Organization

7

Location: Old City.

Location: Cafe-bar "Dirty Harry".

Time: 22-10 local time.

Although the establishment was proudly called a "cafe-bar", in Ernest's hometown these were usually called "The Hole in the Wall". A narrow room, the smoke stands in a column so that you can hang a holster on it, normal tables are only on the street. True, unlike the memorable "holes", this one, at first glance, looked very decent.

Wooden wall panels (albeit withered), not devoid of grace lamps (albeit providing little dim light). Visitors drink cocktails not entirely from Collins and shots. The ash is shaken off not on the floor, but in ceramic ashtrays. And even the bouncer was dressed clean, and not in work overalls. In general, at first glance, not bad.

Landing Page : Lights in the Wasteland!

Headline : Expert: Bars of the so-called "Powerless" are steadily losing popularity.

Host Approved : yes

Video broadcast. A small room crammed with emphatically archaic radio equipment. Electronic lamps burn through one, it is noticeable that their filling has long been replaced by LEDs and compact plasma illuminators. An attentive viewer may notice that the wired microphone is connected to the oscilloscope.

Narrator: According to our New City correspondent Jim Zamecki, the newly opened 220 Bar is attracting more and more guests. Those wishing to take a table crowded already at seven in the evening - imagine, six hours before midnight and four before ex-midnight!

The frame switches to a drone hovering over a piece of the queue. From the video it is impossible to understand neither the place nor the time. The journalist sits down, the wind regularly blows the drone.

Zamecki: Yes, my friend! There are wild rumors going around! Rumor has it that a dozen owners attended the opening, and in the “green” mode it will work for no more than three weeks! Maybe that's why there are so many people here! The thing is, I was inside and believe me, there is no…

The video abruptly cuts to the studio.

Presenter (without blinking): According to our technical service, the drone was blown away by the wind. Unfortunately, we have lost it. However, our studio always has a backup plan! You see, as our personal sources in secular circles report, the cultural activity of the human part of the City has long been sliding towards the New. We invited our old friend Willy Ekaterin to the editorial office, who at one time ate langus in search of new chic places. Willie, what do you say? That's it, good old Besilnya can be crossed out from the list of desirable establishments?

Willie: Hey, hey! Well, about the good, of course, you are very bent, my friend. But in general, yes, who needs that Powerlessness? Old crumbling buildings and bars are like a hole in the wall - where they broke through, they set up a hall with a bar counter there. No dancefloors, no doublejoints, no kamniska emna, no trendy holosounds! It's not at all, my friend.

Host: So, Willie, the bars and dance halls of the Old Town are hopelessly outdated?

Willie: Of course! Friends, sometimes there are bars with yellow or even red segregation! I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to drink or eat emna next to some slug or intelligent insect at all ...

<Comment by Analyst B.: I have no idea how this should be useful to us. the usual xenophobic nonsense of those who are too familiar with chemicals>

<Analyst R comment: at least in that we know exactly who they are taking money from. put the task on the operatives. let them evaluate their price list.>

Ernest took a deep breath several times. The jogging attempt was still making itself felt. Of course, there were aromas here ... The licorice spirit of absinthe or anise, the persistent sour smell of proletarian sweat, mixed with subtle perfumes. And on top of it all - the bitter aftertaste of a mixture of smokes.

With a calm, slow step, he squeezed past the counter and the "standing" tables, where they smoked, drank and laughed. I almost stumbled and flew down to the basement floor. From which, in turn, it also carried thick and sweet smoke. But coupled with somewhat frightening smells, the simplest of which was the spirit of pure alcohol.

Did you walk from home through the Sawmill? – ironically inquired Agnett instead of a greeting.

“I could get out of the house in ten minutes,” Ernest retorted, sitting down next to him without asking. - What do we drink?

— Aperol. I would be grateful if you take me some more,” the girl shook her empty glass.

“Keep in mind,” the freshly baked chartist and security guard said seriously, before turning around, “if I come back from the bar with glasses and you run away, I’ll drink both and be glad.”

At the counter, a very drunk, mixed-sex and mixed-age company was looking at some kind of reality show on the holopanels, and discussing it with might and main.

“But what is she?”

- Why are you at her, you look at him!

— Buddy, a bottle of Aperol and a glass.

- Local, indigenous or from the metropolis ?

– Are they different?

— Oh, man, local better not to drink. Herbs hit them hard on the head.

“So, what does that redhead drink?”

“Two glasses of mediocre for as long as I can remember. It won’t hit the budget, it’s completely on the head.

- Then give me a bottle and a glass. How much from me in crowns?

“Gods, you want some free advice from old Al?” Stop carrying those papers with you. Throw everything on the card, it's much harder to break than the jaw. Two hundred.

- Thanks for the advice.

Ernest counted out two bills by touch, checked them. Five hundred. Hmm, what if the others aren't hundreds either? Damn it, why did they put so much on him in the office? He placed one on the table and received a frown from the bartender, who was distracted from wiping glasses.

“Baby, I can see from you that you won’t run away and sit down with a witch for a long time. You'll pay in the end, don't be afraid.

