This morning, I made the biggest mistake I’ve made all year. Before heading off to my shift at the bookstore, I carelessly agreed to a simple request: to let my husband’s cousin stay at our apartment for a bit. Fyodor, who deals in car parts, pleaded his case on the phone: “Just three boxes, Oksana, I’m moving my stock from one warehouse to another, my car broke down, I’ll leave them with you until dinner,” he promised, convincing me to leave a spare set of keys under the doormat.
Evening rolled around. I came home after a long shift—but there was no sign of any ‘three boxes.’ Instead, the hallway was barricaded with piles of summer tires. The smell hit me—it honestly felt like I’d moved into a tire shop during the busiest season. There was the stench of raw rubber, motor oil, and some kind of harsh chemical in the air.
I cautiously peeked into the living room. Right in the middle of my favorite Persian rug (the one we brought back from vacation) sat a giant, chrome bumper for an SUV. Sheets of metal, carefully wrapped in bubble wrap, were propped up against the bookcase, completely blocking access to my rare art books. Exhaust pipes were comfortably resting on the soft couch, and beside them stood a pyramid of containers filled with coolant. On the coffee table? Brake discs lined up neatly.
— Zhorik’s in shock! Zhorik is calling the police! — came a frantic scream from above.
Poirot was perched on the chandelier—our grey African parrot. Technically, his name is Poirot on his papers, but he prefers to introduce himself as Zhorik whenever he wants to sound particularly important. At that moment, he was puffing up his feathers, eyeing the scene below with a single round yellow eye and was clearly sizing up the situation as a crisis.
I carefully stepped over a stack of car mats, trying not to brush my light-colored trousers against a greasy oil pan, and made my way to the kitchen.
Fyodor was sitting at the table. In front of him was my favorite mug, half-full of tea, and my last slice of expensive cured sausage—the one I’d been saving for the weekend—looked lonely on a plate. He looked absolutely content with life, sitting back in the chair and rubbing his satisfied belly.
I froze on the threshold, clutching my purse to my chest, trying to wrap my head around the scale of the disaster.
«Fedya,» I said in a sweet voice. That tone always made my husband start frantically wondering if he’d unplugged the iron and where his important documents were—just in case. «What’s with the modern foreign auto exhibition in my living room?»
«Oksanochka, I explained everything,» Fyodor waved his hand, still holding a piece of sausage.
«Unexpected circumstances! The old warehouse owner hiked up the rent, and I haven’t found a new place yet. I have to stash the goods somewhere. I can’t just throw away such valuables—this is all worth a fortune!»
«You said just three boxes, until this evening.»
«That was just a figure of speech!» Fyodor huffed indignantly, as if I were nitpicking about nothing. «Business demands flexibility. You and Kolya are at work all day—apartment’s empty. Who’s it bothering? It’ll sit here just a month or two, until I find a space. And for your trouble, I’ll—even give you some windshield washer fluid for winter. Two jugs! No, three!»
«A month?» My left eye twitched. Anton Chekhov used to advise squeezing the slave out of yourself in any unclear situation, but right now, I just wanted to squeeze Fyodor out of my apartment. Along with his exhaust pipes, brake pads, and jerrycans.
«Move out, you bum!» Poirot squawked, dive-bombing from the chandelier right onto the back of the chair where my relative was sitting.
«Shoo, you feathered soup pot!» Fyodor waved his hand at the parrot, trying to chase him away from the table.
But Poirot didn’t budge. Tilting his head, he examined Fyodor closely, then in a flash, stretched his beak over, snatched a slice of cheese from the plate—the one the guest had prepared for his next sandwich—and, with a triumphant caw, flew off to the kitchen cabinets.
«You little pest!» Fyodor fumed, shaking a rolled-up newspaper at the cupboard. «Give me back my cheese!»
«Leave my bird alone,» I said in a stern tone, sliding my chair out and sitting across from my relative. «Fyodor, I don’t know what your idea of business is, but all this junk needs to be gone by eight tonight. Start moving it out right now.»
