Six from One Egg

By Sergiy Zhuravlov

Laurel, an enterprising loan shark and investor, has a whole metropolis under his control. He manipulates everyone from judges to skinheads. Everything in his life is so calm and predictable, when suddenly his moneylenders are robbed in broad daylight by three men in masks of fairy beasts. The town is immediately surrounded by a red line. Crossing it is an immediate death sentence. Laurel himself leads the investigation of the collectors. He does not allow them to eat, but he allows them to drink alcohol. He divides the collectors according to their traits: Bold, Cynical, Coward, Good, Evil. The Bold is the first to go over the red line. He is buried in the pouring rain.
Laurel then demands that the rest of them gather at the bar for a further showdown.
At the bar, Laurel morally presses Coward. Mocking Good and philosophizing with Cynic.
The pressuring of the collectionists does not end day or night. All this leads to a conflict between Kind and his wife, Nadine.
Laurel arranges a public trial of Evil. Raising the slogan, "End Evil!"
A mob that has been wound up tries to kill Evil right in the courtroom.
Skinheads pile into the bar, where another night of questioning is taking place. They are served by a dark-skinned guy named Jesus. The gang leader decides to crucify Jesus. The good one volunteers to save the guy. He is helped by Cynic, Evil. Jesus is saved. But the death of the collectors is unavoidable. Laurel realizes this and intervenes. Shooting over a dozen skinheads.
Beaten half to death, Evil decides to cross the red line. It seems to everyone that he is gaining his freedom. But then a shot is fired and Evil is killed.
Three exhausted men drag the coffin with Evil, often dropping it.
Once again the gathering in the drinking room and again the unbearable pressure from Laurel and his guards. At one point, Cynic claims that Laurel will never get his money. Cynic informs him that he denies not only the money, but life itself.
Laurel kills Cynic by stabbing him through the heart.
Laurel now puts the coward on trial and publicly burns him at the stake under the gaze of a cheering crowd.
Kind, half-conscious, is taken to the bar, where he is revived by an old Negro. Having come to his senses he realizes that all the preceding is some kind of illusion, but in fact he is Sergei, and he is engaged in bilking money out of debtors at Laurel's. It is he who conceives with the help of his friends to rob Laurel. This is where the true, highly dynamic story of Laurel's robbery begins...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sergiy Zhuravlov
• Release date: Jul 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005215965

Sergiy Zhuravlov

Sergiy ZhuravlovSergiy Zhuravlov was born on 29. 10. 1958 in Lugansk, Ukraine.Lulled by Soviet propaganda - a volunteer in the liberation of Afghans from insidious imperialism...Elimination of the Chernobyl accident - commander of a special company.Gorbachev Perestroika. In 1987 I sent the Soviet and Comunyak people to a well-known address... I was one of the first to start my own business.Some of the things described in my books are based on real events from my life and the lives of my friends and acquaintances.I devote all my free time away from work and leisure to socializing, reading, and creating.I love playing hockey. I love fishing. I like windsurfing, yachting and diving. I like hunting. I like to participate in drag racing. I love my kids, I have three of them. I love my grandchildren, as of today I have eight of them. I love the Earth and the earthlings. I hate dictatorship and dictators. fascism, racism, and putin's russism.In the first weeks of Russia's attack on Ukraine, as a senior reserve officer, I organized and participated in the territorial defense near Bila Tserkva, near Kiev.My motto: Propaganda in any form should be banned, and the main thing is Peace without Borders!

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Table of contents

Prologue

The criminal showdown in the Phantom of the Pentagon

On his last journey

We'll be free again

Cynic

Dr. Moreau's creation

Wicked

How could you do it?

Theory

Pity or Kindness

There you are

Ziggy

I felt sorry for the zig’s

Bury the Evil One

What case to take

Son

Nadine in court

The day before the trial

Tension builds

Take the damn thing

The coward is being led

Beyond the red line

Tales of grown men

Before Friday

Take care of yourself

Your share

Amulet

Now it's every man for himself

Shootout at the Pentagon

Won't shoot

It didn't get any easier

Laurel's hospitality

Try playing with fate

Epilogue

Shortly about the author

© 2022 SERGIY / copyright holder.

