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

happened? just like that time in Singapore-face flat on the table, then
slammed against the wall....
He got in the car and for some time looked around the dashboard for the
ignition key, forgetting everything. Rain was dripping from his hat onto his
lap. He took it off and tossed it into the back without looking. Rain was
streaming across the windshield, and Richard Noonan thought that it was
keeping him from understanding what his next step should be. He punched
himself in the head. He felt better. He immediately remembered that there
was no key and couldn't be any because the so-so was in his pocket. The
permanent battery. And you have to take it out of your pocket, dummy, and
stick it into the jack, and then at least you'll be able to drive
somewhere-somewhere far away from this building where the old bastard was
probably watching from a window.
Noonan's hand froze as it was reaching for the so-so. Now I know who to
begin with. I'll begin with him, oh how I'll begin with him. Nobody's ever
begun with anybody the way I'll begin with him. And it'll be a pleasure. He
turned on the wipers and drove down the avenue, seeing almost nothing in
front of him, but slowly calming down. All right. Let it be like it was in
Singapore. After all, it ended well in Singapore. So what, I got my face
slammed down on the table one lousy time! It could have been worse. It could
have been some other part of me and it could have been something with nails
in it instead of a table. All right, let's stay on the track. Where's my
little establishment? Can't see a damn thing. Ah, here it is. It wasn't
business hours, but the Five Minutes was as lit up as the Metropole. Shaking
himself like a dog coming out of the water, Richard Noonan entered the
brightly lit room that reeked of tobacco, perfume, and stale champagne. Old
Penny, not in uniform yet, was sitting at the counter eating something, his
fork in his fist. Spreading out her huge breasts on the counter among the
empty glasses, Ma- dame watched him eat. The room had not yet been cleaned
up from last night. When Noonan walked in, Madame turned her broad, heavily
made-up face toward him. It was angry at first, but immediately dissolved
into a professional smile.
"Hi!" she said in her deep voice. "Mr. Noonan himself! Missed the
girls?"
Benny went on eating; he was as deaf as a doornail.
"Greetings, old lady! What do I need with the girls when I have a real
woman in front of me?"
Benny finally noticed him. His horrible face, covered with blue and
purple scars, contorted into a welcoming smile.
"Hello, boss! Came in out of the rain?"
Noonan smiled in return and waved. He did not like talking with Benny:
he had to shout all the time.
"Where's my manager, folks?" he asked.
"in his room," Madame answered. "He has to pay the taxes tomorrow.
"Oh, those taxes! All right. Madame, please fix my favorite. I'll be
right back."
Stepping soundlessly on the thick synthetic carpeting, he went down the
hallway past the draped doorways of the cubicles--a picture of some flower
painted on the wall next to each one--turned into a quiet dead end, and
opened the leather-covered door without knocking.