UNDERGROUND

7

Chapter 7

“And here is our client,” drawled the Mason, seeing Pustovalov.

The bricklayer winked slyly at Pustovalov, and Lieutenant Ryakhin gently took him by the shoulder.

Meanwhile, the second policeman pushed Pustovalov to the checkpoint doors.

- Let's go. - He said in a businesslike tone.

Pustovalov gladly "surrendered" into the hands of the police.

The bricklayer, meanwhile, took a quick look around the yard, and looked at the hammer in the hands of the guard.

“And what’s going on here with you?” Some kind of repair?

Bearded men approached them.

- We're all right. Look, maybe you can talk to our boss. One of the bearded men pointed to Pustovalov. - This person…

“Don't worry, citizen. The Bricklayer stopped him with a gesture. - This person has already been detained and is not threatening you ... And where do you say your boss is?

- There, - the bearded man extended his hand, - wait, I will call him.

Pustovalov climbed the steps of the checkpoint. Now he was between lieutenants Ryakhin and Bolotny, both holding his hands, as if he were a detainee.

“You know what, buddy…

- BUT? - The bearded man looked in confusion at the farther and farther away Pustovalov.

The police "brought" him to the checkpoint, and he already saw the half-open door, behind which the yellowish snow lit by a lantern shone blindingly. From the direction of the yard, the businesslike voice of the Mason still sounded - it seems that he got a taste.

- Here's what, tell me your Yasin .... or whatever it is... That we'll come tomorrow morning.

- BUT?

- It's eight o'clock.

Pustovalov was already outside the gate. The police "led" him along the road. Soon the Mason caught up with them.

Half a minute later, Pustovalov climbed into the back seat of a police Ford parked right at the spot where he had been waiting for Basurov half an hour earlier.

The car started, and in a minute they were winding along the Enthusiasts driveway.

- Everything is fine? - Turned around from the front seat Mason.

- Thanks. I'm double charged, guys.

“Thank you, old man,” said Kameshchik, “helping good people is not a bad idea. And you look, you landed in a specific serpentarium. Even left the car there?

- Life is full of surprises.

Looking at the snow-covered spruce branches, at the lights of the highway ahead, feeling the flow of fresh air penetrating through the gap of the driver's window, Pustovalov felt relieved. Problems are simply bound to end today. Simply, according to the laws of probability theory.

- Excuse me, - said the Mason, - but we can't give you a lift far.

Pustovalov returned to the idea of ​​"ended problems" and became alert.

- Why?

- We would be glad, Sanya, - Bolotny gave a voice, driving under the railway bridge, - but a general order.

“Maybe after all... I’m late.”

The policemen shook their heads at the same time.

- Will not work.

- A terrorist attack on Serpukhovka. Everyone is driven to amplification.

- And we've been delayed.

“Damn it,” