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

marvelous body smelling of perfume and sweet sweat.
"He's got all of you idiots wrapped around his finger. He'll walk all
over your bones. rust wait and see, he'll walk on your thick skulls on
crutches. He'll show you the meaning of brotherly love and mercy!" She was
screaming. "I'll bet he promised you the Golden Ball, right? The map, the
traps, right? Jerk! I can see by your dumb face that he did! Just wait,
he'll give you a map. Lord have mercy on the soul of the redheaded fool
Redrick Schuhart."
Redrick got up slowly and slapped her face hard. She shut up, sank to
the grass, and buried her face in her hands.
"You fool ... Red," she muttered. "To blow an opportunity like that."
Redrick looked down at her and finished the vodka. He thrust it at
Hamster without looking at him. There was nothing to talk about. Some fine
kids Burbridge conjured up in the Zone. Loving and respectful.
He went into the street and hailed a cab. He told the driver to go to
the Borscht. He had to finish up his affairs. He was dying for sleep,
everything was swimming before his eyes, and he fell asleep in the cab, his
body slumped over the briefcase, and awoke only when the driver shook him.
"We're here, mister.
"Where are we?" he looked around. "I told you the bank.
"No way, buddy. You said the Borscht. Here's the Borscht."
"OK," Redrick grumbled "I must have dreamed it."
He paid up and got out, barely able to move his heavy legs. The asphalt
was steaming in the sun, and it was very hot. Redrick realized that he was
soaked, that there was a bad taste in his mouth, and that his eyes were
tearing. He looked around before going in. As usual at this time of day the
street was deserted. Businesses weren't open yet, and the Borscht was
supposed to be closed too, but Ernest was at his post already, wiping
glasses and giving dirty looks to the trio sopping up beer at the corner
table. The chairs had not been removed from the other tables. An unfamiliar
porter in a white jacket was mopping the floor and another was struggling
with a case of beer behind Ernest. Redrick went up to the bar, put the
briefcase on the bar, and said hello. Ernest muttered something that was not
exactly welcoming.
"Give me a beer," Redrick said and yawned convulsively.
Ernest slammed an empty mug on the table, grabbed a bottle from the
refrigerator, opened it, and upended it over the mug. Redrick, covering his
mouth with his hand, stared at Ernest's hand. It was trembling. The bottle
hit the edge of the mug several times. Redrick looked up at Ernest's face.
His heavy eyelids were lowered, his puffy mouth twisted, and his fat cheeks
drooping. The porter was mopping right under Redrick's feet, the guys in the
corner were arguing loudly over the races, and the other porter with the
crates backed into Ernest so hard that he reeled. The man mumbled an
apology. Ernest spoke in a cramped voice.
"Did you bring it?"
"Bring what?" Redrick looked over his shoulder. One of the guys stood
up lazily and went to the door. He stopped in the doorway to light a
cigarette.
"Let's go talk," Ernest said. The porter with the mop was now also
between Redrick and the door. A big black man, along the lines of Gutalin,