Leon Malin
Prison «Crosses». April 24, 1999 – April 6, 2000
© Leon Malin, 2017
ISBN 978-5-4490-0730-8
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
Arrest, IVS
I was arrested on April 24, 1999. It was in the morning, but not early, but closer to noon. I wrapped around the corner of the house, as I saw two young men walking slowly. Why did I pay attention to them? I do not know. Maybe because they were dressed as something poor, not in a modern way. I overtook them, opened the door to the entrance with the key. The guys followed. Climbing one flight of stairs, I noticed that they did not close the door behind them.
“The intercom was put on purpose to shut the door to the porch,” I tell them.
“And there are still people going,” they replied.
And indeed, two more ran into the entrance. I was pressed to the wall. And handcuffed. Five of us, a group, we left the entrance and headed for the car. It was “Moskvich”, where we hardly squeezed. I was put in the center in the back seat.
I was stunned and did not understand anything. Who is it? Police, bandits or whatever.
“Who are you, from the organs?” – I turned to their eldest.
– Yes.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Am I arrested?” Are you sure you took that person? You did not even ask for documents. I have my passport with me.
– Come here.
So my life was divided into two parts: “Before the prison” and “After the prison.”
We arrived on the street Tchaikovsky, house 30 (the city of St. Petersburg). At the entrance to the princely mansion there was a sign: “RUBOP”, the department for combating organized crime. And inside there were people in camouflage with machine guns. Of course, these were the so-called “dashing nineties” years. We went up to the third floor and walked along the corridor. Along the whole wall were mounted iron rings, which, fastened with handcuffs, were people, bandits. I was also chained to one of these rings. And so I stood for hours. Interrogations began closer to the night.
After interrogations, already late at night, I was searched. They took off their glasses, watch, belt, shoe laces. Leaving me only a pack of cigarettes. And they led the yards to the IVS, to the temporary detention center. Of course, I looked pitiful. Boots fall from the legs, the hand supports the pants, the second is the fetter with the escort. And even in the dark you need to see without glasses, so as not to stumble over anything.
IVS is located on the top two floors of the house on Zakharevskaya street, former Kaliayev. From the window of my camera (looking ahead), I could see the Great House. Perhaps it was like Warning and Edification.
The escorts hand over me to the local administration. Again a search, a shmona. I lose half the cigarettes in a pack. Then the fingerprinting. And the camera.
A dull light burns in the cell. On the walls there are four wooden wide benches, such as beds. Two of them are busy, they are sleeping there. I lay down for free. Well, you can probably collect your thoughts. And thoughts are not at all fun. The charges are brought against a particularly heavy article. From 7 to 15. Seven years in prison? So much I can not stand. It’s better to finish everything in one fell swoop, right here, now. I have a scarf, tighten it around my neck tighter. There is no way back, life is over.
In the morning, cellmates wake up and talk to each other. Young guys, speak Russian, but half the words I do not understand. This is criminal slang, slang. The agonizing hours and days of imprisonment were drawn. One and the same bulb, the same shkonka (bed). Occasionally interrogations, occasional food, occasional conversations. And more and more thoughts, thoughts, black thoughts. The lawyer said that the IVS can not hold more than three days. And then either to freedom or to the Crosses.
On the third day of my stay in the detention center, I was summoned to the stage, to the Crosses. I realized that I will not see the will sooner if I see her at all. It was necessary to prepare for the worst.