Fyodor heaved a dramatic sigh, showing just how unbearable it was to deal with women who knew nothing about the big business world. He put down the newspaper and looked at me pitifully.
«Oksana, come on, be reasonable. What am I supposed to do with all this stuff? We’re family, blood relatives. Kolya will understand me. You’ve got a huge apartment—if you lose twenty meters, no one will suffer! You’ll be helping your brother get back on his feet.»
«We have eighty square meters, Fedya. And those are living spaces, not a warehouse for your metal parts.»
At that moment, a key turned in the lock. My husband Nikolay stepped into the hallway—or at least tried to, because he immediately tripped over a pyramid of brake pads and tumbled noisily onto the shoe bench.
«May the devil take you all!» came a yell from the hallway, matched by the clattering of scattered parts. «Oksana, are we bringing a truck home piece by piece now?! What are these leaf springs doing here?!»
Kolya entered the kitchen, rubbing a bruised knee. Spotting his brother finishing his tea and me, frozen with a stone-cold expression, Kolya immediately sized up the scene.
«Kolyan, brother!» Fyodor jumped up with open arms, as if they hadn’t seen each other in a hundred years. «Your wife and I are just working out some business processes! We’re tackling cost-cutting strategies!»
I turned to my husband.
«Your family seems to think my apartment is a garage!» I said, enunciating every word. «And they’re planning to turn it into a wholesale depot for the next month. All for a can of windshield washer fluid. They suggest we squeeze in a bit.»
Kolya slowly shifted his gaze from me to Fyodor. He brushed the dust off his work jeans and stepped closer to the table.
«Fedya, are you sure you’re not confused?» my husband asked. «We agreed on three boxes, just until evening. And only because you called me, saying your car broke down at the intersection. I was trying to help you out.»
«Kolya, you know how expensive commercial real estate is right now!» Fyodor whined, his eyes darting around slyly. «Ten thousand per square meter! It’s daylight robbery! And your living room just sits there, unused. You only watch TV there on weekends. Come on, make a little space for your own brother. I’m not a stranger! What, you can’t spare a corner for family? I’ll give you a discount on parts. Ten percent!»
«Freebie, sir!» Poirot shouted from the top of the closet, and with great showmanship, threw down the stolen piece of cheese. The cheese landed perfectly on Fyodor’s head.
Fyodor squealed, brushing away the cheesy treat, and started huffing in indignation. He grabbed a paper napkin and vigorously wiped off his hair.
«I’ll turn that feathered thing into a scarecrow!» he growled, reaching for the parrot.
«Just try it,» Kolya stepped forward, looming over his brother. He was half a head taller and twice as broad. «Fedya, pack up your metal junk and get out. The clock’s ticking. You’ve got exactly one hour to clear your stuff.»
Fyodor realized that playing the brother card wasn’t working, so he changed tactics. He straightened up, smoothed his shirt, and looked at us with the condescension of a big company director.
«So that’s how it is? Kicking your own relative out onto the street? Thanks a lot. But I can’t haul all this with my bare hands right now. No car, no movers. So until tomorrow evening, everything stays right here—whether you like it or not. And keep it down, will you? I’ve got a client coming over soon, promised him the left headlight.»
I felt a chill run through me.
«What client?» I asked quietly, clenching my fists.
«Just a regular one,» Fyodor shrugged, acting nonchalant. «A buyer with cash. I can’t stop business just because of your whims. I’ve got obligations to people.»
The doorbell rang. Short, energetic, twice in a row. Very insistent.
The three of us froze. Poirot immediately made a sound that perfectly mimicked a police siren.
I turned and went to open the door. Standing there was a man around forty, dressed in a worn denim jumpsuit, with a friendly face and a mischievous squint. He twirled car keys in his hand.
«Good afternoon!» he boomed cheerfully, shifting from foot to foot. «Is this Fedos’s Auto Parts? I need a left headlight for a sedan, and if you have some brake pads too, I’d like to check those out.»