It remained only to nod and return to the table with busy hands. Amazed at the local credulity.

“Send you only for death.”

— Sent, returned independently. By the way, the locals are quite gullible - usually they ask you to pay in advance for such volumes.

- They are covered by "Argus", and jokes are bad with them.

— Gang? Extra information never hurts.

- Security guards. They have a license to protect the "blue" areas, and this is worth something.

The scarlet liquid poured into the chilled glasses. Clink glasses loudly, sip. Let the bitter aperitif spread down the throat, sniff out the orange aftertaste, breathe.

“Why didn’t you take something light for a snack?” The redhead arched an eyebrow.

“You asked to take cordial, not shots,” he spread his hands, “I didn’t get my bearings, I’m sorry.”

Ernest and Agnett exchanged reproachful glances and laughed together.

“Tell me about yourself,” the redhead suddenly said commandingly. - On the airship, we laughed more and exchanged stories. While I was waiting for you, I caught myself thinking that I didn’t know anything about you. Well, apart from the fact - she began to bend her fingers - you served somewhere, you drink liqueurs in shots, you smoke a pipe and you don’t go into your pocket for a word.

“You know more than me. So I prefer to listen and smoke for now. It's a hard day, you need to collect your thoughts.

“Well, okay,” the girl suddenly broke off and fell silent. Ernest calmly took out a pouch and began to fill his pipe. - I'm from the metropolis. The second daughter in a very decent family. Parents are a professor and associate professor at the same department of a good university. Very calm and very persistent. Only later did I realize that in such families, daughters are usually either spoiled or with an impostor complex.

- And you don’t pull on a spoiled madam, sorry.

- Mademoiselle, please. How many conclusions can you draw in three hours of acquaintance, - Agnett said caustically, but she did not develop a pick. - Yes, I was very disagree with what my parents decided and decided for me. She often went on trips, some stupid adventures ... without crime or substances - just sounding very stupid now. I was going to go into journalism, but as luck would have it, it was at the moment of admission that the Bosky group was killed.

- Wait, this is when - a corrupt mayor, a meat grinder and six journalists?

- Exactly. In general, there was hysteria, the brink of a heart attack, the threat of ostracism. Do you need to explain what ostracism is?

— Not worth it.

— How nice... so I went to the side of social anthropology. Interesting, and has the potential to be further away from home. Four years, postgraduate leave, scholarship. And here I am, further only deaf colonies.

- In my opinion, a good development of the story.

They clinked glasses and took another sip.

— You know, Agnett, it could be much worse.

- Well, how much?

- Imagine that you are not a difficult child of phlegmatic parents, but a phlegmatic child of difficult parents. The father is insanely jealous of the mother and for good reason. She leaves with all the things while you study in a squalid school, and your father plows in the workshop. Didn't even leave a note. Your old man is trying to take his soul off something. And you pull yourself by the scruff of a depressive, dying suburb and end up in a university. And while you are flooded with fairy tales about a postdoc and a scientific degree, the old man sits down plumply on an occupation that takes the soul away. On the bets.

The redhead rolled her eyes.

“I didn't realize how shitty that was until I saw him drop two thousand crowns in ten minutes. Ten! Insisting, blocking accounts in detours, slapping and getting into fights is useless. He says “That was the last time”, and then a familiar bookmaker meets you at the station and immediately starts to knock out a fresh debt. I decided to break the vicious circle, pay off all debts and take my father to a good clinic, where he would be given a block implant.

“This is a very expensive pleasure,” Agnett said quietly, carefully following Ernest's face.

“Especially debt. There were twenty thousand debts. Emenes earn so much in a year. And in a year he would lose at least five more. So I dropped out and signed up for the army - deep sip, top up with aperol. — In the expeditionary corps. Short contract, two years. They pay forty-eight a year, if with some kind of extra. They relied on me. But when I returned home, I discovered that daddy managed to pawn not only everything and everyone, including this very house and his soul. But also the lion's fucking share of my combat.

— And how did you do it?

- Paid off some of the lenders to lull the rest. I bribed an officer I knew to give me custody of my father. And at the same time he scared away the "gray" and "black" bookmakers and moneylenders. And officially went bankrupt before he got combat. Corruption sometimes helps a lot, you know. He moved his father to a nearby colony. According to local laws, he was taken to a nursing home. You see, there was no money left for private treatment, which was normal by their standards. But it remained for a quiet life in a decent institution, so I had to obey. Sometimes I get messages that he manages to play there too. For candy.

“I'm not the one who can blame you. Although, to be honest, many will take my place, - Agnett chuckled. - And how did you get the emigration quota? From the colony and here... even it cost me a lot of nerves.

- He did some not very clean work, and what he earned was what he paid for. Let's not talk about this.

For some time they were silent, watching how, one table from them, two strong hard workers were arguing louder and louder about the "masters". More precisely, the girl watched, and the guy cooled down after a sharp outburst of emotions. The story had not yet been covered with dust, and doubts about whether he had done the right thing still occasionally occurred to the young immigrant.

