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

relationship to the Zone any more. The young ones are lost and undergoing a
process of being tamed. The enemy is shattered, scattered, and lying low
somewhere licking his wounds. There is no swag, and when it does appear,
there's nobody to sell it to. The illegal removal of material from the
Harmont Zone ceased three months ago. Correct?"
Noonan was silent. Now, he thought. Now he's going to give it to me.
But where was the gap? It must have been a really big one, too. Well, do it,
you old fart! Don't drag it out.
"I don't hear your reply," Mr. Lemchen said cupping his hand to his
wrinkled hairy ear.
"All right, chief," Noonan said somberly. "Enough. You've boiled and
fried me, now serve me at the table."
Mr. Lemchen harrumphed vaguely.
"You have absolutely nothing to say for yourself," he said with
unexpected bitterness. "You stand there flapping your ears before authority,
how do you think I felt day before yesterday?" He interrupted himself, got
up, and started for the safe. "In short, during the last two months,
according to the information we have, the enemy has received more than six
thousand items from the various Zones." He stopped before the safe, patted
its painted side, and turned sharply toward Noonan. "Don't comfort yourself
with illusions!" he shouted. "The fingerprints of Burbridge! The
fingerprints of the Maltese! The fingerprints of Ben Halevy the Nose, whom
you did not even bother to mention! The fingerprints of Hindus Heresh and
Pygmy Zmyg! So that's how you're training your youths! Bracelets! Needles!
White whirligigs! And on top of that--these lobsters' eyes, and bitches'
rattles, and rattling napkins, whatever they are! The hell with them all!"
He interrupted himself again, returned to his arm- chair, made a steeple
with his fingers, and asked politely: "What do you think about all this,
Richard?"
Noonan mopped his neck with his handkerchief.
"I don't think anything about it," he honestly answered. "Forgive me,
chief, I'm a little ... let me catch my breath ... Burbridge! Burbridge has
nothing to do with the Zone any more! I know his every step! He arranges
picnics and drinking parties at lakesides. He's hauling it in, he just
doesn't need the money. Excuse me, I know I'm blabbing nonsense, but I can
assure you that I haven't lost sight of Burbridge since he got out of the
hospital."
"I won't keep you any longer," Mr. Lemchen said. "I'm giving you a
week. Come up with some ideas as to how the material from the Zone gets into
the hands of Burbridge--and all the others. Good- bye."
Noonan rose, nodded to Lemchen's profile, and still wiping his sweating
neck, went out into the reception area. The tan young man was smoking,
thoughtfully gazing into the bowels of the mangled electronic device. He
glanced over at Noonan---his eyes were empty and seemed to gaze inward.
Richard Noonan shoved his hat on his head, grabbed his rain- coat, and
went outside. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. His thoughts
were confused and rambling. I must--Ben Halevy the Nose! He's even gotten
himself a nickname! When? He's just a little punk, a snotty-nosed little
punk. No, there's some- thing else going on! You legless shmuck. Buzzard,
you really got me this time. Caught me with my pants down. How could it have