I glanced back. Fyodor was already squeezing past my husband into the hallway, plastering on his overly-businesslike salesman face.
«Yes, yes, come in, sir!» my relative hurried, rubbing his hands. «We’ll get everything set up—the parts are in stock, top-notch service! Best prices in town!»
I blocked Fyodor’s path, holding out my hand.
«Stay right there.»
The man in the jumpsuit raised his eyebrows in surprise and whistled, watching us with obvious curiosity.
«Excuse me,» I said to the buyer. «How did you find this address?»
— It says it right here in the listing on your website, clear as day, — the man pulled out his smartphone and tapped the screen with his grease-stained finger. — See for yourself: ‘Self-pickup daily from eight in the morning to ten at night.’ And the address is yours. 8 Stroiteley Street, apartment 64. Door code — 38. I was actually surprised, thought, wow, what a service, a pickup point right in a residential building, third floor. Convenient! Maybe they’ll even offer some tea while they do the paperwork?
I could feel my blood boiling. This audacious guy hadn’t just dragged his oily junk into my home. He’d practically turned my apartment into a thoroughfare for the whole city! He actually intended to bring strangers here every day until late at night.
— Kolya, — I called for my husband.
Kolya came over, glanced at the cheerful buyer’s phone, and narrowed his eyes menacingly. His fists clenched tight.
— Fedya, — my husband’s voice dropped to a threatening growl. — Did you put our home address on the internet? As a pickup point? Without telling us?
— So what?! — Fyodor snapped, realizing he had nothing to lose and going on the offensive. He started waving his arms frantically. — What, am I supposed to meet customers in the rain at the bus stop? I run a respectable business! I need a location! You guys are at home all evening anyway, watching TV. You could hand off orders if I can’t get here in time. Combine the pleasant with the useful. What, is it so hard to help your brother make a little money?! Just hand over a box, take the cash, easy!
— Cheapskate! — Poirot declared clearly, perching on the back of the coat rack. He dangled down and expertly pecked Fyodor right on the back of the head, pulling out a hair.
— Ouch! — Fyodor grabbed his head. — Get that pterodactyl away from me! He’s going to scalp me!
The man in the doorway was openly enjoying the unfolding spectacle. He stood next to the rack and crossed his arms across his chest.
— So I take it there’ll be no headlight today? — he asked cheerfully. — By the way, I’m Sanya. Or just San Sanych. I love a family drama more than any soap opera on Channel Two. Please, go on, I’m in no rush.
— You’ll get your headlight, San Sanych, — I took a deep breath, regaining my composure. As Bulgakov used to say, never ask anything from those stronger than you. They’ll offer it themselves and give you everything. I fixed Fyodor with an icy stare. — Hand over your phone.
— Why? — he snapped back, stepping away.
— Get it out, pull up your listing. Now.
Reluctantly, Fyodor pulled his phone from his pocket, eyeing my husband suspiciously.
— Remove the address. Right now. In front of me, — I stepped right up to him. — If our address is still in your ad a minute from now, I’m calling the police and telling them there are flammable materials and car parts of unknown origin being stored in my apartment without my consent. And I’m sure you don’t have the paperwork for this stuff. So you’ll get to explain to them where the goods came from and why you’re running a warehouse in someone else’s home.
— You wouldn’t dare! — Fyodor shrieked, clutching his phone to his chest. — That’s tyranny! That’s a blow to small business! I pay my taxes!
«Kolya, call the local police officer,» I ordered calmly, never taking my eyes off the cheeky guy.
«Already looking up his number,» Kolya replied, pulling out his phone and dramatically scrolling through his contacts. «Let’s see, where’s our Petrovich…»
«Alright, alright! You’re crazy!» Fyodor started tapping furiously on his phone with his stubby fingers. «There, I deleted it! Happy now? You’ve totally killed any initiative! What great family you are! No support in hard times! All you care about is yourselves!»
«And now,» I turned to Sanya, who was watching the re-education of the businessman with interest, «San Sanych, what did you drive here in?»