However, as you know, the less the mood to drink, the better the booze goes. So it should have been better. And so "Dirty Harry", despite all its noise and smoke, Ernest liked it. There are many people, but most of them know each other and periodically exchange a couple of phrases. Strangers are not bullied. Alcohol is not very expensive, and the room is warm enough with good ventilation. And that the smoke is foggy, and something is happening on the ground floor - anything can happen like that.

- And where can you work with such a baggage of stories? Agnett finally spoke up.

“Oh, a lot of places,” Ernest replied languidly.

- Well, for example? the redhead continued to ask.

- Loader. Tour seller. Manager. Ripper of urdalebs.

- Have you ever seen them? They are pussies, rarely get out beyond the pools, social events and parties.

- Now, you understand the piquancy of the situation.

Another melodic laugh. Although Ernest drank mostly, the redhead looked quite tipsy. Play along? Spit. Much more annoying that the neighbors fled. And the nearest table to which the workers heated by the argument can go is theirs.

And so I work in the field of security.

- A bouncer?

- Patrol bouncer - again laughter - and my experience exceeds ... but, I'm sorry, the anniversary. Roughly half an hour.

Agnett burst into laughter, trying to extinguish the sound with her palms. It didn't work out. Ernest heard the sound of chairs moving and bodies moving. An aniseed smell approached. The redhead sighed and moved away. I had to look up and see, of course, the "neighbors" who were barely on their feet.

– Is there anything I can do to help? Ernest asked politely.

- Can. You can shut up your fool's mouth. And rush like a wild boar to us for an anise.

Ernest assessed the degree of alcohol intoxication and the size of the workers. Not high, but very wide. "Rhinoceros can't see well, but given his size, that's not his problem." Mentally sighed. Got up.

“Look, Lester, are we in danger?”

Gogot. Silence of sounds in the bar. Asynchronous focusing of views on their table.

“Gentlemen,” Ernest began dully, fumbling for the brass knuckles in his pockets, “if you want…”

“We want,” Lester began to crackle his knuckles readily, but did not finish. Because an open bottle of aperol flew into the base of his skull. The sound of breaking glass, red drops everywhere. The debater's partner only had time to look in surprise at the settling body, as Ernest's blow flew into the cheekbone.

Lubricated and weak. It was possible to evade the first retaliatory strike. Not from the second one, but the screwed-on table kept the hearing bells in Ernest's ears. And even a few bounced back, allowing him to withstand another blurred blow. And also - to put all the strength and nonsense into one blow to the enemy in the jaw. Which he might have endured. But not after a couple of bottles of aniseed vodka for two.

The body fell without a rumble - the fall below was softened by a comrade. The bar broke into thin applause, and Al, with a wink, put a new, unopened bottle on the counter. Grumbling bouncers dragged the bodies out into the street, the old cleaning lady took in alcohol, blood spatter and glass shards. And Ernest, finally, drew attention to the disheveled, but very happy Agnett, clutching a piece of bottle in her hand. It remained only to salute the remaining whole and not even overturned glass.

At the counter, regulars honored Ernest with a pat on the shoulder, and the bartender with a furious refusal to accept money, because "there was a beautiful team game." I had to return to the table with a new bottle and a new glass, where the redhead was already impatiently waiting for him. The bar quickly moved away from the silence and after a minute it began to make even more noise than before the fight. The conversation could be resumed.

- You quickly figured out what to do,

“Actually, I was just saving the bottle. But at some point I realized that if I didn’t break it, then I would continue to drink alone.

“Of course, I wouldn’t say that ...” Ernest hesitated and continued: “... but, of course, he wouldn’t be a good interlocutor now.

They laughed together.

- In general, thanks for the help. Tell me honestly, is this often?

- Well, once in a while. Don't be offended, I didn't want to "test" you, - Agnett narrowed her eyes and gestured in quotation marks, - or laugh. I just like the atmosphere of the Old City. Not Besilny. Namely, the Old City.

- And in this institution the spirit of the area is felt most strongly?

- I would say this: the most organic. There are a couple of other places, but they either use dope, or they have something ... too modern.

“Like that,” Ernest nodded at the holopanel above the counter.

- Yes. Only for the entire wall. As a result, the walls are not even really visible due to the illumination.

— You know, I also like bars that boast modernity. You know - neon, darkness, if there is an interface block - you can try the dishes in the simulation when choosing. But they rarely achieve harmony.

- Lord, how did you survive in the army with such abstruse phrases?

“He had the call sign “Umnik” and a wall newspaper,” Ernest answered absolutely honestly, but caused the girl to laugh. - I'm serious. "Achievements of the 113th Company in Ecological Watch." Can you imagine? A week before, aviation had bombed the gorge, but the local burgomaster arrived and began to shout, they say, it was a unique natural monument, a park-reserve for the entire district. Well, they made us plant trees with shovels while the damned josers fled.

"And how do you feel about seeing them everywhere?"

- It's still unusual. But as I heard, here they are quieter than their nomadic relatives.

“I can assure you it is. They even under the constant threat of genocide have a new caste. Can we go and smoke outside? I want to breathe in the cold.