Independence Strict Regime: Prison.Uz Book Two

By Evgeni Dyakonov

Almost a year had gone since Serge was released. All that was left for him were memories of his former luxurious life and the thriving business of the Tashkent Rock Club and although he was still recognized on the streets by occasional, accidental rock n roll fans, he was in fact dragging out a meager beggarly existence. He made a living by doing odd jobs getting deeper and deeper into debt and there were times when he had to collect empty bottles and used papers and fought tramps over territories and raw materials. When he was ill, and this happened often and for a long time, his family starved having no money for bread.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781716610578

Book preview

Изображение выглядит как человек, мужчина, носит, костюм Автоматически созданное описание

My dear reader! You are holding the second book of the series Prison.uz, which tells about life in Uzbekistan, seemingly at large, but even so in an arrested country. Anyone who finds himself in this former Soviet republic feels as if he has made a trip to the era of the Gulag. The government of Uzbekistan has revived the Stalinist repression and uses the Gestapo torture, and all this happens with the tacit consent of all progressive humanity. The third book is being prepared for publication.

Best regards Evgeni L. Dyakonov

Part one

Arrested Uzbekistan

Plan is the law.

When such a time comes,

There will be no envy and lies.

It will come. I know for sure.

I will turn into gray dreams.

Almost a year had gone since Serge was released. All that was left for him were memories of his former luxurious life and the thriving business of the Tashkent Rock Club and although he was still recognized on the streets by occasional, accidental rock n roll fans, he was in fact dragging out a meager beggarly existence. He made a living by doing odd jobs getting deeper and deeper into debt and there were times when he had to collect empty bottles and used papers and fought tramps over territories and raw materials. When he was ill, and this happened often and for a long time, his family starved having no money for bread.

His luxury flat, car and other attributes of a successful businessman had been sold to bribe the cops, prosecutor, the chief doctor in the Chukursay jail-hospital and local officials. All he had left was a one-room apartment on the outskirts of Tashkent inherited from his grandmother. This apartment could also have been confiscated but Serge's wife had managed to hide his grandma’s will and conceal other papers. In his turn he managed to save a pair of trousers and an old, battered TV. And that was it!

Prison and the entire penitentiary system had not yet made anyone healthy and given that long before arrest, Serge had suffered a serious contusion and spinal injury now his anamnesis was added to a stomach ulcer, a nervous breakdown, broken teeth, and mangled fingers. He could not find a proper job because of his criminal record which in modern Uzbekistan had long become a real curse for the former prisoners-you could starve to death-they just did not care.

Finally, by persuading officials in the Uzbek Navo system (the former state concern Uzbek Concert) and doctored manipulations with documents he managed to get a low-paid job as a concert administrator where he had worked back in the 90's as a canvasser and ticket seller.

One summer evening Serge was coming home from work and while waiting for a bus on the Amir Timur stop, tired and hungry, he sat down at the café table so that he could see the bus arriving. The waitress immediately took the first position-

Serge asked for a bottle of mineral water. He did not have money for anything else.

There were but a few people around and the bus had not arrived when two guys came to his table.

-Vacant? - asked one of them.

-Take a seat - Serge slightly moved to the side.

The guys ordered kebab and 150 g of vodka each.

It is a true what people say - Needs must when the devil drives hot, sizzling lamb kebab can drive anyone crazy especially since our hero was living on tea and breadcrumbs for the past few weeks. It was a so called three-course diet when you eat on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. The best way to fight obesity and cellulite.

The guys were talking excitedly, chewing and drinking, and when they had received the bill and paid it, a police car appeared and the cops roughly pushed them inside the car and since Serge was sitting at the same table, they grabbed him too without asking who he was or where he came from. Excuses did not work the situation out.

Dear Reader, you may not know that in Uzbekistan in 1998, despite the complete elimination of detoxification centers, appearing in public places drunk was considered an administrative offence and was punishable by a fine or arrest for 15 days. In fact, the cops never missed an opportunity to turn your pockets inside-out, and moreover, the owners of cafes and bars informed the police telling their customers towards a mutual benefit. The big restaurants were supervised by the Tax Office, each table was wiretapped, and the data was passed to the Financial Intelligence Dept, where they found out how and what was stolen and why it was not shared. Average drunkards were left for the patrol cops. They forced the owners to inform on their customers, especially those who had large amounts of cash. Police always appeared out of nowhere when a drunk client was leaving the place. Moreover, you simply could not run a business in Uzbekistan without the patronage of local criminal groups, but this fact did not exempt the owners from cooperating with the cops. This was called prevention of violations. The waiters or Maitre’D’ at hotels, having made sure the client has the large sum in cash and is already in a state of drunkenness, informed their bosses who in his turn called the police and the sucker was taken forcibly out of inhabited pub.

