Roma Gorb stepped forward, his fingers clenching the handle of the revolver. Words about the death of Tanya Pedurikha sounded in my head, and rage was mixed with cold calculation. Ivan Tuzolog, always calm and focused, was holding a knife in his hands - his favorite weapon. They went inside through the side door. The air smelled of old alcohol and dust. Several empty boxes lay on the floor, and traces of blood glistened in the far corner.