Organization

4

The newly minted charter decided to take a walk. The communicator worked, analyzed the route - forty minutes. Lanes "a" go from the river to the New City, lanes "b" - perpendicularly. Not as difficult as it might seem at once. In general, no "mazes of strangers", an ordinary city.

Which in general he was already beginning to like. The atmosphere of Babylon. A bizarre combination of impetuous human architectural styles long forgotten in the Metropolis and "guest" and "master" styles never known there. Too chopped or too smooth, revealingly spitting on harmony or - built into the landscape. The city had character and was not shy about showing it. And to the freshly baked charter A.N. liked it.

And after several months of fugue, Ernest wanted to stretch his limbs. At least the legs.

He gladly walked through the "flea market", spending a hundred marks on outright knick-knacks. Old books from the most ordinary paper, a handmade tube. He looked closely at the brass knuckles blackened by time, bearing traces of many cruel fights. I heard something suspicious:

- Mister! Mister! Guest emna for one token! Just one token, almost Monero!

“Thank you, I’m not interested in girls,” A.N. muttered. and hastily added, “For now.

“Ha-ha, and you, mister, are a joker!” Phasis, pencils, speedo — I have it all!

Ignoring the pusher, Ernest moved towards the obvious patrolmen with shotguns and matte black armor. The importunate salesman disappeared by himself. Like cotton candy in a puddle of water. Hmyknuv, A.N. moved to the next street. He's had enough of the crowds for now.

And at the thirteenth "a" lane they tried to catch him.

Three local blockheads walked in a wide formation. In the last campaign, Ernest saw a lot of idiots going to the enemy in this way - and dying under dagger fire. However, he reminded himself, for him personally, any campaign is already over. And while he was remembering, he was pushed with a shoulder. Sweeping, albeit with a rather weak output.

“Daddy, you’re walking too wide,” the one who was walking in the center of the formation instantly puffed up. Skinny, with a protruding sharp Adam's apple and long arms. “Don’t you see, it’s the Cursed Dvenashka coming!

"That doesn't mean anything to me," Ernest replied coldly.

He hated to start the experience of living in the City with a murder. Especially since the murder of three idiots.

- And he tells us to go to the alley!

- But the fact that?

The home-grown young mafioso looked at each other incomprehensibly, looked around. Finally, the chief pulled out a pistol, dirty and covered with shiny streaks of grease.

Kinetic, mentally grimaced A.N. Inaccurate, feeble and archaic. It's a shame, but for this distance it is quite enough.

- Okay, okay, I beguiled, sorry, - began A.N. ingratiating tone. I had to get off the sidewalk somehow. So at least the bullet will not hit a random passerby.

- Go, go to the alley! And keep your hands in sight!

“Yes, yes, just don’t shoot,” Ernest continued to lament, going into a dark and very smelly gateway.

- But the fact that? - mimicked the Chief and laughed mockingly. His slowed down associates did not laugh immediately, but only after they saw the face of the “boss” turned towards them. This is what ruined them.

Ernest jerked the suitcase over him. Thirty-two kilograms of memorable and necessary rubbish, clothed in a polyplast, flew into the chest of a teenager. They knocked me down and forced me to drop my gun. The accomplices were confused for a few seconds, and more was not required. As the ex-combatant expected, the gang did not have two more scarecrows. But Ernest had two brass knuckles. And habitually lay down in the brush. Right uppercut to the nearest, finalize with the elbow. Get away from an inaccurate long-range strike, cross left. Get a hermetic bag with some rubbish. Pipe? Brick? No matter. Turn around, kick the rising leader under the knee with an army boot. Look around. Refine not completely collapsed from the cross. Take your soul to the leader.

Ernest stopped only at the fifth "spiritual" blow. By that time, the trousers and shirt were hopelessly smeared with stains and blood streaks. The skinny nose was crumpled, flattened and actively bleeding. And in general, the leader’s face did not make the best impression: several spreading bruises, a cut, a broken lip. A.N. he got to his feet and listened. All three opponents were breathing. It was hard, with wheezing - but they were breathing. Strange, thought Ernest, and I thought I had gotten rid of all the combat implants. Otherwise, where does such a loss of self-control come from? ..

