— Get off the scooter, beautiful, you’ve had enough of a ride — Major Semenov poked the rearview mirror with disdain using his thick finger, making it jingle pitifully and hang by just one screw.
Inna slowly put down the kickstand. The little engine of the old scooter coughed a couple more times and fell silent, filling the hot July air with the smell of burnt oil and scorched rubber.
On the road, the heat created an almost mirage-like effect. The asphalt under her feet seemed soft, like modeling clay, and the wormwood on the roadside was so covered in dust that it looked gray.
She had returned to her hometown for only a few days — for a childhood friend’s wedding. To avoid bringing the car from the city, she borrowed that rattling old scooter from her brother.
Jeans, a simple t-shirt with a faded print, hair tied in a tight bun under the helmet. An ordinary girl, like so many others seen on local roads.
Major Semenov approached with a lazy gait. A man with a beet-red face and small, sunken eyes, he looked like he had just woken from a nap in the sun.
His blue uniform shirt was dark with sweat under the armpits, and the collar button seemed ready to pop off his sagging neck.
— Documents — he grumbled, without bothering to introduce himself.
Inna removed her helmet, wiping the sweat from her forehead with her hand.
— Hey, commander, take it easy. By law, you should introduce yourself first. And the mirror… why did you break it?
The major blinked, surprised. He was used, thirty kilometers from the administrative center, to drivers fidgeting in their pockets and smiling submissively at the sight of his baton.
But here was a scooter girl, speaking firmly.
— Still going to teach me about the law? — he crookedly smiled, revealing teeth yellowed by smoking. — Here, the law is me. Got it? Why were you without a helmet?
— I took it off when I pulled to the roadside — Inna answered calmly.
— Really? Seems like a kilometer away. And the speed… looked like you were racing to put out a fire. Sergeant — he nodded to a skinny young man waiting near the patrol car — make a report.
Fill it all out. This smart aleck needs to spend some time with us, think about life. Talks too much.
Sergeant Pashka, whose face showed utter exhaustion from the heat, trudged to the car to fetch the forms.
— Hand over the scooter keys — Semenov extended his hand, short fingers like sausages.
— I won’t — Inna put the keys in her jeans pocket. — No grounds for detaining the vehicle. Where’s the radar? Video recording?
The major’s face grew even redder. He stepped forward suddenly, trying to grab the girl’s shoulder, but Inna dodged with agility.
— Get in the car — he growled through his teeth. — If you won’t, we’ll help. Disobeying an officer on duty counts as a crime. These girls have lost all fear.
Twenty minutes later, Inna was sitting in the dusty interior of a “UAZik.” On the way to the station, the major kept telling the sergeant stories about how he “puts these city princesses in their place” quickly.
At the station, the air smelled of bleach, old papers, and fried onions — someone had eaten lunch in the watch room.
— Throw her in cell four — Semenov ordered the duty officer. — Let her breathe the basement air. Tomorrow morning we’ll find out whose she is and where this cheeky one comes from.
Inna was pushed into a cramped cell. The heavy iron door slammed with an unpleasant screech, cutting off the hallway light.
The only small window near the ceiling was covered by a thick cobweb, barely letting gray daylight through. In the corner, sitting on a hard bench, was an elderly woman.
Her hands, veined in blue, trembled slightly, and her red eyes showed prolonged crying.
— For what, dear? — the woman asked, adjusting her faded scarf.
— For the truth, probably — Inna sat beside her. — And you, Valentina Ivanovna?
The woman raised her eyes, surprised.
— How do you know my name?
— I saw it on the detainee list with the duty officer — Inna gently touched her wrinkled hand. — Tell me what happened.
The old woman sobbed again.
— Oh, child… A tragedy. My grandson, Mishka, was taken yesterday. They said he stole from the farm warehouse. But my Mishka — he wouldn’t hurt a fly!
He spent the entire evening with me, fixing the fence. In the morning, those… they seized the boy. And the investigator, Sokolov, said: “Sign over the house to my nephew and we’ll release Mishka. Otherwise, your grandson will be gone for a long time.” I screamed, begged… and they locked me here. Said I couldn’t leave until I signed.
Inna listened, a cold rage gripping her chest. One thing was an arrogant major on the road; another was outright robbery of defenseless elders under the guise of law.
— Don’t sign anything — she said firmly. — This will end soon.
— And how will it end, dear? — the old woman sobbed. — They are gods here. Who will protect us?
About three hours passed. A strange noise came from the corridor. Someone was shouting loudly, doors slammed, and rapid, sharp footsteps echoed.
Normally, the station was sleepy, but now it buzzed like a disturbed beehive.
The cell door flew open with such force it hit the wall. At the doorway stood Colonel Rozhkov, head of the regional administration, on an unscheduled inspection.
His face showed utter perplexity. Behind him, pale as chalk, was Major Semenov.
— What is this outrage? — Rozhkov looked around. — Why are civilians in the cell without detention reports?
Semenov stammered, trying to gather his thoughts.
— Comrade Colonel… it’s… a… road delinquent! Resisted… refused to show documents…
Inna rose slowly. She reached into the secret pocket of her backpack, which she was allowed to keep, and pulled out a small red-covered booklet.
— Major, you wanted to see my documents so badly, didn’t you? Read — she handed the ID to the colonel.
Rozhkov opened it, scanned the lines, and paused for a moment, raising his eyebrows.
A complete silence fell over the station, so intense that a sparrow’s desperate chirp could be heard in the bushes outside.
— Inna Andreevna? — the colonel looked at the girl, then fixed a heavy gaze on the major. — Semenov, do you realize who you locked in the basement? This is an inspection from the internal security department. They came for your head.
Major Semenov opened his mouth but could not say a word. His face went from beet-red to grayish, his legs shook, and he leaned heavily against the doorway.
— Comrade Colonel — Inna’s voice was cold and firm — this isn’t just about me. In that cell is a woman whose home this major and his accomplice investigator tried to seize, keeping her grandson locked up.
Order the immediate release of Mikhail and review all cases involving the warehouse.
— It will be done, Natalia Igorevna! — Rozhkov turned to the duty officer. — Keys! Release everyone immediately! Semenov and Sokolov, handcuff and surrender weapons!
A real chaos erupted in the station. Terrified employees ran through the halls.
Investigator Sokolov, the one with the mole on his cheek, tried to escape through the first-floor window, but was intercepted by agents who came with the colonel.
When the steel bracelets snapped on Semenov’s wrists, he began to tremble.
— It’s a mistake… I didn’t know… We were just… — he muttered, but no one listened.
Valentina Ivanovna was led out of the cell by the arm. Seeing Mishka being brought from the adjacent corridor — alive, though pale — she simply collapsed and began to cry. Inna approached, sat beside her, and hugged her frail shoulders.
— It’s okay, grandma. No one will touch your house again. And your grandson is here.
A week later, the district station was practically dismantled. It was discovered that a group of “wolves” had been extorting locals for years. They threatened people, planted false evidence.
Major Semenov, hoping to reduce his sentence, turned in everyone — superiors and accomplices on the road.
Inna was at her friend’s wedding. Music blared, guests shouted “Kiss!”, and plates of homemade pies were on the table. Mishka approached — the same boy from the station.
— Thank you so much — he said, shifting nervously, offering a bouquet of wild daisies. — Grandma said if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here. Come visit us, grandma baked pies, everything’s ready.
Inna smiled and took the flowers. Their sharp, slightly bitter scent reminded her of the dusty road and the certainty that, sometimes, justice prevails.
Even if, for that, you just need to be in the right place at the right time on an old scooter.
