"Arkady and Boris Strugatsky. Roadside Picnic (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

this is the first time I've ever heard of a full one."
I explained it to him. He nodded and smacked his lips.
"Yes, that's very interesting. Something new. Who did you go with? The
Russian?"
"Yes, with Kirill and Tender. You know, our lab assistant."
"They must have driven you crazy."
"Nothing of the kind. They behaved quite well. Especially Kirill. He's
a born stalker. He just needs a little more experience, to break him of his
hurrying, and I'd go into the Zone every day with him."
"And every night?" he asked with a drunken smirk.
"Drop it. A joke's a joke."
"I know. A joke's a joke, but it can get me into a lot of trouble. I
owe you one."
"Who gets one?" Gutalin got excited. "Which one is it?"
We grabbed him by the arms and got him back in his chair. Dick stuck a
cigarette in his mouth and lit it. We calmed him down. Meanwhile more and
more people were coming in. The bar was crowded and many of the tables were
taken. Ernest had gotten his girls and they were bringing drinks to the
customers--beer, cocktails, vodka. I noticed that there were a lot of new
faces in town lately, mostly young punks with long bright scarves hanging to
the Boor. I mentioned it to Dick. Dick nodded.
"What do you expect? They're starting a lot of construction. The
institute is putting up three new buildings and besides that they're
planning to wall off the Zone from the cemetery to the old ranch. The good
times are over for the stalkers."
"When were the good old days for stalkers?" I said. There you go, I
thought, what's all this new stuff? I guess I won't be able to make a few
bucks on the side any more. Maybe it's for the best. Less temptation. I'll
go into the Zone in the daytime, like a decent citizen. The money's not the
same, of course, but it's a lot safer. The boot, the special suit, and so
on, and no worries with the border patrol. I can live on my salary, and I'll
booze it up on the bonuses. Then I got really depressed. Penny-pinching
again: I can afford this, I can't afford that. I'd have to save up to buy
Guta the crummiest rag, no more bars, just cheap movies. It was bleak. Every
day was gray, and every evening, and every night. I was sitting there
thinking, and Dick was yelling in my ear.
"Last night at the hotel I went into the bar for a nightcap. There were
some new guys there. I didn't like their looks at all. One comes over to me
and starts a conversation in a roundabout way, lets me know that he knows
me, knows what I do, where I work, and hints that he's ready to pay good
money for various services."
"An informer," I said. I wasn't very interested. I've had my fill of
informers and little talks about services.
"No, buddy, not an informer. Listen. I chatted for a bit, carefully, of
course, led him on. He's interested in certain objects in the Zone. Serious
ones, at that. Batteries, itchers, black sprays, and other such baubles do
nothing for him. He only hinted at what he did want.
"What was it?"
"Witches' jelly, as far as I could understand," Dick said and looked at
me strangely.