"Arkady and Boris Strugatsky. Roadside Picnic (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автораmarvelous 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 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, |
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