“Yo Timofey, I heard from some of the guys around the league that you like to party real hard,” said Matthew Dellavadova.
Timofey nodded. “Yes. I party in the Russian manner, and American consider it to be very extreme form of party.”
Matthew puffed up a bit. “Well, down under, we do it a little differently than these weak American pussies. Why don’t you take me out and we’ll see if the Russians can really stack up to the Aussies.”
Standing up, Timofey replied, “Okay. You have to meet me at my apartment in two hour so I can make prepare for the fun time we have.”
“So? Where are we heading? The club?” Matthew asked as he got in the passenger seat of Timofey’s bright-orange sports car. “Or do you have some underground Russian house parties that you prefer?”
“No, not like that,” Timofey answered. “We make own fun.” Reaching under his seat, he pulled out two AK-47’s. Handing one to Matthew, he said, “Be careful with this. But not too careful, haha!”
“Woah,” Matthew breathed, turning the gun over in his hands. “Where did you get these?”
Timofey shrugged. “I already make contacts in area, they set me up with weapons and other fun stuff. Let’s go!” He pulled out of the parking garage of his condo at high speeds, then sped down the street towards a more run-down area of Cleveland.
“So, what are the guns for?” Matthew asked as his teammate blatantly ignored traffic laws.
“We shoot them. In this part of town, nobody care about shoot gun, not even police! Just like in Russia, my friend.” After this explanation, Timofey stuck his gun out the window and blasted a few rounds out the window, heedless of any cars or pedestrians that might be in the line of fire.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Matthew said uneasily. “Can’t we just, I don’t know, get drunk or something?”
“I ALREADY DRUNK!” Timofey yelled joyfully while firing a celebratory round through the windshield. “AND HIGH ON PREMIUM COCAINE!”
They pulled up to an abandoned house. As Timofey got out of the car and opened the trunk, he said, “This not the house party you is expecting!” Retrieving several large gasoline canisters from the trunk, he ran eagerly towards the house, with Matthew tentatively trailing after.
“Come on! In Russia we call this ‘Firestorm’, but police say ‘Arson’!” Timofey yelled back. Easily ripping off the plywood that covered the front door, he entered the kitchen and splashed some puddles of gasoline here and there. The living room and hallway, littered with tattered furniture and random garbage, received the same treatment. Then, he ran up the rickety, broken-down stairs to the second floor. Running from room to room, he poured gasoline all over the floor, the walls, and the furniture. Noticing that his new friend was not helping, Timofey grabbed the canister out of his hand. “You not doing it right. How we play Firestorm if only some room are on fire?”
“I’m not sure I really want to play this game,” Matthew said.
“Too late!” Timofey said, lighting a match and dropping it on the floor. Immediately, a huge swell of flame engulfed the bedroom they stood in.
“Dude, are you psycho?” Matthew yelled, his eyes wide and glowing orange with the reflection of the flame. “The door’s on fire! How are we supposed to get out?”
“That the game! We have fun, yes?” With that, Timofey leapt through the door, barely avoiding catching fire to his clothes. The whole house was now engulfed, a blazing frenzied chaos. He looked back to see Matthew still frozen in fear. “I don’t want to scare, but if you stay in one spot, that buy you ticket to death!”
He turned back around and reached the stairs, which had fallen clean away from the inferno. Excited by this new challenge, he got a running jump and landed hard on the landing below. He could feel the fire licking his body and looked down to see his pants leg on fire. Ripping off the clothing, his bare legs were harassed by the encroaching conflagration. The fire was growing more intense by the second, being fed oxygen by the broken windows. Knowing there was not much time left, he sprinted through the remainder of the house as supporting walls began to collapse. Exiting the front door and running to the street where his windshield-less car was parked, he turned and waited for Matthew.
A few minutes passed, and the house was now fully engulfed. Timofey wondered if Matthew was okay. Then, a burning object fell limply out of a second-floor window, hitting the ground without sound or movement.
Running over, Timofey observed the burning body of Matthew Dellavedova. He turned it over onto its back and saw skin and muscle melting under the intense heat of the flame. “Matthew, you have fun or what? I told you Russian know how to party!”
There was no response.
Shrugging his shoulders again, Timofey left behind the incinerated body of his former teammate and got in his car to drive home.