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

but twice as broad.
"Let's go," Redrick said and picked up the briefcase. He didn't feel
sleepy anymore, in either eye.
He went behind the bar and squeezed past the porter with the cases of
beer. The porter had apparently caught his finger. He was sucking his
fingertip and watching Redrick. He was a big fellow, with a broken nose and
cauliflower ears. Ernest went into the back room, and Redrick followed him,
because now the three guys from the corner table were blocking the door and
the porter with the mop was standing near the curtains that led to the
storeroom.
In the back room Ernest stepped aside and sat on a chair by the wall.
Captain Quarterblad, yellow and angry, stood up from the table. From
somewhere on the left a huge UN trooper appeared, his helmet pulled down
over his eyes, and quickly frisked him with his large hands. He slowed down
at his right pocket and extracted the brass knuckles. He prodded Redrick in
the captain s direction. Redrick approached the table and set the briefcase
in front of Captain Quarterblad.
"You bloodsucker," he said to Ernest.
Ernest raised his eyebrows and shrugged one shoulder. It was all clear.
The two porters in the doorway were smirking, and there were no other doors
and the window was barred from the outside.
Captain Quarterblad, his face contorted by disgust, was digging around
with both hands in the briefcase, and taking out the swag and Putting in on
the table: two small empties; nine batteries; various sizes of black sprays,
sixteen pieces in a polyethylene package; two perfectly preserved sponges;
and one jar of carbonated clay....
"Anything in your pockets?" Captain Quarterblad asked softly.
"Empty them.
"Snakes," Redrick said. "Skunks."
He pulled out a pack of bills and flung it on the table. They
scattered.
"Aha!" the captain said. "Any more?"
"Lousy toads!" Redrick shouted and threw the second pack on the floor.
"There you go. I hope you choke on it!"
"Very interesting," the captain said calmly. "Now pick it up."
"The hell I will," Redrick said, putting his hands behind his back.
"Your slaves will pick it up. You can pick it up yourself, for all I
care."
"Pick up the money, stalker," Captain Quarterblad said without raising
his voice, leaning his fist on the table and straining toward Redrick.
They stared at each other for a few seconds, and then Redrick,
muttering curses under his breath, crouched down, and reluctantly set about
picking up the money. The porters were snickering behind his back and the UN
trooper snorted gleefully
"Don't snort at me!" Redrick said. "You'll lose your snot."
He was crawling around on his hands and knees, picking up the notes one
by one, moving closer and closer to the dark brass ring lying peacefully on
the dusty parquet floor. He turned to get better access. He kept shouting
obscenities, all the ones he could remember and ones he was making up along
the way. When the moment was right, he shut up, tensed, grabbed the ring,