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

So I went to the locker room, pulled on my lab clothes and lit up. All
along I kept thinking where the rumor could have come from. It had to be all
lies if it came from within the institute, because nobody there knew
anything about me and there was no way that anyone could. If it had been a
report From the police--again, what could they know there except for my old
sins? Maybe they had gotten Buzzard? That bastard, he'd drown his own
grandmother to save his skin. But even Buzzard didn't know anything about me
now. I thought and thought and didn't come up with anything very pleasant.
So I decided the hell with it. The last time I had gone into the Zone at
night was three months ago, and I had gotten rid of most of the stuff and
had spent almost all of the money. They hadn't caught me with the goods, and
I was too slippery for them to catch me now.
But then, just as I was heading up the stairs, I suddenly saw the
light, and saw it so well that I had to go back to the locker room, sit
down, and have another cigarette. It meant that I couldn't go into the Zone
today. Nor tomorrow, nor the day after. It meant that those toads had their
eye on me again, that they hadn't forgotten me, or if they had forgotten,
then somebody had reminded them. And now it no longer mattered who had done
the reminding. No stalker, unless he was completely off his rocker, would go
near the Zone even at gunpoint, not if he knew that he was being watched. I
should have been burrowing into the deepest, darkest corner at that very
moment. Zone? What Zone? I hadn't been in any Zone, even with a pass, for
months! What are you harassing an honest lab worker for?
I thought the whole thing through and even felt a sense of relief that
I wouldn't be going into the Zone that day. But what would be the nicest way
of informing Kirill of the fact?
I told him straight out.
"I'm not going into the Zone. What instructions do you have?"
At first, of course, he just stared at me bug-eyed. Then he seemed to
understand. He led me by the elbow into his little office, sat me down at
his desk, and sat on the windowsill facing me. We lit up. Silence. Then he
asked me, careful-like:
"Has something happened, Red?"
What could I tell him?
"No," I said. "Nothing happened. Yesterday I blew twenty bills at
poker--that Noonan is a great player, the louse."
"Wait a minute," he said. "Have you changed your mind?"
I made a choking noise from the tension.
"I can't," I said to him through clenched teeth. "I can't, do you
understand? Herzog just had me up in his office."
He went limp. He got that pathetic look again and his eyes looked like
they were a sick poodle's again. He shuddered, lit a new cigarette with the
butt of the old one, and spoke softly.
"You can trust me, Red. I didn't breathe a word to anyone."
"Skip it," I said. "Nobody's talking about you."
"I haven't even told Tender yet. I made out a pass in his name, but I
haven't even asked him if he'll go."
I said nothing and went on smoking. It was funny and sad. The man
didn't understand a thing.
"What did Herzog say to you?"