*

While the car was driving through the traffic and drove into the Harlem embankment, with the junkyard and garbage, Dux was sad. He did not have to be imprisoned till the end of his days at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. No, he will be drugged, suck out with everything, and taken to the junkyard, where he will be rolled up into the concrete. Although, modern methods of undesirable people extinction allow not to leave any traces. For those and for these ones. He will be spread on the wall, like porridge in the cold Hudson or burned and his ashes will be dispersed over the Atlantic Ocean.

The statistics is an implacable thing. In New York, there are ten million people, and twenty million ones including the suburbs. That’s why, the column titled "incidents and crime," is never empty. He was sad.

*

In the eastern region of the one hundred and thirty-eighth street there was a traffic jam. The traffic was 10 miles per hour, and some time later he saw a police car, which prevented the traffic. And then Colonel started. He immediately recognized them by the subtle features. They were coming from the small park in Harlem. They indifferently crossed the highway Harlem River, close to the hundred and thirty fifth street, going somewhere to the Madison Avenue. He counted at least ten to fifteen of them. Next to the police car there were two dead cops. Drivers with staring in fear at them, left quickly. And no wonder, because Harlem was always a scary place. Probably, nobody called the police.

- Quickly, ask what has happened? - ordered a brunette inexpressive type, who was standing then at the window of the toilet. The expressionless one reported the incident to the police and to the authorities, got out of the car, felt his pulse, and the cops found a witness who saw everything.

- They are going somewhere, as if they are pricked all around, they ignore cars, they punched my car, but then the police came, and ...

- Oh, again, - a man got terribly pale, pointing to the walking man.

The expressionless one went intercept to the strange traveler, theatrically took out the certificate of the FBI agent and tried to stop him. But a passerby slowly turned to the agent, and with a terrible dull roar literally tore him to pieces. At some point, everyone was dumbfounded. The dark-haired and the driver took out the guns zero forty- Smith & Wesson.

- Do not shoot! - shouted Colonel.

But it was too late. The driver got out of the car and began firing into the killer, and the dark-haired, having taken the gun out of the window, also began shooting. Perhaps the first bullets hit the criminal, but he had covered the corpse of the policeman and quickly grabbed the driver. Seven seconds later, riddled with bullets and bleeding, the monster lifted up the driver.

Having frightened, the black man who was guarding Colonel, convulsively removed the handcuffs and rushed to the trunk and took out of it a semi-automatic carbine 0223 Ruger Mini-14, with a thirty charger and a folding stock. Colonel saw behind him a man and a woman approaching to him . They spoke in low dull voices, as if from the underground. Colonel’s hair stirred with horror. They approached the black agent who threateningly advanced the carbine, and began quickly and foolishly saying Miranda’s rights:

- You have the right to keep silent. Anything you say ... - as if this speech could protect him. The couple exchanged the looks full of importance, like in a thriller of the Texas movie, and both began impudently pulling out the carbine. The agent fired several times at random, probably, having injured a man. It was a terrible mistake. Dux managed to see, through the back window, a woman's eyes filled with tears, weakness and fury, and sat on the back seat, having generously bowed the dark-haired man. In its own way, this nice couple broke the agent to pieces, and then shot all ammunition at Gta 4 Cavalcade and many cars.

*

There was an ominous silence. One could hear a heartbeat of the dark-haired which had advanced the gun Smith & Wesson.

- Do not shoot! - croaked Colonel.

The dark-haired mumbled something awkward.

- Listen to me and do not diddle. Throw out the gun.

Colonel took out something wrapped in a plastic bag. It was an awful thin silver thread. Having thought a little bit, Dux stuck one end of the thread into his hand.

- If you want to live - he whispered, - climb here.

Colonel stuck the other end into the palm of the brunette.

- Who are you?

- Shut up! We are sworn brother now. They are our friends.

Apart from these two there came some of such men. The wounded man opened the door of the cavalcade. The beast was about to pull the trigger and pull the trigger of the Ruger gun and shoot Colonel and the brunette, to make the spinach of them. They were ready for death, to their last jump into the eternity, winding off the newsreels of their life. And then they heard a dull cry:

- Wait, the sergeant, step away – the voice of one who came squeaked. Contorted with anger, the wounded stopped dead. Probably, he was a former soldier. Dux and the brunette got out of the cavalcade and waved with restraint, as if to "theirs". Dozen of monsters surrounded two new commandos. They stared at them with suspicion with their empty schizophrenic eyes. Painful silence lasted no more than a minute. In a fear Colonel stuck the thread deeper and the brunette also did it.

"Did they recognize?" – thought Colonel.

They both clearly felt a savage force, which led them to this terrible gang. They were in the middle of it, feeling like the Kotovsky’s band from the Civil War, with instincts, brutality and the ghost of mad Breivik. They passed one hundred and thirty-fifth street and stopped in the quarter of the Malcolm boulevard and Fifth Avenue, crashing and destroying everything ob their way. They seemed to have meeting there. The number of monsters was growing.

- Let's go - quietly said Colonel.

A funny couple holding each other by the hand, like pioneers, passed a few quarters of the Malcolm boulevard and hid in the VIP sector of the small cafe Edmonds, in the hundred and twenty-fourth Street.

*

For five minutes they have been recovering breath. Colonel, and the brunette, felt a terrible famine.

- I hope we will not be a couple of freaks further.

The brunette laughed.

- I felt the arrival of that string.

They both became laughing merrily. Yes, really, to suffer that horror was above the average. Dux asked the waitress, a red hood, to bring them a menu. He pulled out a thread from both hands. They observed in fascination as both ends of the silver horsehair were moving. Cautiously, Colonel twisted thread, as one twists a guitar string, and he got a circle. He impudently tore a file out of the menu, wrapped that mysterious strangeness and taped everything with a sticky tape which was in the pocket of his service jacket.

Dux chose a stewed chicken with yellow rice and Turkish bread and from the drinks he ordered a double scotch "Grouse" with Italian soda. And Gavin, a brunette, ordered a beef short ribs, then thought and added a bull tail with black eye peas and having risked added a bottle of wine with two exotic silkworm larvae. Colonel was observing the menu and Gavin with interest.

- We have a harmful job.

A few minutes later they were brought drinks.

Colonel’s heart felt a stream of warm air. Gavin also drank a glass of yellow drink.

- Give me to taste?

- Come on.

- It is sour! - started Colonel.

Gavin was sucking yellow cheap liquor, with ice cubes and fat silkworm larvae, and said testing:

- Maybe you give me this?

- What do you mean?

- That, string.

- For what?

- I'll give it to the boss.

Colonel took out of his service jacket pocket a package and, having made sure that the thread was in place, put it back. He kept silent.