Then at the police station he was bombarded with questions -

At whose expense was the banquet? Where did you get the money?

And so on and so forth. Nothing but a pure joy for the poor sucker.

Such lawlessness had long led to an ugly thing- the people in Uzbekistan began to fear cops more than bandits. You could have made a deal with criminals but not with the cops. If you had money, they would wring you out like a sponge if you had none, they could send you to jail for nothing easily. But the things were even worse for the women who had a misfortune to fall into the hands of the cops. The servants of the law were primarily human and had the same vices. The cases of the gang rapes within the walls of the police stations were not uncommon. The threat of rape itself was an effective way to get the necessary testimony during interrogation. The hint that a beloved wife, daughter, or mother would be sent to the prison cell for the night with lusty jailbirds loosened the tongues of even the most stubborn. This topic can be developed in the human rights forums. Every state should guarantee the protection of its citizens from the crime but in Uzbekistan the police have replaced the crime itself. The citizens were being robbed and raped by the servants of law dressed in uniforms and there was nothing you could do about it. Every complainant faced an unenviable fate of being jailed for drug possession or found dead in the car accident as it had happened to Serge’s fellow Victor Chernov who perished under mysterious circumstances. But Dear Reader, we have digressed from the subject. Let us proceed.

The trunk of the police car was packed with six men even though only two could be accommodated properly but the way to the police station did not take long. They were brought to the Chamzinsky Dept. and immediately subjected to the frisk and shakedown. No beating and insults for it was not a jail yet. One of the cops was surprised when he found all Serge’s pockets were sewn up firmly. An able sailor sails in stormy weather. He had dealt with cops before, and he’d learnt the lesson well. Many men in Uzbekistan had all his pockets sewn up so that when he met with representatives of law, they would not plant drugs therein.

After the frisk they were put into the cell. Serge sat on his haunches on the floor. No water or food was offered. He was once taken to the loo and all his attempts to find out what was the matter of his detention were in vain. Closer to 2 a.m. a curious thing happened though it could cost Serge a new prison term. The cell was crammed up to the ceiling with drunkards, junkies, bums, and petty criminals but the cops decided to present them to a pretty girl. She was about 20 years old, long black hair and big black tear-stained eyes and dripping mascara all over her pretty face. The cop, expertly twisting her hands behind her back and putting her down on his knees, deftly handcuffed her to the bars on the window so that she was staying that way her butt before the whole crowd.

- Go for her, boys! Do just what you wanna do! - said the cop, winked his eye and slapped her bulky butt. The girl was wearing jeans and the cop came up behind her and pulled them down abruptly and her buttocks revealed before the eyes of a dozen lusty males. She was crying and screaming "No, please, no!".

Serge sat in the corner and looked up at her while the others stared on the floor as if they were confused. Meanwhile two jailbirds from the Tashkent prison dressed in uniforms surrounded the girl from both sides and one of them pulled her panties down. Half-naked girl started screaming louder when the convict bent her over, lifted her a bit by the waist and unbuttoned his pants. His gun was cocked. The girl twirled her naked butt trying to duck from his dick, but the forces were not equal. The jailbirds almost got inside but suddenly felt as if knocked down, having received two blows in the groin and head. The second one immediately followed his partner receiving two hooks in the liver and nose. The girl turned her head back. Serge was staying before her and much to her surprise he pulled her panties up and then started to search for something in her hair. Having found an invisible hairpin Serge unlocked her handcuffs. The girl got up from her knees and started to rub her wrists. Her name was Aziza.

- Get dressed and stay closer - said Serge passed her the jeans.

- Ok! - Aziza zipped up and hid behind his back. The iron door suddenly opened and the cop on duty entered the cell. Serge recognized him as his neighbor. What a surprise!

-What is going on here? - asked the cop but seeing the neighbor's face pursed his lips and frowned.

-It is alright, Cap! We will take care!

Serge winked his eye at him. The captain beckoned him closer and having learnt what happened, promised to release him in the morning.           

At this point two jailbirds had regained consciousness and getting up from the floor started on Serge.

- Do you know who you hit, scumbag? – but another punch in the stomach returned the first inmate down on the floor and the second one drew back and started to stare at the captain as if he was surprised. Serge winked his eye at Cap assuring him that everything is alright.

-You had better be careful. I do not need any casualties, you got me? - said Cap and quitted the cell. Serge took Aziza by the hand and drew the girl behind his back so that only her frightened eyes peered out from behind him. The whole cell population stared at them dazedly. Serge started in a low voice, slowly and meaningful.

- Shame on you my fellow criminal bros! What a mess I have seen here just now? Are you a decent cons or just filthy bastards who have shat in the prisoner’s code? Is it ok to try to break open a shaggy safe? This will lead you to having your buttholes used in many good old ways when you both reach the prison! Shame on you, you poor future faggots!