«Came in a van,» Sanya nodded. «A big work truck. Could fit an elephant in there, if you bend its trunk. It’s seriously spacious.»
«Perfect. Sanya, how about earning five thousand rubles right now? Cash or transfer—whatever you prefer. It’s not a glamorous job, but it is heavy work.»
Sanya stopped joking around and scratched his chin thoughtfully, sizing up the offer.
«Depends on who I need to pack up. If it’s this nervous shopkeeper, that’s not enough. He’s heavy and he’ll put up a fight. You’ll need to pay extra for hazardous duty.»
«Nobody’s getting packed up,» I said with a satisfied chuckle. «All you need to do is help this successful entrepreneur move his priceless treasures. Right now. Immediately. This entire mountain of tires and metal.»
«Where to?» Fyodor asked warily, glancing around nervously. «I don’t have a warehouse! I already told you! Are you planning to dump me out on the street in the rain?! It’s damp outside, my brake pads will soak up moisture! The merchandise will get ruined!»
«Why would we dump it on the street?» I put on my most caring expression. «Fyodor, you yourself said an hour ago: ‘Who’s it bothering? Let it sit for a month or two until I find a place.’»
«Well, yeah,» he replied cautiously, not sure where I was going with this.
«You’ve got a beautiful, spacious one-bedroom apartment in that new building on Mira Avenue. Forty-two square meters of pure selfishness. You live alone. If the spare parts don’t bother anyone in our living room, they’ll look absolutely perfect in your place. You can put the bumpers under the bed, mufflers on the balcony, and the tires will fit right into your kitchen’s interior, replacing the bar stools. Modern style is all the rage these days! It’s practical and always within reach.»
Fyodor collapsed onto a pouf in the hallway, almost squashing a cardboard box of air filters. His face stretched in horror.
«Are you out of your mind? I just finished renovations! Bright laminate floors! White wallpaper from Italy! That’s where I sleep, for crying out loud! How am I supposed to sleep surrounded by tires and used oil?! I’m allergic to dust! I need fresh air to live like a normal person!»
«Just the way we were supposed to sleep,» Kolya said harshly. He walked over to Sanya and gave him a firm handshake. «Bro, can you help with the loading? I’ll even throw in a couple bottles of excellent cold beer on top.»
«No problem at all!» Sanya happily agreed, rolling up the sleeves of his greasy coveralls. «I love helping small businesses expand their horizons. Especially for five grand and some beer. Are we taking everything? From the tiny bolts to that giant radiator over there?»
«I’m not going anywhere!» Fyodor yelled, waving his arms and trying to block the way to the boxes. «This is illegal relocation of someone else’s property! You can’t just take my things! I’ll complain! I’ll write a formal complaint!»
«It’s paid for!» Poirot shouted and swooped down at Fyodor, skillfully snatching the paper receipt for the parts from his pocket.
«Give me that paper!» Fyodor tried to catch the bird, flailing his arms, but Poirot was already sitting on the top shelf of the closet, happily munching on the corner of the document.
The next two hours turned into a frantic spectacle. Kolya, cheerful Sanya, and I created a non-stop human conveyor belt. I handed over the light boxes of spark plugs, small filters, wipers, and plastic caps. Kolya strained with the heavy winter tires, huffing from the effort. Sanya, cracking jokes, carried out the hefty metal parts: suspension arms, steering racks, and brake discs.
Fyodor dashed between us, getting underfoot and trying to halt this unstoppable process. He grabbed our sleeves, blocked the doorway, and constantly lamented every part being taken out.
«Careful! That’s an original hood from a Japanese car! You’ll ruin its geometry! It’s worth a fortune!» the relative shrieked as Kolya and Sanya tried to maneuver the enormous chunk of metal up the narrow third-floor stairwell.
«Relax, Fedos,» Sanya puffed, grabbing the edge of the heavy hood. «We’re multi-skilled professionals. Top-notch movers. Want me to strap this to your back? You’ll look like an armored turtle. Plus, it’ll protect you from competitors at the market.»