All rights reserved.

Author: Sergiy Zhuravlov

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SIX FROM ONE EGG

PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER

WITH A SURPRISE ENDING

Prologue

A man who overcomes his fear becomes Courageous.

Cynic knows the price of everything, but does not want to know anything about human values.

Good is the intention, or action of man, exercised by his free will to create.

Evil is the opposite of good.

The criminal showdown in the Phantom of the Pentagon

Today, in April 2021, everywhere you look on all channels, on all city video screens, on all social networks every few minutes any information, even ads, were blocked and information appeared:

At noon, ten people were killed in a shootout at the Pentagon's Ghost Café at the intersection of Pacifist and Adventurer streets. Among those killed were employees of the security company, Titan Construction and Trading Holdings. Anyone who knows anything about this incident is asked to call 1551, 5115, or simply 112.

. Crime Breakdown at the Pentagon Ghost.

At 9:00 p.m., watch an interview with the deputy regional police chief.

. Wanted on suspicion of involvement in the murders at the Pentagon: Male, thirty to thirty-five years old, athletic build, 6'5. 6'9. Dark hair. Dark clothing. Possible gunshot wound;

Furthermore, a girl of medium build, dark hair, 5'7." dressed in light clothing. She has a tattoo of a crane on her left shoulder. Anyone who knows anything about these people, please call 1551, 5115, or simply 112.

On his last journey

The sun was shining in the morning, the day promised to be bright and warm, but by noon the weather turned bad, it rained. Having just reached the cemetery a small procession was hiding under umbrellas. The four men closing the memorial service group lifted the collars of their cloaks. They had no umbrellas. The boys' hair was wet, and so, trickles of water ran down their weary and skinny faces like tears.

There was something in common about these men, but if you look closely at their figures, at their movements and glances. And listen to the fragments of their quiet speech, you might be surprised at how deceptive the first impression was. Not only were they different, they were clearly opposites of one another. Maybe that was why they, and those around them, had long since been addressed not by their names, but by their defining, character traits.

The deceased also had something in common with them. The clergyman was late, so, the deceased lay in the continuous rain for more than an hour. There was a faint, inexplicable and yet obvious resemblance between this dead man and the four living ones.

Laurel appeared as the funeral service drew to a close. He dismissed the bodyguards and stepped into the center of the mourners. The church attendant bowed frankly to him, smiled, optimistically wished the departed soul to follow the prescribed coordinates, and hurriedly departed.

Laurel stood by the coffin for a moment, examining the young, pale face, kissed the dead man on the forehead, adjusted the collar on his shirt, then walked to the edge of the grave and looked down.

Who dug? Asked Laurel quietly.

Who dug? Whispered the crowd of seeers.

Who was digging? Echoed anxiously from different directions.

Who dug? Impatiently shouted several voices at once.

Half a minute later, a bearded man, with obvious signs of an alcoholic, was brought up to Laurel. The gravedigger was frightened, his hands shaking, his jaw quivering.

That's him! He was digging. Someone shouted in the crowd.

Laurel walked up to the grave-digger, corrected a lock of gray, wet hair, and embraced him like a father's son: You've made a good hole. He said touchingly. In this grave the continental plates come together. Granite and clay? You've worked hard, and you're very tired.

Sand, it's a pleasure to dig. The gravedigger replied in a whisper in Laurel's ear.

Well, well done anyway. Well done, eh! Appealed Laurel to the crowd.

Yes! Yes. They immediately agreed with him.

Well done. Said a burly man in the crowd, peering into the hole and kneading in his hands the wet handful of earth he had just picked up.

Laurel was in no hurry to release the gravedigger from his embrace: A companion came by this morning. He spoke, looking at the frightened, wrinkled face of the digger. Then he went to the bank, carried out his intentions. Laurel looked around at everyone and continued. Then to the mayor, after him to the mega construction site. You can see for yourself brother, I was almost too late. Business, constant negotiation, it's all a futile fuss. And now, on top of that, it's raining. You go on now, old man, I'm going to give my farewell speech for the dead. Pushing the grimy gravedigger away from him, Laurel, turning to the crowd, shouted. Everybody, let him go!

