A Different Kind of Encounter
“LEBEDEVA, IT’S YOU AGAIN!” Valya looked up and sighed deeply. Of course, who else could it be but Vasily Nikiforovich, their ever-present local police officer. Generally, homeless people aren’t exactly friends with the police. However, this was a different story altogether. Nikiforovich did occasionally chase them out of alleyways, but always with a reason. He oversaw a large district and often found them odd jobs, helping out where he could. There were seven of them in their group, homeless people like Valya. It’s impossible to survive alone, and it’s more lively when there are more of you. But as soon as they got even a little money, they’d immediately start looking for trouble. Nikiforovich always seemed to sense it and would appear instantly, like a jack-in-the-box. — “Are you here again, Vasily Nikiforovich?” — Valya lowered her head humbly and looked at his boots. — “What are you doing?” — “Nothing, just sitting,” she replied. — “No, I wasn’t bothering passersby, Vasily Nikiforovich. I just asked for a hundred rubles, I didn’t demand anything. It was Vanya’s birthday yesterday, we sat around a bit, and well, we got carried away. Everyone’s feeling rough today. We need to get back on our feet. I just asked.” — “Vanya’s drunk away what little brains you had, he even remembers when it’s his birthday. Every day’s a holiday for you lot. Where did you get the money for this shindig?” the officer asked with a smirk, and Valya even stamped her foot. — “Honestly, Vasily Nikiforovich. Min’ka and Vanya were hauling firewood all day yesterday in the private sector. They got paid, and even a little extra for being quick. But, cross my heart, we didn’t touch a drop.” “Well, you’re a fine bunch, the man had a birthday, and you left him high and dry,” the officer said. “You’ll mess around until I send you all where you belong.” Valya breathed a sigh of relief because Nikiforovich usually left after saying these words, but today he was acting a bit odd, and it made her uneasy. “Listen, Valentina,” he said suddenly. “Haven’t you noticed anything strange? You see everything, maybe one of your lot has said something?” Valya racked her brains. “No, I haven’t noticed anything, haven’t heard anything. Everyone’s just busy, running around. What’s happened?” “Nothing special,” Vasily Nikiforovich sighed and waved his hand dismissively. “But if you see anything suspicious—come straight to me.” “What, right to your place?” Valya clarified with a smirk. “Night, day, doesn’t matter! Come to me like a shot,” the officer snapped. “And you say nothing’s happened,” Valya continued skeptically, but the officer, looking displeased, waved his hand again and walked away. Valya thought it over. She’d only seen him this anxious once before—about five years ago. Back then, someone pretending to be social workers would visit lonely old women and rob them. If anyone dared to resist or shout, they’d be hit over the head and locked in a cupboard or toilet. They couldn’t catch them, although it was obvious to everyone that it was someone from their own circle, since they knew when the old women were home alone without relatives. When those incidents with the old women and the robberies were happening, Nikiforovich was just as tense as he was now. Eventually, the thief was caught, and it turned out to be the grandson of one of the old women. The scoundrel had been watching, sitting right in plain sight at the building entrance, even next to his own grandmother. His granny had nothing to do with it. Back then, a group of homeless people, and Sergey in particular, had helped the officer. One day, Sergey noticed a suspicious character who, in the evening, came out of the building entrance carrying something heavy… The story continues in the comments. 👇👇… Sergey noticed a suspicious character who, in the evening, came out of the building entrance carrying something heavy… and quickly loaded it into a car. Sergey remembered the police officer’s words about being vigilant and, despite his fear of getting involved, he called Nikiforovich. It turned out that the suspicious character was indeed connected to the robberies.
Valya gathered her group that evening. She told them about Nikiforovich’s strange visit and about the robberies from five years ago. “Remember Sergey? How he helped back then? Nikiforovich is asking for help again, it seems,” she concluded. Min’ka, always eager for action, perked up. “So, what are we looking for?” Vanya, still slightly hungover but intrigued, also joined in. “Something suspicious,” Valya repeated Nikiforovich’s words. “Anything out of the ordinary. Keep your eyes peeled, listen to what people are saying.”
The next few days, the group became unusually observant. They positioned themselves in different spots around the district, listening to conversations, watching people’s routines. They learned about shopkeepers complaining about increased petty theft, and about a rash of minor burglaries in garages. Nothing concrete, but the general unease was palpable.
One evening, as Valya was sitting near a small grocery store, she noticed a delivery van parked across the street. It was unusual for this time of night. Two men were unloading boxes from the van into a side entrance of the store, which Valya knew was usually used only for deliveries during the day. The men were hurrying, their faces tense. They weren’t wearing uniforms or any markings identifying them as delivery personnel. Something felt off.
Valya remembered Nikiforovich’s words: “Come to me like a shot.” She hesitated for a moment, then made up her mind. She found a payphone – a rare relic these days – and called the local police station. She asked for Vasily Nikiforovich. To her surprise, he answered almost immediately.
“Vasily Nikiforovich, it’s Valya Lebedeva,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “I think… I think I’ve seen something suspicious.” She quickly described the delivery van and the men unloading boxes at the grocery store.
Nikiforovich listened intently. “Stay where you are, Valentina. Don’t approach them, just watch. And tell me the license plate number of the van, if you can.”
Valya carefully noted down the license plate and relayed it to Nikiforovich. She watched as the men finished unloading and quickly drove away in the van. Within minutes, a police car arrived, siren wailing softly. Nikiforovich jumped out.
“Where are they?” he asked, his eyes scanning the street. Valya pointed in the direction the van had gone. Nikiforovich nodded to his partner, who jumped back into the car and sped off. Nikiforovich turned to Valya. “Good job, Valentina. You did well.” He looked genuinely relieved.
Later that night, Nikiforovich found Valya and her group near their usual spot. He looked tired but satisfied. “We caught them,” he announced. “Thanks to you, Valya. And all of you.” He explained that the delivery van was stolen, and the men were indeed burglars, using the guise of late-night deliveries to rob local shops. They had been operating for weeks, and the police were baffled.
“It was your observation that cracked the case,” Nikiforovich said, looking at Valya with respect. “You noticed something others missed. Just like Sergey back then.”
Valya felt a warmth spread through her chest. It wasn’t just about the hundred rubles she had asked for earlier that day. It was about something more. They were homeless, yes, often looked down upon, but they were also part of this city, part of this community. And sometimes, even they could be useful, even they could help.
Nikiforovich reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of bills. “Here,” he said, offering it to Valya. “For your help. And for Vanya’s birthday. Maybe this time, celebrate without getting too carried away.” He winked.
Valya smiled, a genuine smile that reached her eyes. “Thank you, Vasily Nikiforovich,” she said. “We’ll try our best.” As Nikiforovich walked away, Valya looked at her group. They were all looking at her with a newfound respect. Maybe, just maybe, things were starting to look a little brighter. They were still homeless, still struggling, but today, they had been more than just homeless people. They had been helpful, they had been observant, they had been important. And that, Valya thought, was worth more than a hundred rubles.