«There’s no space left!» the relative moaned, grabbing his head with both hands and running circles around us. «You’re going to wreck my entire apartment! There are white baseboards in there! I only put them up a month ago!»
«Commerce needs maximum flexibility, brother,» Kolya replied warmly as he shoved another batch of studded tires into the cargo elevator. «We’re lending a hand in a crisis, just like you asked. We’re family. Gotta help out our own in tough times.»
Poirot wasn’t left out either. He flew overhead, making his own important contribution to the move. First, he swooped down on Fyodor’s stack of documents, snatched a bright business card, and carried it to the windowsill. Then he dropped an empty cardboard tape roll on the relative’s head. When Fyodor tried to hide a small box of expensive sensors under his jacket, the parrot whistled loudly, mimicking a car alarm.
«Drop the loot!» Poirot shouted, settling onto the chandelier. «Thief!»
«Will someone shut up that feathered siren!» Fyodor grumbled, pulling the box out from under his jacket.
When Sania’s spacious van was packed to the brim — so full the rear springs groaned under all that metal — we all climbed in. Sania took the wheel, I settled into the passenger seat beside him, and Kolya squeezed into the back with Fyodor — his mission was to keep an eye on Fyodor, just in case he decided to back out and bail on his goods halfway there. I leaned back in my seat, feeling unbelievably light, already savoring the justice that was about to unfold.
Poirot stayed home on duty. Right before we left, he let out a loud whistle after Fyodor and, channeling his inner train station announcer, declared:
«End of the line! Please empty the carriages! Next stop — the scrapyard!»
At Fyodor’s new apartment building, the unloading sped up even more. The guys worked non-stop, eager to get the whole thing over with. The relative’s new one-bedroom, truly sparkling with a fresh, bright renovation and spotless cleanliness, was swiftly getting overtaken by the harsh reality of car parts everywhere.
Sania, with a cheerful wink, carefully stacked dirty winter tires right onto the sleek light laminate floor next to the expensive white sofa. The rubber left behind black marks. Kolya lined up bulky radiators along the wall — yes, the very wall with the cream-colored wallpaper Fyodor used to moan about.
«Why are you putting dirty things on my new clean floor?!» Fyodor wailed, running circles with a wet rag and frantically trying to shove advertising leaflets under every grimy part. «This is my sleeping area! I use this space to relax after work!»
«It’s your main wholesale hub now, Fedya,» Kolya said matter-of-factly, lugging in a shiny bumper and propping it right up against the giant plasma TV. «Get used to your new scale. Now you can work from home. That’s every businessman’s dream!»
An hour later, Fyodor’s spacious apartment looked like an obstacle course for SWAT team training. To get from the front door to the bathroom, you’d have to climb over two rows of tires, expertly weave around a wobbly stack of bumpers, then squeeze sideways past metal shelves piled with small parts. The kitchen was completely blocked by cardboard boxes of motor oil and jugs of antifreeze. No way anyone was reaching the stove at all.
Fyodor’s wide bed now sat right in the center of this automotive extravaganza, surrounded by spare parts like a lonely white island in an ocean of machine oil and metal.
We stood against the hallway wall, taking a moment to savor our handiwork. The air in the apartment already had the unmistakable scent of a garage.
«Well, that’s it,» I nodded with satisfaction. «Perfect solution for business. No more rent to some stranger, and your goods are under round-the-clock supervision. Just remember to update the address in your ads. Clients are going to love this — they can pop in, buy a headlight, and see the shop owner lounging on crisp white sheets at the same time.»
Fyodor sat at the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. He was completely defeated. All his earlier arrogance and clever talk about family duty had vanished without a trace. He stared blankly at one spot on the floor.
«You… you’re just monsters,» he muttered, staring at the giant, dirty off-road tire lying less than a meter from his ruffled feather pillow. «I’m going to suffocate here before morning. It reeks of rubber and grease. I’m going to get a migraine.»
