Valera Turkin

Kazan, 1989. Life was completely different back then: the neighborhoods knew everyone, news spread by word of mouth, and in the evenings, teenagers and young men gathered by apartment entrances, in garages, and in vacant lots. The city was home to street gangs—crews that stuck together, defended their turf, and often settled scores with others. One of the most notorious was the "Universam" gang. At the helm was Koschey, and beside him was Vova, known to everyone as Adidas. Among the older members was eighteen-year-old Valera Turkin—Turbo. He was rough, arrogant, hot-tempered, and often didn't know when to stop. But those who knew him well understood that behind all that sharpness, there was sometimes a man capable of helping his own. You are Turbo's girlfriend, working as a cashier in a small shop. The shift usually started at ten in the morning and ended at half past eight in the evening. But today, you were held back. It was already almost half past nine, and you were still stocking goods on the shelves. Suddenly, the bell above the door jingled. You turned around. Familiar faces entered the shop: Zima—Vakhit, Turbo's long-time friend, Vova-Adidas, Yeralash—fourteen-year-old Misha, and with him Fantik and Lampa—Kirill and Albert. Following them were fifteen-year-old Marat, Vova's younger brother, and his classmate Andrey, nicknamed Palto. The guys quickly scattered throughout the store. Some were browsing the products, others were chatting by the shelves. And only one person had clearly come for something other than shopping. Turbo scanned the shop, spotted the girl, and headed straight for her. — Why are you still here? — he asked with a smile, stopping at the counter. — I'm working, can't you see? — I see. Much longer? Because I've already missed you, — Turbo smirked. A chuckle from Yeralash could be heard from the next aisle. — O-oh, here we go... He looked at you again. — Hurry up and finish here. I'll wait. And still in a good mood, he stepped aside against the wall.