The traditions of his native depressive suburb demanded from A.N. "installations". Funny poses given to defeated opponents. But now a respectable citizen has taken over in him ... a charter, sorry. So he just dragged the unfortunate robbers deeper into the alley. Clogged with tanks and just mountains of rubbish. He leaned against the wall. The skinny head constantly fell on the shoulder of a strong neighbor, and after the third fall, Ernest decided to leave everything as it is. Then he searched his pockets. No documents, three knives. Two were good only for opening cans, the third was forged by a craftsman. His charter and took away, plugging the top of his boot.

But he disdained a pistol and an abnormally large amount of papers, some plastic multi-colored tokens and something like beads the size of a grape. Intuition told Ernest that these were local variations of money, and variations clearly smeared with blood. And problems of this caliber are too tough for him yet.

Having barely wiped his hands from someone else's blood and leaving the back street, he stopped the first passerby he came across. The sturdy hard worker tensed, pursing his lips. He glanced sideways at the soiled clothes of A.N. But he did not break into aggression. Well, Ernest thought, thanks for that.

- Buddy, I beat the robbers a little here. Who to contact?

“The black-mouthed ones are catching flies again,” the man twisted his mouth, exhaling sharply. “But they charge a security fee, as if we live in blue areas!” Screw the bolt and go about your business.

— Blackmouths?

- You're new, aren't you?

— Five and a half hours as a local. By the way, can't you find a light? Nerves are something to hell with ... - Ernest set aside his suitcase and began to fill his pipe. The interlocutor relaxed somewhat. Sighing, he pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a utility lighter. The men took a puff of smoke. Passers-by walked by indifferently in a rare stream, only occasionally looking askance at the red spots.

“The blackmouths we call the Ao_Ao Group.” The security service, which looks after quarters from the twelfth to the fourteenth, the worker took a long drag. - They wear ballistic masks, the bottom is black, the top is red. Be careful with them, they're still scumbags. Okay, come on, fighter. Work does not wait.

Thanks for the fire.

The interlocutor shrugged it off without looking and walked away. Ernest shook out the ashes mixed with unburned tobacco and walked away. Without looking back.

House 22 turned out to be quite good. Graceful lines of the facade, floor lamps and lamps in the windows. But only five floors, which somewhat confused Ernest, who remembered the eight in the apartment number. At a clarifying question, the concierge at the entrance only grimaced:

- Social worker?

— Well... a migrant.

“Then you’re in the yard,” the man indifferently pointed his finger somewhere further into the entrance, returning to the data-slate. - There are two "insides", in the one closest to you - rooms from a hundredth to five hundredth, the farthest - from five hundred to a thousandth. Good luck.

The courtyard contrasted strikingly with the façade. Faceless brick boxes opposite each other. Narrow loophole windows looked at the rest of the world, and only on the “facades” of those very “insides” facing each other, there was some hint of aesthetics. Normal windows, open galleries, fenced with railings with elegant cast balusters. And the open staircases, which were no less pleasing to the eye. However, Ernest thought, during the winds it will be necessary to hold on to everything, more or less protruding. And what will happen in winter ... however, he straightened himself up, he still had to live until winter. And not be deported.

Grumbling, scolding the cunning office, and no less cunning architects, Ernest dragged the suitcase to his floor. I found a door that was strong enough and fairly nondescript. I was relieved to see that the lock blinked green in response to the key card. Opened the door.

The apartment was more like a cubicle. A small "dressing room" turned out to be the main living space. In which they managed to fit a sofa, a desk with a chair, and (most importantly) a narrow, "bachelor" bed. A gut loomed in the distance, leading to an adjacent and very cramped bathroom. And at the far window-loopholes is a dull box of a food processor.

“Well, it could be worse,” Ernest muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. "At least it doesn't smell like a corpse."

