Сергей Жарковский – Creature of unknown kind (страница 17)

Blinchuk was staring at Nabis unkindly.

– Arrived, – Nabis confirmed. – It’s here, in the hangar.

– What’s there?

– Some sort of hotel with a bar. It's called “Two pipes”.

– Poachers?

Nabis signed.

– “Smugglers”.

– Why so? – Blinchuk asked.

– In America it's “smugglers”, comrade Colonel, – Korostylyov said. – mean contrabandists. Slang.

– Fuck this, – Blinchuk said. – Trackers, smugglers.. Troublers, damn them all!.. Good, and who are the “magacitls”?

– These are for example, you and me, comrade Colonel, – Korostylyov said.

Blinchuk cursed.

– Say, Nabis, do our American friends after all are also illegally treasuring in their free times? – Korostylyov asked. – Why not to say now? We are already here. We ourselves can notice it unexpectedly.

Nabis wiped his wet face with his wet palm and jumped off the carcass to skyway under the tent. He made his deal. There was a bench near the door, cut in the closed hangar’s gate. He sat on it, took out cigarette case with chopped Astrakhan’s “astra” inside, and lit a cigarette, thinking that this is the third for today, which means there are three more left. Nabis was trying to quit, gently cutting his habit step by step. He was planning to live long. And in America.

Just like they had forgotten about him, all four passed him one by one on the way to the door. Blinchuk was walking first, right into the battle, Korostylyov was the last, covering the backs… And still he nodded to Nabis when catching up with him, before disappearing in the bar waiting room. Yes, the most dangerous of them is the Major. Especially because he is humane. Time passed. Nabis was smoking. Rain was roaring, “shishiga” was cooling down under it, you could neither see nor hear Kharon behind the flooded windshield. Suddenly there were safe steps on the right, shoes were splashing through the puddles. Nabis looked up. Welcoming him from far by a show of hands, familiar contractor Fenimore was approaching “Two pipes”. Here Kharon blinked headlights, Fenimore without even lowering his arm, made his next step to the right and disappeared in some gap in between the building extensions. Nabis smoked till it reached his lips, threw cigarette butt into the rain and leisurely went to search for him.

He was glad that he met Fenimore precisely here and now. They had some business, including one urgent, trade negotiations, where Fenimore was a buyer and Nabis – a broker. “But the main reason of his satisfaction was in the other matter”, though Nabis, “not being a reflexive person, didn’t recognize it.” All the morning he had to behave diplomatically, which was against his nature to the point of disgust. He was a person of a brood, he spent all his childhood and adolescence in a village brood, where his speech defect didn’t matter, as well as his intelligence, honor and conscience. Then suddenly the brood was over, when his friends and buddies started to get arrested and little later the ones left were called in the army. Nabis didn’t get on court trial for murder out of pure luck, and didn’t get into the army due to child disability, but loneliness and suddenly appeared necessity to earn for life crashed him. There was the only one way to make cash here for people of his level: fish-cathroughr. And a poacher always is an individualist and a loner, doesn’t matter if the crowd is going for a concrete deal. And all his poaching life Nabis was tormented by memories of long days and even longer evenings of sweet, full of sense, adventures, pride from inevitable victories and glorious defeats in the village brood of the “sixes”. The year 66 was rich for boys in Kapustino, their generation was unsurpassed in numbers, even in Volzhsky people heard about them. They had been visiting it once a month for a year, to have fights with locals at the discotheque, squeezing out oil from them, scratching their skins. Brothers’ circle, familiar subjects, health and easiness, search, chase, destruction and triumph. They didn’t even drink a lot. The loss this lifestyle was painful, as untimely arrived old age. The Lighting scared Nabis, but also suddenly gave a hope for return of the brood, adult, long-term brood, as those survived, locked in the strict quarantine, instantly (from the beginning) became relatives, were holding on to each other as a family. And a few demonstrations which took a place after the first months of the Lighting, gathered everyone, who could walk, and there was a power, and there could be a stone thrown at the head on anyone, – this could well be. Especially, look what is happening in the country: self-governance, exchanges, joint ventures, self-management. But once hopes died, military pressed down, and Americans didn’t come to help, bitches, didn’t step in. He had to get hired as a guide, in order to have more than daily allowance for refugee. To yield for daily ration. For good ration, though, so that the yield happened to be a deep one, a breaking one. And then the Zone called, discovering in Nabis an excellent flair, registered him, beckoned him. The very first loots sold – foolishly over the counter – suddenly brought a fat take in. Nabis risked treasuring on the black market and in a few walks – he's not an aunt Alise, after all, to carry only two “rainbows”. So at once he was able to buy a “zhiguli” car. But was not allowed to buy it. And realized that he aggravated his defeat, got himself into the army trap so deep, firmly caught in necessity of diplomatic intercourse, necessity of compromise. He wasn’t stupid, he managed to live like this, but this was giving him nervous spasms in the evenings, his professional hatred, his core of a street guy, his memory about the deadly “encore” kick to the man’s head began to rust slowly, and rust thins out. He was afraid to lose it, and to lose it with military – his employers – meant to die physically. (The vomiting Ensign today was, of course, on the very edge of death, but Nabis was at the very same place, and much closer to the cliff.)

