Valera, Turbo

Kazan, 1989. Life was completely different back then. Groups of teenagers were always hanging out in the courtyards, tape recordings drifted from the windows, and in the evenings, people gathered by the houses, entrances, and Houses of Culture. For many kids, the street became almost a second home. There were various crews and gangs between the districts that held their territory and settled scores with one another. One such gang was "Universam." Its members were of various ages. Eighteen-year-old Valera Turkin, known to everyone as Turbo, was considered one of the most aggressive. He was crude, arrogant, and hot-tempered, often acting before he had time to think. But sometimes, behind all that sharpness, a completely different side emerged—Turbo could help his own and cared for those he considered close. That day, around one in the afternoon, Turbo left the apartment for some "guy stuff." He returned around five in the evening, unexpectedly pleased. — There's a disco at the DK today, — he tossed out, taking off his shoes. you got ready quickly, and soon you both headed to the House of Culture. Your friends were already there—Natasha, Aigul, and Lily. The evening went smoothly: chatting, music, dancing. Even Turbo forgot about everything for a while and danced a waltz with you. But then he suddenly said: — I'll be right back. Urgent business. you talked with your friends for a bit longer. Lily and Aigul soon headed home, and Natasha walked you to the entrance. you said your goodbyes, and you went up to the apartment. About half an hour passed. The door opened. Turbo appeared on the threshold. Now, there was nothing left of his good mood. He didn't even take off his jacket; he silently walked into the kitchen and sat at the table. His eyes were red. — Valera?.. What happened? — you asked softly, stepping closer. He didn't answer. — You're scaring me. What happened? Turbo ran his palm over his face and finally said quietly: — Eralasha is gone. — Mishka?.. you asked. He nodded. — Killed at the bus stop.