The corpse really did not stink. True, there was a strong tobacco smell in the apartment, but one was no stranger to this new tenant. In the cockpits, barracks and tents at times the smoke was a pillar. Sometimes - mixed with fumes. And he has seen a lot of them in his lifetime.

Thinking about this, Ernest calmly, on automatism, laid out things in built-in drawers and cabinets. There were also gifts from previous tenants. Some bed linen, towels (one covered with suspicious brown spots), a damp pack of cheap cigarettes. A couple of cans of army mushroom puree soup. And, perhaps, the main thing. Small, open, but a case of beer. Even if it's not expired. Ernest immediately opened one bottle on the corner of the creaking table.

“Hmm, pretty good. "Merry urdaleb", that's the name.

It was after these words that his stomach growled with displeasure. For some time the man listened to the sensations and remembered - the last thing he ate was a slurred sandwich in the Hub. It was time to reconnoitre the habitat. But first, change your shirt and trousers. Well, wash off the bloody film from the indestructible material of the jacket. Least.

“Good evening again,” Ernest greeted the already frankly sleepy concierge. - Where can I eat nearby? I didn’t really eat anything, my stomach was already cramping.

“Hmm,” the interlocutor thought, “old Grenn has good meat, and she manages to find excellent potatoes somewhere. At the corner of the fourteenth you will find a cafe, she is there alone.

“I’ll have a century, buddy,” A.N. chuckled.

“You put the beer on somehow - and we are even,” the concierge shrugged his shoulders and fell back into his chair: flipping through the net and killing time.

The cafe turned out to be pretty bad. The interior may have been somewhat shabby, but Ernest got used to it even in the metropolis and colonies - it is in such places that hearty and cheap food can be hidden.

However, judging by the crowded tables, food was not hidden here.

— Hans, we have a new guest! a portly woman shouted to someone from behind the bar and inquired more calmly: “Are you here for the first time, my dear?”

“Yes, to be honest, it’s my first time in the city,” Ernest admitted unexpectedly.

“Noticeably,” the woman nodded confidently (apparently, the same “old Grenn”). “Don’t worry, we’ll feed you so that you can barely leave on your own two feet, and it won’t hurt your wallet at all.”

“I would be very grateful,” was the only thing left to answer to the embarrassed Ernest.

Before long, he was brought "a basic and very budgetary set" - a pint of an unnamed lager, potatoes thickly covered in gravy and roasted vegetables, and a small skillet of shredded, sizzling meat in pepper sauce.

Ernest did not stand on ceremony, and swallowed almost everything in five minutes. Polished with a nameless but very decent (albeit watery) lager. I found an almost empty plate and ordered more meat. The weary waiter took the order, and the ex-combatant and almost law-abiding Chartist took out the pamphlets that the immigration center had supplied him with.

Option number one. A cashier at a rental center. Thanks, no. Crumple, put aside the "trash can".

Option number two. Sales agent for the export of "guest" goods. Thanks, that's not it. Crumple, set aside.

Option number three. Interspecies interaction consultant. Requirements: understand the situation in the city, have a humanitarian education, business correspondence skills. Salary ... decent by the standards of the metropolis, even though they pay in crowns. Interesting, but unlikely to come in handy in the first month - here at least understand what kind of name it is. Set aside.

Option number four. Private security service Agni Corp. Requirements: physical fitness, psychological stability. Salary is much lower than before. But the choice is in any of the currencies in circulation in the city. This is definitely interesting. Set aside.

Option number five. Loader. Crumple... unfold and set aside. Just in case.

Option number six. Manager at a restaurant located in a certain Montauk. Salary - piecework, accommodation and meals at the expense of the employer. Not bad. But, probably, all the same to crush. Ernest counted his forces quite sensibly, and, despite a certain way of suspended language, no one would take a freshly arrived immigrant for such a position.

He drummed his fingers on the countertop, not even paying attention to the sound of sizzling meat, so attractive a minute earlier, put by the waiter a minute ago.

What to choose?