He didn’t understand that time should pass, new life should find its habitual track. But he was lucky again, he lived through the first months of his nervous breakdown, he had enough of nerve, he didn’t collapse into drinking, didn’t kill anyone. And so, about a month ago, some movement in between illegals began, to unite into artels, and objectively this central purpose had a future, was suggesting some sort of collective, habitual power of signature in circle. And all diplomacy, all literal squiggles, all luxury of human communication went at last to hell. Because a gang is a gang, back is covered, all bitches will die today, and we will never die. Reset your old age, you have reached, felt the bottom.

Fenimore was a prominent member of this movement, even though yet staying in the military tracker status. And he was a guy. He could talk and do, and he understood. So, after the stress from inability to strangle Ensign Shultsev scot-free the very thing was to talk with some understanding guy, even though not a local one, but without masks, without decorations, without show off. And with benefit. Long time there were no such opportunity, everybody Is either creatures without concepts, or police people without a law. Or suckers, ordinary people.

Fenimore settled down in a “hut with green table”. Lots of hidden places like this were near the bar, some were preserved since earth days, some were made by trackers. What was there to make really. Putting over a head piece of slate or tar was the only thing you have to do to climb up in between technical booths or factory walls. And no one really worried about getting wet, the “neutral” – is not the Trouble. Put a tar or something similar under your feet, boxes or chocks for a sitting place, and here we go – a badly prepared meeting room or a room for celebrating the outing of the mission without extra ears and not under vicious sharp dead eye of Petrovich.

– Hello, Seryoga, – Fenimore said.

– Hi, Vadik.

– I didn’t get it, I walk, and they give me signs.

– I am a guiding on duty today. Brought a newbie. – Nabis threw a broken box away and took out the new one from the pile. Sat down, moved his buttocks. Reliable. Put the gun down on the table (piece of wood, top of which was marked by green paint), close to exactly the same gun of Fenimore. Only that Fenimore’s magazine was from a machine-gun, the fortieth.

– You mean that Blinchuk?

– Well yes. Petrovich lured him.

– Petrovich’s plans – plans of people, – Fenimore said chuckling.

– Petrovich is smart up to his ass of course.

– Met aunt Alise?

– Almost ran her over by car. “Rainbows” are so huge and colorful, where does she dig for them?

– That is her deal, Seryoga. I will not cross her road.

– Yes, no talk here.

– But didn’t you go to the bar?..

– I am a guiding, not a fisherman. I am not with them, I'm only guiding them on duty.

– Clear, – Fenimore said. – In all, Seryoga, we crossed each other at the right moment. Have you seen your friend?

– Friends like this should be stomped by goats. In school he was always in the way, that is all friendship. Four-eyed schmuck. Mother from connection point, dad… – Nabis held himself back. – But here, nothing to say, lucky bastard, with flair, not a cheater in the Trouble. Have to admit. In short, he made his points. He was there for real. And he described the red house with no help, and confirmed writings on the checkpoint.