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

"Any wishes?"
"According to the canonic version of the legend, any wish. There are,
however, variant versions."
"All right. What have you heard about death lamps?"
"Eight years ago a stalker by the name of Stefan Norman, nick- named
Four-Eyes, brought out an apparatus from the Zone that, as far as can be
judged, was some kind of ray-emitting system fatal to earth organisms. This
Four-eyes offered the apparatus to the institute. They did not agree on
price. Four-eyes reentered the Zone and never came back. The present
whereabouts of the apparatus is unknown. People at the institute are still
tearing their hair out over it. Hugh from the Metropole, whom you know,
offered any sum that could be written on a check."
"Is that all?" Mr. Lemchen asked.
"That's all." Noonan was blatantly looking around the room. The room
was boring, there was nothing to look at.
"All right. And what have you heard about lobster eyes?"
"What kind of eyes?"
"Lobster eyes. Lobsters. You know? With claws." Lemchen made clawlike
movements with his fingers.
"I've never heard of them," Noonan said frowning.
"And what about rattling napkins?"
Noonan climbed down from the desk and stood before Lemchen, hands in
pockets.
"I don't know a thing about them. How about you?"
"Unfortunately, neither do I. Nor about the lobster eyes or the
rattling napkins. Nevertheless, they exist."
"In my Zone?" Noonan asked.
"Sit down, sit down," Mr. Lemchen said waving his hand. "Our little
talk is just starting. Sit down."
Noonan walked around the desk and sat on the hard chair with the
straight back.
What's he aiming at? he thought feverishly. What is all this new stuff?
They probably found it in the other Zones and he's trying to make a fool out
of me, the ass. He never liked me, the old devil, he can't forget the
limerick.
"Let's continue our little examination," Lemchen announced as he drew
aside an edge of the drape and peered out the window. "It's pouring. I like
it." He released the curtain, sat back in his chair, and looking at the
ceiling, asked: "How's old Burbridge getting along?"
"Burbridge? Buzzard Burbridge is under surveillance. He's a cripple,
well-to-do. No connection with the Zone. He owns four bars and a dance
school, and he organizes picnics for officers from the garrison and for
tourists. His daughter Dina leads a dissolute life. His son Arthur just
graduated from law school."
Mr. Lemchen nodded in satisfaction. "And what is Creon the Maltese
doing?"
"He is one of the few active stalkers. He was mixed up with the
Quasimodo gang, and now he peddles his swag to the institute through me. I'm
giving him a free rein: somebody will pick him off sooner or later. He's
been drinking a lot lately, and I'm afraid he won't last too long."