When cynical addict Rodion Popov makes a deal with the Devil and wagers his soul, his life takes a turn for the demonically surreal. Thrust into a city of shapeshifting sinners and chaos spirits, he must complete five tasks at the Devil's behest in...
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☨ THE DEVIL COMES TO ANGELOVSK 03: Stacks and Screw ——————————————————
It was half past seven when the effects of Rodion's morphine use began to taper. Though dawn had come, the cupboard was still. Rodion's visitors had snapped themselves away shortly after he and the Devil shook on their deal, making him believe they hadn't been there at all until he woke to Shutka, back in her feline form, sitting on his chest.
"Too bad," he murmured, scratching between her pointy ears. "I was beginning to like you the other way."
She meowed as if she understood him and began kneading him with her paws, flexing her claws into the cotton of his shirt. He cast her aside when she drew blood. There was a cluster of holes in the part of his shirt that covered his heart.
"Now look what you've done," he said, pulling the cotton over his head.
"Still in a hurry, Rodion Maksimovich?"
Rodion jumped in his skin. He snapped his head to the corner table where the Devil sat with his feet up, smoking a curved meerschaum pipe. Its sculpting depicted men, women, and children climbing and clamoring to the top of the bowl in a disturbing tower of flesh and humanity. Smoke slithered out through the crevices in between the bodies, rising to meet the Devil's crooked grin.
"How did you–"
"You want your paradise, don't you?"
"Well, yes, but–"
"I have a task for you," the Devil said, taking the pipe out of his mouth and tapping the tip of the stem against his sharp teeth. "What would you say to six thousand six hundred sixty-six rubles?"
"Money like that corrupts absolutely. Unless, of course, you're a capitalist."
The Devil reached into the breast pocket of his suit coat and pulled out a stack of rainbow colored cash. Then he produced another. A third, a fourth. The pile grew to a tower of banknotes six stacks tall, each brick of bills crisp and bound with a strip of black ribbon.
Despite his reservations, Rodion yet again allowed the Devil to tempt him forward. He reached for his afghanka slung over the bed railing and fastened it over a clean shirt. Then he came up short of the Devil and the stacks, straightening and coming to attention as if he was presenting himself for a troop inspection. Shutka trailed behind. She planted herself at his feet, tail curled around the tendon in his heel as the Devil eyed her slyly.
"What's the task? You want me to blow it?"
"Quite the opposite. I need you to hoard it, to keep it safe for me as I tend to my business today."
"Is that all?"
"As of now, yes. Can you do that for me? Can you be my vault?"