At this point one of the jailbirds tried again to hit Serge but received a severe headbutt to the nose and made it to the floor again all bleeding and drooling. Serge squatted beside him and pinched his broken nose by his fingers. Poor bastard howled from the pain.

- My dear fellow prisoners, do you know that this guy with broken nose is a faggot already? He was trying to rape helpless gal because cops told him to do that. Was it a man’s behavior? Of course, it was not! From now on they are nothing more than two filthy foul faggots and there is no place for them among decent cons. They are two beautiful innocent virgins and today we will let the Tashkent prison know about these newbies, so they’ll lose their virginity soon.

Serge surprised by his own knowledge of the criminal lexicon wiped his hands on the hapless sufferer’s shirt and turning the crowd saw the wide-open mouths and dangling jaws. Then he looked at the girl. Her face was twisted with horror. Two rapists were lying on the floor trying to regain consciousness.

Realizing what is going on Serge found there is no retreat. The cell was filled mostly with first time losers with no criminal record and unfamiliar with prison rules, so he decided to proceed with his game.

- My name is Serge Ivakov, moniker Dushman. I passed the dungeon in Tashkent city prison then concentration camp Karaul Bazar and jail-hospital "Chukursai. The whole term denied the order and regime of detention. There will be no mess till I am here. There are fathers here and many of us have daughters, so you’d better take to your brains the fact of gang rape young girl on the tip of the cops. A decent convict does not behave like this. As we resolve the situation now so will we be thought of in the future. If a gang rape happened before our eyes and we did nothing to prevent it, we will be asked why we did not stop the mayhem as soon as we reach prison. She is someone’s daughter, and no one wants his daughter raped. So...

That is right. This is non expediting. – some drunken intellectual in glasses said raspy. Serge turned to him and gripped his lower lips with two fingers.

- So why did you keep your mouth shut when they undressed her, scumbag?

-Aaahh aammm—four eyes could not say a word. His mouth was in a vise. Serge threw the four eyes to the side and continued his speech.

- Where did I stop? - Serge looked at the girl – Oh, yeah, no one even approaches her or tries to touch her and if someone does, I will kill him.

Serge’s eyes were shooting sparks of fury and rage and his cellmates lowered their eyes cowardly looking down at the toes of their boots.

- Keep your mouths shut till the morning - Serge finished his speech and pulled the girl into the back of the cell. She resisted but when she saw the bloodied faces of rapists gave up and followed Serge.

- Come on, fool! I will not do you no harm!

Serge let go of the girl's hand and pointed to a wide bench which some cellmate had graciously given up.

- Hey, fella, when did you spend your time over in Karaul? – an elderly Caucasian sitting on the side looked at Serge indifferently.

- Who wants to know? - Serge looked right in his eye.

- They call me Callikata. I am a thief in law, grandfather Husan!

- So why didn’t you stop the mess here, grandfather Husan?

Serge was looking for an empty seat for himself. The old man just grinned and waved his hand.

- When I was young, I was hot and now I do not have the strength. My teeth fell out and hair turned grey and as a man I am no longer in the game. Husan looked pointedly at Aziza’s waist as he finished the speech. Serge pulled on a denim jacket and hugged the girl. She was still tense, but she rested her head on his shoulder and let out a sigh of relief.

-How old are you? – Serge squinted at Aziza.

- Nineteen - she proceeded sniffling.

- Why are you here for? – Serge leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes.

- Because of my brother. He used to have a shop and now he’s gone to the mountains, sent his wife to Kazakhstan and burned his house. He refused to pay the cops and they took me hostage. They said I will pay with my body until my brother shows up – and she started to cry again – And I told him do not you come back because cops will put you to jail or kill anyway.

- Come on, everybody has got its own sorrow here. Try to make some sleep. You got at least three hours. You’ I’ll need strength tomorrow. I will talk to the cops in the morning, and we will have your problem solved. – Serge hugged her tightly and she calmed down but did not fall asleep until dawn. Serge quickly fell into half sleep: prison habit kicked in.

Tomorrow will be another day and you will need the strength. He had learned during his previous term to drive away the thoughts that kept him awake so he fell asleep as quickly as a child who got tired from playing all day long. Everything will come to an end. The sun rose at dawn as it should and all of them walked to the yard where the cops started asking them what the causes of their detention were. Serge saw the captain again. Highly likely that the captain had already known of his recent tragedy and stood up for him whispering something in the ear of the major and pointing at Serge with his hand. Major nodded approvingly. Aziza cowered behind Serge’s back. The captain called Serge out of line and he pulled Aziza by the hand and she obediently followed him slapping her shoes on the yard ground. They went up to the second floor and entered the office. Captain casually threw the bundles of keys on the table.