«That’s the bold scent of big money, Fedos,» Sania laughed, collecting his well-earned five thousand cash from me. «Better get used to the smell of success. Alright, see you, business tycoons. You gonna hand over the left headlight, or do I have to walk home? Didn’t I sweat away as a loader for nothing?»
Fyodor silently waved towards the far corner without looking up, where piles of cardboard boxes filled with lighting gear stood. Sania nimbly hopped over the muffler, rummaged through the boxes, found the right part, stuffed the money straight into Fyodor’s shirt pocket, and left in high spirits, whistling a cheerful tune.
Kolya and I didn’t stay any longer either. We got home late that night. Our apartment felt unusually spacious, clean, and filled with fresh air. No smell of tire shops or motor oil. The Persian rug was a delight to the eye, and we could finally approach the books again in peace. Poirot was perched on the chandelier, enthusiastically tearing up a stolen receipt into tiny pieces with his beak. When he spotted us, he spat out the piece of paper and announced in a newsreader’s voice:
«Victory! Award a bonus! Champagne for everyone!»
Five days went by.
On Saturday morning, my husband and I were enjoying a peaceful cup of coffee in the kitchen, savoring our day off when Kolya’s mobile rang. The screen lit up with «Fedya.» Grinning, Kolya pressed answer and switched on the speaker, pulling the phone to the middle of the table.
«Kolya…» his brother’s voice was hoarse, rough and cracked, like he hadn’t slept for a week and had aged a decade. «Help me, bro. Save me.»
«What happened, business shark?» my husband rubbed his hands together gleefully. «Are sales through the roof? Hitting the stock exchange? Selling off your shares?»
«They’re driving me crazy, Kolya…» Fyodor almost sobbed into the phone. «These insane customers… They call at seven in the morning on a Sunday! They show up at ten-thirty at night demanding I open up! Last night one turned up while I was in the shower, banged on the door with his feet, demanded I sell him spark plugs! I sleep hugging a cold muffler! Last night I went to get a drink of water, tripped in the dark and broke my pinky toe on a battery! Save me… My eye keeps twitching! All I eat is delivery because I can’t get to the fridge with all the boxes!»
«But what about the massive savings on rent?» I asked innocently, leaning closer to the phone. «And flexible business processes? You said yourself it was all super profitable.»
For a long time, Fyodor said nothing into the phone.
«Oksana, I get it now,» my relative said in utter defeat. «I was wrong. I was a complete fool. I’ve already found a proper place—on the outskirts of town. I agreed to anything, no matter the cost, just so I could get out. Please, come help me move all this stuff! I’ll pay for professional movers, I’ll hire a big truck, I’ll buy you a case of the finest cognac, just get me out of this rubber nightmare! I can’t take it anymore!»
Kolia and I glanced at each other and burst out laughing.
«Sorry, Fedya,» my husband replied, still laughing. «There’s no way we can come today. We have huge family plans for the whole day. Every minute is booked.»
«What plans?!» Fyodor shouted in a panic, realizing he was losing all hope of rescue. «What could possibly be more important than saving your brother?!»
«They’re delivering our new sofa this afternoon,» I said with satisfaction. «It’s a big, gorgeous, sectional sofa. We’re putting it in the living room. There’s so much open space now and the air is so fresh! We have to make the room feel cozy again.»
Fyodor let out a choked squeak and hung up.
That evening, Kolia and I were lounging on our new, unbelievably soft sofa in our clean, spacious living room. The bookshelf was accessible once more, the Persian rug was bright and cheerful, and the apartment smelled of freshly brewed coffee and sweet pastries—not cheap rubber.
Poirot sat on the sofa back, meticulously tending to his gray feathers, looking absolutely content.
I gazed out the window at the streetlights flickering on and thought about how sometimes there’s no need for long arguments or trying to prove you’re right, wasting all your nerves. Sometimes it’s enough to simply go along with the unshakeable logic of someone so bold—and let them fully enjoy the results of their own genius. Completely. In their own space. With no chance for early release.
