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 10: The Hall of Intermediate Souls ——————————————————
The militsiya caught Rodion while he was staring into the bleakness Shutka had left behind.
He did not refute their claims of his involvement in the so-called incident in the Angelovsk Bloki yesterday. He did not protest when they broke out the order decreeing their authority to detain him on suspicion of having violated article one-hundred six and article two-hundred eighteen of the Criminal Code of the Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic, nor did he resist when they escorted him from the premises of Gleb's apartment.
It was only while sitting in the back of the black militsiya patrol car, hands cuffed behind his back, that he felt remorse for the distress he'd caused for the boy and his brothers. Gleb and Kostya were meters away on the curb, doing their absolute best to get him free: asking, explaining, arguing. Kostya even pulled out a wad of rubles in a sorry attempt to bribe the most senior officer of the trio who'd served the detention order. The both of them continued, drawing gawking stares from Gleb's neighbors, until the officers cut them off and informed them they'd receive a call if or when they could come collect Rodion.
Down at the Shakhty regional jail, the militsiya men took his internal passport, the Makarov, the afghanka stained with the boy's blood, and his initial statement as part of the typical slog of bureaucratic protocols. Rodion was then escorted down a white and green corridor into a cement holding cell.
The metal door swung shut with a heavy clang and he sat down on the foot of the cot at left. He hung his head and let out a strangled sigh. His legs bounced. The caged bulb out of reach on the ceiling flickered maddeningly. He wanted to so badly to sleep, but he couldn't stop thinking about how being alone with his thoughts was worse than what would happen to him come morning.
Based on the preliminary witness statements and evidence, of which his bloodied afghanka and the fact he'd fled the crime scenewere most damning, he gauged he was slated for investigation and arrest. The rigged script of Soviet justice made predicting his future even more foolproof: he was going to face the charge of manslaughter and stand trial while the procurator's presentation made an example of him, the once-honorable officer turned addict, for the masses to learn from. Then the troika of judges would hand down their sentence of three to five years of freedom deprivation, and ship him off to some chilling penal colony in Siberia to serve it.
He could have avoided such a fate if he had just put his arm around Shutka and gone with her on the snap. If Gleb hadn't answered the door and if Kostya hadn't believed... no. No, it was his fault the militsiya had caught him and his alone. He'd wagered with the Devil. He'd pursued the Kynaz. It was his fault the boy fell in front of the tram, his hands that'd done the shoving.
Rodion lifted his head as if to save himself from drowning in thought, only to realize he was no longer alone. The Devil was sitting on the cot across from him with one leg draped over the other, smoking his meerschaum pipe.