- Take a seat. - The cop pointed to the chairs. Not bad for beginning - Serge thought.

- What were you taken for? - captain frowned.

- See, Cap, for a bottle of soda! You know I do not drink anything stronger.

- And Serge told the captain what had happened to him that evening. Nearby police officers laughed, spat on the floor, and cursed. Then Serge was taken to the watch commander office, and he was asked to identify the cops who had detained him. Serge easily pointed at the surly patrolmen. Some major started to scold sergeant and cursed him. The patrolmen who had been brave yesterday were standing like naughty children. The captain, his name was Abdallah, apologized on their behalf and told Serge to wait until he finished with other detainees.

- There is one more thing to do Cap. - Serge spoke to the captain as a neighbor nearby cops got alerted.

- Your dogs have lost the sense of smell! They threw the kids into a gang rape! - Serge nodded at Aziza who was biting her lips scowling at the cops. There were black circles around her eyes and smudged makeup. She told her story switching from Uzbek to Russian all nervous and smearing tears over her face. Some policeman brought a glass of water, but she only choked on it and cried and cried.

The detectives from Criminal Investigations Dept. were immediately called and Aziza recognized them, easily hiding behind the captain's back. They were ordered to write a report and Azisa was given back her passport, watch, and purse.

- Rakhmat sizga amake! (Thank you very much, Mister! in Uzbek) - Aziza still frowned at Serge but her little pink face began to smile.

-Where are you gonna go now? Where are you living? - Serge came to the window and looked down but having no response from the girl gestured to her to stay here until it was over.

Aziza seeing a mirror and taking her makeup out of the purse began to preen herself up but when she saw the bruise on her forehead she started to cry again. Serge interrupted her wailing:

- Scars adorn men and bruises adorn women. Do not forget about it and let this day be the worst in your life. - Aziza nodded and started applying mascara to her eyes.

Through the barred window on the second floor the yard was seen. The high fence echoed the cries of cops. Serge saw the cop's backs and clumsy line of poor devils. Some fellows were still drunk and barely able to stand but some were still standing straight and proud.

- Are there any previous convictions? – cops were asking.

- We will find out anyway! So, you’d better say it now! We ‘ll check each one out so previous con, one step forward! - Serge could not see their faces but recognized the voice of his neighbor. Several people shuffled out of line and the cop approach them and began to read the list:

-You must know that the plan is the law for us so choose the article whatever you like, so here we go- Robbery, two people, Car Theft, three people, are there any volunteers to sign up? I promise a minimum term and the best cells in Tashkent prison, investigation won’t be long too… - Naturally, at clear as hell that the cop pronounced this speech not for the first time—and who won’t agree for these articles to admit and sign we’ll set up a murder or a rape of underage, so this is for you to choose.

Serge gulped as he remembered his first bust in 1997 and imagined what would happen to these people - In the end all former cons were walked away and only poor fellows who hadn’t criminal record yet left in the yard. Policemen walked before the line again pointing on the people who they thought deserved a punishment. They picked up ‘the wahhs’ first, that is people whose faces met the standards of the Wahhabi in their understanding. These ‘wahhs’ would be charged with religious and terrorist offences. They were mostly Muslims and older people. Then they began to pick up tramps and out-of-town men who would be sent to Panelny except for two guys with strong physiques who were put in a white Nexia driven by a young Korean. A little later Serge would find out a secret why the Korean mafia group led by Max Tskhai had been choosing strong guys among the detainees all over Tashkent and took them to an unknown destination.

Dear Reader, I will tell you about it in the chapter ‘108ers’ and ‘Bonzai’ but for now…

Serge experienced horror and relieved it from beginning to end once again. He remembered being tortured in the basement of some police station which was called ‘scream-don’t scream’.

Now he happily got away with a bust and maybe even death. That girl Aziza appeared in his life by accident for several hours and left forever.

Serge would never know her second name, where she was from and what happened to her in the future. Where was she now? Only Allah knows.

The cop bragged about his new car. It was Tico which was popular by then among the servants of law. This runabout was a stillborn baby of Uzbek Korean auto concern DAEWOO. The price of this jalopy was comparable to the price of an average Mercedes. Neighbor drove Serge to the entrance and apologized once again. Having entered his apartment Serge saw a note from his wife on the table:

- "To each his own. You have not changed. I cannot take it anymore. I am going to my mother’s. Do not call me. Do not look for me. I’ll file for divorce myself."

He came up to the reefer. It was empty. Telephone suddenly rang. It was Grandfather Husan. Where did he find his number Serge did not know but Grandad offered a job and wanted to see Serge?

By evening Serge was rested and came out to his yard. Familiar old man was coming out of a brand new white Nexia:

-You took to my soul, boy! Thank you for the girl you saved. I have found out you are a journalist, so I have a special