The Ghost Page #3

He flew to her from Moscow immediately.

Like a bird to the feed.

What about the grandma?

What?

The grandma will outlive both of us.

Anton, let's go sleep.

What do you think?

Everything seems okay,

but something is wrong.

What is wrong?

Your victims are always without bodyguards.

Can be taken out at any moment.

Why does he take so long?

You see... the Ghost, he...

He has to study the victim, right?

And after all... it's literature.

I can not give away everything

on the first page.

Got it.

His thoughts are all confused.

He's not thinking about work.

Really?

I don't know...

I try to pass it all through myself.

How do you do it?

I imagine what I would think,

what I would do, if...

if I was in that situation.

To think like him

you have to try it yourself.

- Listen... Let's try it.

- Let's try it.

No, I'm serious. In literature there exists such a technique called profound identification.

It's when the writer lives out in real life the life of one of his characters.

Let's do it like this.

You give me an order.

I go through all the stages...

Then I will start to understand,

at least on the physical level, what happens...

I will experience the whole situation from within. Let's do it!

Will you kill?

No, kill...

No.

What are you thinking?

No, I just...

Let's do it this way...

My goal...

is to find myself one-on-one with the victim without witnesses.

As if finish him off and escape.

"As if" let's do it.

Who is the victim?

Choose anyone.

Anyone?

You don't pity her?

I do pity.

You're not thinking

about the right thing, writer.

This one.

Let's do this one.

He even has bodyguards,

just what we need.

I'll be right back.

- Where are you going?

- To follow him.

Here.

I wrote down the number.

What is this?

Traffic cops' database.

Enter the number.

Damn...

So?

So... We have the name

and address.

- Write it down.

- Wow!

- You have many gadgets like this?

- I have enough.

Vladimir Vyacheslavovich Ordyntsev.

- Don't write down the name.

- Why?

What if they find the notebook?

Cover your trail.

Confuse them.

Think of a nickname.

He's a good-looking chap.

The Macho.

Just like in a novel.

Macho, Fatso.

You're a writer,

think of something original.

One moment...

The Tartar...

It's funny.

- Why "the Tartar"?

- Last name is Ordyntsev.

The Golden Horde

of Tatar-Mongol Empire.

Funny.

Let it be "Tartar" then.

Do you yourself have a nickname?

Probably something catchy,

right?

What do you need it for?

Just curious.

The Ghost.

- I was being serious.

- I'm also serious.

Okay, if you don't want to tell me,

then don't.

Ready.

What's next?

How much?

- I don't understand.

- Will you work for free?

You're asking about money?

- Wait, maybe...

- No, this is not gonna work.

You wanted to go through all the stages for real. So name a price?

I don't know...

What are your income brackets?

How much do you make

from a book?

- Everything depends on number of copies sold...

- Trying to raise the price?

- No, no, I...

- Well then how much?

- Thirty?

- A thousand.

Dollars?

- If it's a bestseller, then...

- Suppose that the "Tartar" is a bestseller.

- Then it's thirty, yes.

- Okay.

I leaft you advance payment

in the storage area at the train station.

Code to the box is known only by you

and the one who makes the order, which is me.

Do not go to it right away. Look around.

Study the people nearby.

Catch drift of the mood.

Feel that your life depends on this.

- Do you know how birds are like people?

- How?

They fly to where the feed is.

Funny.

Hi.

I missed you a lot.

I'll call you back.

From the moment you took the money

you're hired.

Think of it as signing a contract.

What's next?

Now study his personality,

his daily schedule.

His habits, interests.

The people around him.

While following the Tartar, I tried hard to find the slightest explanation for his existence.

But he was a totally useless and empty subject.

Who was wasting money and wasting his life.

I did not need to turn off my emotions.

Towards the Tatar

I simply could not have any.

- You walked in after them just like that?

- Yes. - You're quite something!

Bought two tickets to a concert,

don't remember which one now.

I think he won't take the bodyguards

with him to the theater.

- Good job. Why did you get two tickets?

- For you and me.

- I don't need one. Give mine to someone else.

- Alright.

The concert goes on for about 3 hours without intermission.

The Tartar will 100% have to go smoke

or use the restroom...

- By the way, the bathroom is the ideal place.

- You chose the wrong profession, writer. - Thanks!

Listen... Tell me,

when you are going for the job...

Do you have to dress in a particular way?

"Going for the job" - what?

What job?

You are going to a concert,

so dress appropriately.

- Where to now?

- You'll see soon.

Ever shot before?

We used to shoot in school.

Here, shoot.

Is it real?

It's so heavy.

Let's go.

Take off the safety lock.

Don't spare the bullets.

There were times during war,

that with their hearts shot through

people were able to crawl to the trenches.

Give it.

Pay attention.

- Finished.

- Do it yourself.

Excellent.

Hand tighter.

Like that.

Got it!

Control shot?

Broke it?

Give it here.

Okay, enough for today.

What do I shoot with in the theater?

Your finger.

I am in the crowd.

Which of these people are armed?

Never did I think about this before.

Suddenly I felt myself naked.

Naked and not confident.

There is only one way

to conquer this lack of confidence.

- Hi.

- Hey!

- How's the life of your animals?

- Did you drink?

- You are drunk.

- What are you saying?

Anton, look at yourself.

You are drunk.

I'm celebrating the birthday of uncle Kolya.

That's great!

Good job, keep celebrating.

Drink more, write your books,

I am going home.

We had an agreement. I asked you like a man. Why do you make promises then?

Come on, now...

No, no.

- Give me my coat.

- Come on now.

When you come to your senses we'll talk, alright?

I said give me the coat!

That's it!

That's it...

Anton, I am not joking.

I'm really fed up with it to here...

- Where are you going?

- There.

Get lost, I'm not joking.

No jocking, you hear?

I'm disgusted. Don't you understand?

Take your hands off, I said!

- What are you doing?

- You just hurt me.

Understand?

Anton, have you gone mad?

- Calm down.

- What calm down?

Calm down.

- I understand everything.

- What do you understand?

- What do you understand?

- Do not touch me, okay?

What do not touch?

What do not touch...

Has something happened?

Tough day.

Personal problems.

I see.

I can't find understanding

with a girl.

We argue. Without her it's bad, with her it's bad. I'm all confused.

This morning she left me a letter: "I'm leaving."

Bla bla bla and stuff...

Maybe she has someone else?

- In what sense?

- How'd you know?

No, no...

No, it can't be.

If it can't, then it can't.

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