMAN: Why the hell would I come here? We said we’re comin’ today –
BLACK GUY: But the family. You said –
POLICEMAN: Yeah, I think so. Someone took away the bodies, right? They’re going in the ground today.
BLACK GUY: Well, let’s go.
POLICEMAN: Are you fucking nuts?
BLACK GUY: What do you suggest? We hide here?
POLICEMAN: You’re a real lump of clay, aren’t ya? Full of shit.
BLACK GUY: Full of shit?
POLICEMAN: So you think...what? The two of us – whoop! – jump in the car and go. With no warrants, with nothing. We say, “Hey there, grieving family, you go on over to that funeral, hang out, mourn, and then go to a restaurant, we’re going to tear your house apart.” Look, it ain’t gonna happen.
BLACK GUY: Not even close.
POLICEMAN: What then? Break down a door? Call the fuckin’ cops? We should call the loony bin about you instead.
BLACK GUY: You’ll pressure them and they’ll talk.
POLICEMAN: Me? You’re nuts.
BLACK GUY: Who? Me? If I do it, it’s a crime!
POLICEMAN: Moron!
BLACK GUY: You have an idea?
POLICEMAN: Get the hell out of here! If it’s here – it’s here, if it’s not – it’s not! End of story!
BLACK GUY: For you! I have to tell Jamal about it! Then that’s the end of my motherfuckin’ story!
POLICEMAN: That’s not my problem.
BLACK GUY: Not your fucking problem? Let’s go get this family! Jamal gave me until this evening cause he thinks I took the shit!
POLICEMAN: Then you’re already dead.
BLACK GUY: Yeah! Tell me about this family.
POLICEMAN: Just some old woman. One of their mothers.
BLACK GUY: And you think she took it?
POLICEMAN: Fuck knows ‘bout retirees these days... could’ve been her. With the chump-change they get, you’d sell not just dust, but your own fucking guts. Then again, who’d need the organs after fifteen years of chasin’ dragons.
BLACK GUY: Let’s go to her place.
POLICEMAN: And what if it’s not her?
BLACK GUY: You give her a little heat and we’ll know.
POLICEMAN: You a whack job? If I go over there, all I can do is sit in the car and wait.
BLACK GUY: You won’t come in with me?
POLICEMAN: Fuck no. Where you from again, friend?
BLACK GUY: Somalia.
POLICEMAN: How could I forget? That may fly in Somalia, where cops and drug dealers tap grandma for horsey, but this is the real world. You go and do what you need to do. I’ll wait in the car.
BLACK GUY: Wasn’t there a boy?
POLICEMAN: Yeah.
BLACK GUY: What if he took it?
POLICEMAN: The kid? He’s a fucking zombie after all... this. Why’d he take it? Where would he take it? He’s just a kid. He wouldn’t even know what he had.
BLACK GUY: How old?
POLICEMAN: Somethin’ like ten.
BLACK GUY: Then he knows. Trust me.
GIRL (Signs to boy): “Why aren’t you at the funeral?”
BOY (Signs back): “I wanted to see you.”
(GIRL kisses BOY on cheek.)
POLICEMAN: Doesn’t matter, he’s with his grandma anyway, poor kid –
BLACK GUY: That’s it. Let’s go. What’s their address?
POLICEMAN: Seriously? You wanna go over there?
BLACK GUY: Just fucking imagine, for a moment, that your goddamn drug Czar knows about the package. Imagine that your drug czar told you to bring him this package. BRING IT TO HIM PERSONALLY, UNDERSTAND?!? Personally, or he’ll cut your balls off, your kids balls and your wife’s fucking balls, got it? And you’ve got two hours before you’re supposed to call him. You’d go!
POLICEMAN: Give me your piece, first. Huh? Fine, you got no code.
BLACK GUY: You should go, now that I’ve asked you to go!
POLICEMAN: What did you tell me over the phone? You told me: your guys were going to such and such apartment. I should take a package over. You get the package—I get a thousand bucks burning a hole in my pocket. Isn’t that what you told me?
BLACK GUY: It is.
POLICEMAN: So I came here. Nothing. You ask me to bring you here. I brought you.
BLACK GUY: After three damn days!
POLICEMAN: As soon as I could. The boy and his grandma were here yesterday. The day before, crime scene worked here all night. And now what are you asking? For me to go help you rough up a grandma?
BLACK GUY: We’ll just ask questions.
POLICEMAN: You won’t be questioning anyone, understand? I ain’t one of your dealers, got it? That’s narc squad business. As for your problem – I’ve got an idea. I’ll put you in jail.
(Pause.)
BLACK GUY: Fucking great.
POLICEMAN: Listen. If you’re in jail, Jamal can’t touch you. I get you a cell phone, you call your guys, friends, brothers, I don’t give a fuck. They go to grandma, rough her up, rape her, I don’t care. They bring you the dust, you split, go to Jamal, everyone is happy.
BLACK GUY: It must be here somewhere. Shit –
(BLACK GUY goes to the kitchen: the clattering of cans and boxes, slamming drawers, oven opening, microwave bell ringing.)
POLICEMAN (Smiling): Make a cup of tea why don’t ya!
BLACK GUY: You big-black-Jesus-H-Christ-on-a-cross-mother-fucker! (Curses in Arabic.) Neek Hallak! (And Swahili). Shar-mutha!
(BLACK GUY throws a plate at the wall. Two gunshots from the kitchen. A crash, cabinet doors slamming, a pan lid rolls through the door.
Silence.
Something pouring. Powder pouring.
GIRL cries helplessly. Whimpers. Sighs.)
GIRL: They’ll kill us.
(BOY tries to stop GIRL’s mouth with his hands. A quiet noise.
BLACK GUY glides from the kitchen, a lion, gun in hand pointing at the storage area.
POLICEMAN roars with laughter.)
BLACK GUY (Whispers): Shut up!
POLICEMAN: Fucking Rambo-in-Russia! Oh, shit, I’ll – (Laughs.)
(BLACK GUY hoists himself up to the storage area and cracks the door. Two handfuls of heroin hit him in the face. BLACK GUY lets go, crashes from the chair and hits the floor, sniffing from the powder. BLACK GUY shoots twice at the storage area from the floor and misses.
POLICEMAN