“Get off the scooter, sweetheart, you’ve had enough fun,” growled Major Semenov, poking the rearview mirror with his thick finger. It jingled painfully and hung by a single bolt.
Inna slowly set down the kickstand. The old scooter coughed twice more before dying, filling the hot July air with the scent of overheated oil and burning rubber.
A heat haze shimmered over the highway. The asphalt beneath her feet seemed soft, like clay, and the dusty wormwood along the roadside had turned a pale gray.
She’d only come home for a couple of days—for a childhood friend’s wedding. To avoid bringing her car from the city, she had borrowed this rattling old machine from her brother.
Jeans, a simple t-shirt with a faded print, hair tied tightly under her helmet. A completely ordinary girl—one of hundreds on the local roads.
Major Semenov, his face the color of raw beet, with small, puffy eyes, waddled toward her. His blue uniform shirt was dark with sweat under the arms, the top button straining to hold on.
“Papers,” he barked, without introducing himself.Inna removed her helmet, wiping her forehead with her hand.“Hey, commander, ease up a bit. The law says you introduce yourself first… and what was the point of breaking the mirror?”
The major blinked, taken aback. Out here, thirty kilometers from the district center, drivers were used to digging frantically in their pockets and offering sycophantic smiles at the sight of his baton. And now… here was a small girl on a scooter, speaking up.
“You’re going to lecture me on laws?” he sneered, showing his smoke-stained teeth. “Here, the law is me. Got it? Why were you riding without a helmet?”
“I took it off when I pulled over,” Inna said calmly.“Oh really? I could have sworn you were flying like that for a mile,” he muttered. “Sergent!”—he gestured to the thin guy by the patrol car—“write up the report!
Go all out on this clever little city girl! Let her sit and think about her life; her mouth’s too big.”Sergent Pashka, who looked thoroughly defeated by the heat, trudged to the car to fetch the forms.
“Hand over the keys,” Semenov said, extending his stubby, sausage-like fingers.“No way,” Inna replied, slipping the keys into her jeans pocket. “No grounds to seize the vehicle. Where’s the radar? Video evidence?”
The major’s face turned even redder. He stepped forward abruptly, trying to grab her by the shoulder, but Inna dodged nimbly.“Get in the car,” he hissed. “If you won’t, we’ll help.
Disobeying an officer… that’s criminal territory. The girls have lost all fear these days.”Twenty minutes later, Inna sat in the dusty cabin of a UAZ. On the way to the station,
Semenov regaled the sergeant with tales of how he “puts city girls in their place.” The station smelled of bleach, old paper, and fried onions—someone had clearly had lunch in the guard room.
“Cell four,” Semenov barked at the duty officer. “Let her get some fresh air in the basement. Tomorrow we’ll see who she is and where she comes from.”
Inna was pushed into a cramped cell. The heavy metal door slammed with an unpleasant screech, cutting off the light from the corridor. In a corner sat an elderly woman. Her hands were a web of blue veins, trembling slightly, and her eyes were red from crying.
“Why are you here, my dear?” she asked softly, adjusting her faded headscarf.“For telling the truth, probably,” Inna said, sitting beside her. “And you, Valentina Ivanovna?”
The woman looked up in surprise.“How do you know my name?”“I saw the list at the duty desk,” Inna said gently, touching her hand. “Tell me what happened.”
The old woman began to sob again.“Oh, dear… yesterday they took my grandson, Misha. They said he had raided a farm warehouse. But my Misha? He wouldn’t harm a fly! He spent the whole evening with me, fixing the fence.
This morning, those men came… and they took him. The investigator, Sokolov, said, ‘Sign over your house to my nephew and we’ll release Misha. Otherwise, he goes far away for a long time.’
I screamed, I begged… and they locked me up. They said I couldn’t leave until I signed.”
Inna listened, ice-cold fury tightening inside her. One thing was a rude major on the highway, another was outright theft of a helpless old woman under the color of authority.
“Do not sign anything,” she said firmly. “It will end soon.”“Oh, my dear, how will it end? They are gods here. Who will stand up for us?”
Three hours passed. Strange noises echoed down the corridor: someone shouting, doors slamming, fast, precise footsteps. The usually sleepy station was buzzing like a disturbed beehive.
The cell door burst open, hitting the wall. Standing in the doorway was Colonel Rozhkov, head of the regional administration, on an unscheduled inspection.
His face showed complete astonishment. Behind him, Major Semenov looked pale as chalk.“What is this mess?” Rozhkov demanded, surveying the cell. “Why are civilians held here without proper detention records?”
Semenov stammered.“Uh… Colonel… this… a delinquent from the road! Resisting… refusing papers…”Inna rose slowly, pulling a small red booklet from her inner pocket.
“Major, you wanted to see my papers? Here.” She handed the ID to the colonel.Rozhkov scanned the lines and froze for a second. His eyebrows rose. The silence in the station was so complete, the chirping of a sparrow outside could be heard.
“Inna Andreyevna?” the colonel asked, then glared at Semenov. “Do you realize WHO you locked in the basement? This is an internal security inspection.”
Semenov’s face went from beet-red to an ashen gray. His knees shook; he leaned heavily against the doorframe.
“Colonel,” Inna said, her voice cold and clear, “this isn’t about me. There’s a woman in this cell whose house this major and his accomplice are trying to steal, keeping her grandson locked up.
Order Mikhail released and investigate all warehouse cases immediately.”“Do it at once!” Rozhkov barked to the duty officer. “Keys! Release everyone! Handcuff Semenov and investigator Sokolov! Surrender weapons!”
Chaos erupted. Frightened staff ran from the offices. Sokolov, the investigator with the mark on his cheek, tried to escape through a window, but the colonel’s escort caught him in the nettles.
Semenov trembled as the handcuffs clicked.“It’s a mistake… I didn’t know… we just—” he muttered, ignored by everyone.
Valentina Ivanovna was led out. Seeing Misha alive, though pale, she collapsed to the floor crying. Inna sat next to her and hugged her frail shoulders.
“It’s okay, Grandma. No one will touch your house again. Your grandson is here.”A week later, the district office was practically disbanded. It turned out the “wolf pack” had been extorting locals for years.
Hoping for leniency, Semenov gave up everyone—both the bosses and the local collaborators.Inna sat at her friend’s wedding. Music blared, guests shouted,
“Bitter!” plates of homemade pies covered the tables. Misha approached, awkwardly shuffling and offering a bouquet of wild daisies.
“Thank you so much,” he said, fidgeting. “Grandma said if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here. Come visit us, Grandma baked pies—everything’s waiting.”
Inna smiled and took the flowers. Their sharp, bittersweet scent reminded her of that dusty highway, and that sometimes, justice does prevail… even if it just requires showing up at the right time on an old scooter in the wrong place.
