It was almost midnight by that time. The streetlight at the entrance of the police station seemed to be broken, shrouded in darkness, with only the faint light of a distant street lamp shining over.
A cold wind blew past, causing the three of them to involuntarily shudder, bundling up their coats tighter.
"Where the bloody hell can we get a cab at this hour; not a soul in sight," grumbled Lokayev.
"Better call and have some of our crew come get us. Those idiots should've had a car ready for us, dumbasses!" retorted his cousin discontentedly.
Before he could even reach for his phone, two cars approached one after another.
Both vehicles were beat-up old Ladas, a common black taxi on the streets.
The three of them quickly stretched their arms out and gave a thumbs-up, trying to hail a taxi.
Getting a taxi home would be ideal; they didn't want to wait for their crew to come and pick them up.
