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

to him, and not to you? Who brings it? Why don't I know anything? Who are
you working for, you filthy pig? Talk!"
Mosul soundlessly opened and shut his mouth. Noonan let go of him,
returned to the chair, and put his feet up on the desk.
"Well?" he said. Mosul sniffled back the blood from his nose and said:
"Honest, boss, what's the matter? What swag can Buzzard have? He doesn't
have any. Nobody's got swag."
"What, are you going to argue with me?" Noonan asked gently, taking his
feet off the desk.
"No, no, boss, honest," Mosul hurried to say. "Me argue with you? I
wouldn't dream of it."
"I'm going to get rid of you," Noonan threatened. "You don't know how
to work. What the hell do I need you for, you so-and-so? Guys like you are a
dime a dozen. I need a real man for real work."
"Hold on, boss," Mosul said reasonably, smearing blood all over his
face. "Why do you attack me all of a sudden? Let's work this out." He
touched his nose gingerly. "You say Burbridge has a lot of swag? I don't
know, somebody's been lying to you. Nobody's got any swag now. After all,
only punks go into the Zone now, and they're the only ones coming out. Nope,
boss, someone's lied to you."
Noonan was watching him covertly. It looked as if Mosul really didn't
know a thing. It wouldn't have paid him to lie, anyway-- Buzzard Burbridge
didn't pay very well.
"These picnics, are they profitable?"
"The picnics? I don't think so. You won't shovel in the money. But
there aren't any profitable things left in town."
"Where are these picnics held?"
"Where? You know, in different places. By White Mountain, at the Hot
Springs, at Rainbow Lake."
"Who are the customers?"
"The customers?" Mosul sniffed, blinked, and spoke confidentially.
"If you're planning to get into the business yourself, boss, I wouldn't
recommend it. You won't make much up against Buzzard."
"Why not?"
"Buzzard's customers are the blue helmets, one." Mosul was ticking the
points off on his fingers. "Officers from the command post, two. Tourists
from the Metropole, the White Lily, and the Plaza, three. Then he's got good
advertising. Even the locals go to him. Honest, boss, it's not worth getting
mixed up in this business. He doesn't pay us that much for the girls, you
know."
"The locals go to him, too?"
"The young people, mostly."
"Well, what happens on these picnics?"
"What happens? We go there on buses, see? And when we get there
everything is set up--tables, tents, music. And everyone lives it up. The
officers usually go with the girls. The tourists go look at the Zone-if it's
at the Hot Springs, the Zone is just a stone's throw away, on the other side
of the Sulphur Gorge. Buzzard has thrown a lot of horse bones around there
and they look at them through binoculars."
"And the locals?"