Belgrade Noir

And if I share a few things with her, she might like the fact that her mother can be a badass bitch too.

You see, I can avert my gaze as much as I want, but I must accept that Evil is ultimately appreciated these days. To people made insensitive by all the loud distractions of modern times, it is exciting and exotic. How else would all those snakes, parasites, and leeches, all those stains on the face of humanity, become media darlings?

There’s one thing consoling me in this newly found cynicism: I am not a killer. Of people, countries, or culture.

Alter Ego Inc

by Goran Skrobonja

Translated by Nataša Milas

Učiteljsko Naselje

After many years, she visited Učiteljsko Naselje again.

She’d grown up in this neighborhood, but since she’d moved away she’d had no reason to come back. She remembered the place — located between Konjarnik, Šumice, and Zvezdara — as unpleasant, shabby, and depressing.

What she saw from the taxi — a small, inexpensive, autonomous, and noiseless electric Asian vehicle — Marija didn’t recognize, nor did she associate it with any of her childhood memories. The neighborhood that she remembered consisted of several narrow streets and residential buildings erected around two large factories built back in the 1960s when the area was still at the edge of urban Belgrade. At the time when Marija left Učiteljsko Naselje, huge concrete buildings with broken windows were turned into furniture warehouses, yoga and pilates studios, and squats for struggling artists. The same streets were now covered with solar panels, placed on every corner, looking like phantasmagoric, dazzling sculptures.

Marija got out of the car in front of a restaurant — quite a popular one, judging by the various web ratings. When she turned around she found the entrance to the business she was looking for in a four-story building. Next to the large aluminum and glass doors, there was a brass plaque with AE Inc. engraved on it. It was abbreviated from Alter Ego Inc., the full name of Isak’s start-up.

She wondered again why Isak had placed such a promising company in this part of the city, assuming that the reason could only be the cheap rent. Everything else in the neighborhood was far from being prestigious and appealing to ambitious investors and international firms. She shrugged, turned back again, looked over at the indifferent facades of the buildings and the indifferent faces of the passersby, and approached the intercom. A split second later — as if somebody had been watching her the entire time — a soft buzz sounded and the door opened before her.

The director was excited. He spoke very quickly: “Mr. Lero explained everything to me. Trust me, you’ll be delighted when you see what we’ve achieved so far. The technology our start-up has developed is quite revolutionary and I’m excited that we’ll be taking the key step in its testing thanks to you—”

“Excuse me,” she interrupted. “How long will this all take? I have a lot of errands today.” This was true: she’d taken the day off but had a waxing appointment at one. She had lunch with Isak after that, and then another appointment at the beauty parlor.

“Don’t worry,” he replied, “we’ll do it as fast as we can. Do you want to start right away?”

“Of course.” She looked over empty walls and modest office furniture. “Here?”

“Oh, no ma’am, absolutely not.” He got up and theatrically opened the door. “This way, please.”

The director hurried to the elevator and smiled again nervously. When they entered the elevator, she watched as he pressed -2.

The door closed and Marija felt the elevator sliding below street level.

She had met Isak Lero at a reception at the Swiss ambassador’s residence.