Two women in black shawls immediately picked him up under their arms and led him away.

Let him go altogether! Shouted Laurel demandingly, menacingly. But this shout was not at all commensurate with his fullness and small stature.

The old man waddled away between the graves. Laurel rose to the bench, looked around at the crowd. Four drenched men stood with their heads down, the others looked at him with wide-open shining eyes, their lips smiling.

All of us, some sooner, some later will leave this world. Laurel spoke solemnly. Some we will remember as honoring the laws of conscience of a physical citizen, for his activity and deliberate truthfulness. Someone will pick an apple from a tree and give it to a child. We will remember him as well. Yesterday in the park, I kneeled before the monument to the warrior with the sword and my tears of pride watered the historic monument! He brushed the raindrops off his face. He looked around at everyone and shouted out! Glory to the Heroes! The crowd clapped their hands. Laurel raised his hand up, everyone fell silent, and he continued his speech. History will not forget an honest official and a noble lumberjack. Some will be designated Cowards and traitors for selling out and creating an imbalance toward the enemy. There will also be some who will be designated as hypocrites. We have known murderers, and debauchees, and many other untrustworthy rabble! But there is no more terrible stigma in the world than the stigma of a debtor! He uttered the last phrase, raising his intonation. He paused, looking up at the men who had lowered their heads. "The debtor thinks he has not taken his own, but someone else's! No! Likewise, he gave his own in return! For every second of his worthless, unprofitable life, the debtor pays with his soul, increasingly turning into a body without a conscience.

A debtor comes to you and asks: Give me some money, please, I really need it. And you gave. The debtor took the money and spent it. You came and said: Give me back the money. He replied: I don't have it! Laurel was silent, his face frowning and angry. He stuck his hands in his pockets, and for some time rocked from heel to toe and slid a slow gaze over the heads of those gathered. I've actually finished my farewell speech! Laurel chimed in, jumped off the bench and added. Does anyone else have anything else to say? After all, the man is dead. There are some of his friends or those who knew him well, aren't there? Maybe you?" He turned to one of the four men standing off to the side.

Me? The stooped, short-haired man wondered, looking at his despondent companions at a loss for support.

Who is? You're the most human citizen here, even though they say you're a Coward. But I don't believe it. Because they do. And who's going to believe them now. And you tell them. Only sincerely, from the heart, tell about the dead man and his essence.

From the heart? Asked the stooped man frightenedly.

Go on, say it so, that every word you say cuts your mind like a sickle through your veins! Laurel determinedly tugged Coward by the sleeve, pushing him into the center.

The confused man was called a Coward. He was about thirty, thirty-five years old. Maybe because of his thinness, maybe because of his hesitant movements and pitying look, but of all four he seemed the youngest, and somehow defenseless. Finding himself in the spotlight, he didn't know where to look, and kept shoving his hands in and out of his pockets.

Bold

Come on. Laurel now encouraged him with a faint smile.

That was the Boldest and most reckless man I have ever met in my life. He began, pausing his words. Sneaking a glance at his friends and continuing. But more reckless than Bold. Yes. Because, then, it would have been different. But what happened is what happened. I told him it would end badly. But he never listened to me. And he never listened to anybody. And he died. And he also called me a Coward, but I didn't take offense. Or rather, I was offended, but I understood that he and I had different scales in our world-view ruler.

Well, it's not that interesting. Laurel patted Coward on the shoulder. The most important thing, the most important thing, is why did this happen?

Because Bold went over the red line. And going over the red line, everyone knows that, is not allowed. But he crossed the line and then."

That's understandable. That's all right you're ogling. But I want to hear something else about him from you. Who was he, as a unit – as a contingent? Questioned Laurel to Coward, and he was shivering, either from cold or from fear."

He was a daredevil. He was handsome. He was a womanizer! He had a lot of women, they must all be here. The stooped man looked up and looked around. Did you know him? He turned to the older woman looking at him through the veil.

No, no, the lady didn't know him. Laurel threw in for her. I invited them, I did! You tell me the main thing. The main thing in essence, you see? Who was he? Who was he? Who?

The speaker shrugged his shoulders uncertainly and said cowardly:

Basically, there's no one here who's a fan of his.

