Short Stories

asked the boss why we were dancing around like this, when I could have taken Borubaev out of the world with a single well-placed shot. I could tell he wasn’t…

My immediate instinct was to call the number, but decided to hold off, at least for a couple of hours. Being a foreign number, I wouldn’t be able to use…

The rain had decided to ease off when I left the morgue, with hints of clear blue sky over towards the mountains. The day was shaping up to be one…

I put the call in, explained that Borubaev was in the city morgue, unfortunately only visiting rather than checking in. Presumably he’d gone to see Husam Umarov’s mortal remains. I…

A large part of my job is waiting. Waiting for the next crime to occur, for witnesses to come forward and speak, waiting in damp doorways or in run-down bars…

I knew I couldn’t call on my colleagues back at Sverdlovsky to help me out. None of them would want to be within a hundred kilometres of a missing Uzbek…

I was parked across the road from the lawyer’s office when Borubaev emerged, holding the handrail as he made his way down the steps. Even from a distance, it was…

My idea of somewhere private to call Guliya Sabirova was a little unusual, but it always pays to keep everyone guessing. I was pretty sure that Guliya Sabirova wasn’t calling…

‘Inspector Borubaev?’ A woman’s voice, elderly, dry, rasping and hoarse, as if she’d damaged her vocal cords after decades of shouting. I got the sense of fifty untipped cigarettes a…

I’ve never understood why they call it hogtied when you fasten hands and feet together. In my village, when we slaughter a pig, we just leave a trail of apples…

I looked around the empty car park, hoping to see Saltanat walking towards me, hands held up in apology. Bit I knew she wouldn’t have decided on a whim to…

It’s always a pain in the arse if you end up having to take prisoners and keep them in reasonable shape, unharmed apart from a few cuts and bruises, that…

By rights, I should have made my way to Sverdlovsky Station, brushed the dust and cobwebs off my desk, filed a report and sent it to everyone I could think…

‘No-one else is to be admitted into the apartment until the crime scene officers arrive.’

‘No answer.’ ‘Try again,’ I said. Saltanat hit redial, glared at the phone as if she were holding a scorpion. ‘Nothing.’ I reached into the wardrobe, pulled out my canvas…

The only person I ever meet face to face is the boss. It’s one of my strictest rules. Talk to the top man or don’t talk at all. When you’re…

‘What do you think?’ We were walking down from Kiev Street towards Chui Prospekt and down through the trees of Panfilov Park on our way back to the hotel. Questioning…

The penthouse had floor to ceiling windows, all the better to enjoy the spectacular view up towards the mountains on the south side of the city. The main room was…

‘What the fuck you mean, you missed them? And then lost them?’ I did my best to look sorrowful, repentant. ‘It wasn’t an easy shot. Snowing, and no knowing which…

We must have been followed from the hotel,’ I said. ‘The question is, how did they know we were there?’ ‘I don’t think there would be a police alert for…

The boss wasn’t happy, not that he’s ever been a gleam of spring sunlight shining over the Tien Shan mountains. He only grunted when I handed over the thirty grand,…

steel door frame. We both dived towards the trash skip, unholstered our guns, looked around. The attack could have come from anywhere, a parked car, a window in one of…

Eight hours later, our car was doing its best to get through the ruts and puddles of the road that led into the apartment blocks of Alamedin. To describe Alamedin…

We knew we couldn’t return to the safe house. Too many police and four dead bodies to explain away. My new passport was in the glove compartment, and Saltanat, always…

We buried Orbek near the top of a mountain ridge overlooking the Charvak Reservoir, an hour’s drive outside Tashkent. It’s a popular weekend destination during the summer, but in the…

At four in the morning, no phone call is ever good news. A patrol car had stopped in front of an alley off Frunze so the driver could empty his…

The smell hits you first, so you know what lies ahead, even before you enter the room.

‘My babulya’s been murdered.’ Not words you ever want to hear, especially when you’ve put your jacket on, decided to walk home though the park, anything to avoid wearing your…

Amateurs - An Akyl Borubaev story The squad room was empty, the only sound the whisper of dust gently settling on filing cabinets stuffed with unsolved cases.

After midnight in the Kulturny Bar, where I was upsetting the regulars and planning to get myself a gun. Of course, I already had one.

The message came in early one morning, the sun barely beginning to clamber over the mountains to the north-east of the city. The lockdown had taken all the taxis and…

Rather than another post about Bishkek’s bar scene, I thought a mini-story about Akyl Borubaev might pass a couple of moments. After all, that’s hopefully why people read this blog…