That's right, it's understandable as it is. What are you pulling! Are you a Coward? So, who is he?

Coward, pulling his head into his shoulders, barely audible groaned. A debtor!

The coward pulled his head into his shoulders and moaned. Debtor!

Laurel, finally waiting for the answer he wanted, exhaled in relief and held up his index finger: "There! That's what I just said. I didn't push him, he restructured the idea himself. You think he found out what was in my skull? No. Those are his thoughts. Those are your thoughts. And I'm sorry that the first and only thing that forms the brain, looking at yesterday's body full of life – the debtor. And there's nothing to say. And hurtful. And ashamed. And one consolation we are not all like that – after standing in silence for a while, Laurel demanded that four shovels be brought. Handing them to the same four chilly comrades, he ordered them to bury the dead man.

The coffin was covered with earth. They compacted it and formed a mound. Laurel couldn't find his glasses for a long time and asked them to dig up the grave. The coffin was lifted. They opened the lid. It turned out that while kissing the deceased he had dropped his glasses at the head of the coffin.

Laurel sent for the priest again, because the ceremony was ruined, and we had to start all over again. Again he said something about debts, and the vicious lack of obligation of the deceased, and it was only in the afternoon, when the rain had stopped, and the sun was shining on the wet grass, that the column of mourners stretched out into the city.

People walked along a concrete road as wide as a runway, skirting puddles and potholes. To their left and right stretched two red lines. Soon one of the lines went sharply to the left toward the lake, the other, outlining the bases of the first houses at right angles, went deep into the city, getting lost in its quarters.

Half an hour later there were four cloaks, soaked from underneath and stained with dirt, hanging on the coat rack of the Pentagon's ghost pub. It was warm and cozy in here. The Bee Gees were playing, the wine smelled, and the old-fashioned LED lights were drowning in cigarette smoke.

The gray-haired bartender, a tall, wiry Negro, thoughtfully clicked the keyboard and made short comments, tapping his tongue grudgingly. Opposite, at the bar sat a couple of a man and a girl, drinking beer, cuddling, and distracting the old man with idle talk.

The owners of said capes occupied one table, in the far corner from the exit. On a red, chintz tablecloth stood two finished bottles of cognac. Next to them stood two full bottles of red and white wine. Two men were talking, the other two were immersed in themselves and showed little interest in them.

You personally have it the easiest. You will be let go sooner or later. You know you're going to be let go, that's why you're so, calm. Complained with a shiver in his voice, the slouchy, skinny and pale man already familiar to us.

Laurel called the slouching man "Coward. His companion, on the contrary, gave the impression of a strong and healthy man. He wore his hair long, his eyes were large brown, and his lips were full and pale. He almost always smiled, exposing teeth as smooth as snow. You could even call him handsome, but his big, hunched nose spoiled him.

You're good, Kind, everybody loves you. The slouching man went on. Everybody knows you have nothing to do with it. And Laurel looks at you in some special way. They don't even want to judge you. You're just along for the company. You tell him, he'll listen to you. The coward's an occasional man, too. When Laurel tells you to go, you take me with you. Just tell him. Let him come with me. And he'll let me go. I can't do such a thing! I'm a coward, everybody knows that. I'm afraid of dark rooms. I don't talk to strangers. I'm afraid to go out on a winter's evening. Terrified, terrified? And here's a scam to pull. It's scary. You could go crazy with fear. I don't know where I'd go to concoct such a thing. Could you do something like that? No, you couldn't do it physically either, mentally maybe, but in reality, not for real. I couldn't even think of stealing from such a person. I'd never do such a thing, not me, not you, but him. Coward glanced at the powerful, rough-looking man sitting across from him. He could do it. Greedy and evil. That's the kind of Evil Guy who can't even touch the sea. See the way he looks at us. He stole Laurel's money, and we're taking the rap for him. Evil had the bag, he was carrying it, and he gave it away. He hid it under himself first, and then he gave it to the robbers. I saw it myself."

Not only is he a coward, he's also a liar. Evil threw back with distaste. Everybody whispers, they have secrets. I know all your secrets. When Laurel tells me to kill you, I won't blink, I'll bury you alive. It would be a pity to kill two of you together. He added with a smile.

Good patted Coward on the shoulder.

Evil only scares you, don't be afraid of him, I won't let him hurt you. And Evil gave the bag to those masked robbers, I saw it myself. Neither you, nor me, none of us is to blame. Even when I was thinking whether to come to you or not, I weighed all the pros and cons, and asked myself, do I trust these people? And I told myself I trusted them. I trusted them then, and I don't stop trusting them now. What happened to you? You suspect this or that, you can't do that. Nobody's saying it was you who stole the money.

I tell you, he's the one who stole the money! Interjected Evil. The coward is surely in league with the robbers. Maybe the thieves didn't give him his share, they just promised. Or maybe he got ten grand. Now the bandits are calling at night and whispering in his ear: Give me back all the money, or else it's going to get worse!.Did you get it? Tell me I guessed it! I've got it right! Look how he trembles. He knows his position has been exposed. Bastard! I hate you! I'll squash you like a bedbug!" Angry gritted his teeth and slammed his fist down on the table with force.

Well, stop talking nonsense with your tongue! Exclaimed the man with the glasses.

The man had been silent and staring at his surroundings the whole time until this minute. He was a fat-looking man with gold-rimmed glasses. His face was accentuated by a handsome beard and therefore looked elongated. Slender fingers finished with manicured nails. The white skin reeked of aristocratism. He was a typical intellectual.

Since when there is enough! Evil looked at Coward questioningly. Look how Coward's eyes have run, and his face is red as if on fire! I've got you figured out, so, go and get the money quick!

Leave him alone! Demanded the intellectual even more insistently.

Protecting him? Then you are in league with him! I saw it coming. You won't lose your trump card. After all, you are a typical Cynic. They buried the first one today. But you don't care if they kill everyone. You won't have bad dreams. God, mercy, punishment, it's all nonsense to you, isn't it? Money is what's real! It's people like you who strangle grandmothers with sheets at night for their inheritance. Bastards! Empty, soulless cripples all around. You have no faith and there's no reason to educate your conscience. I hate you!

Is that all you said? Said the Cynic, in a sarcastic tone.

I will say more. I'll say more about everyone. I look right through you! You're like this glass bottle to me! He picked up one cognac bottle and waved it over his head and smashed it violently on the floor.

What's all the squabbling among you? Cried the bartender from behind the bar tiredly. Don't you want to behave nicely and talk like decent people?

Everything's under control, old man! Hastened Cynic to reassure him.

He held Evil's hand and kept him from getting up on the chair. When he succeeded, he looked incredulously at Good.

Do you really believe what you say? Trust anyone and everyone? The cynic asked with a chuckle. I can't figure you out, are you stupid or very sneaky? Maybe you are Good. They say you're kind, I don't know. But being kind doesn't mean you're an idiot.

That's what I'm talking about. He's not an idiot at all, he's publicly pretending to be one! It was Kind who was behind all this robbery. Said Evil, calming down a little. He orchestrated the whole thing and took the money. I knew it at once, and now I'm finally convinced: a hypocrite, a sycophant, and a worthless animal! I hate him from hair to toe. With what pleasure I would crush him like a fly on the table.

I am perfectly sincere. Kind replied to the intellectual. Laurel is not at all easy to puff up; he won't let anyone put him down. I don't think there are people among us foolish enough to doubt it. Laurel will get his money back for sure. After all, this is his town, he's the law and authority here! Then aimed his gaze at the sobbing Coward. When Laurel finds those thieves, he'll let us all go.

Let us go? Asked Coward.

We'll be free again

Will surely let us all go. We'll be free again. We'll cross the red line, and walk all day long. Past fields of yellow flowers and blue butterflies. All the bad will be left behind and immediately fade in the sunlight. The bad will become pale and invisible. We will cleanse our memory in the mountain streams. Our memory will become again like the snow on the mountain tops. And no trace of the bad will remain. And we will go on.

The cynic, covering his mouth with his palm and showing his laughter, began to giggle muffled.

Kind, ignoring him, continued:

. "We will wade through clear mountain rivers, scaring away flocks of silvery fish with red fins. And no one will call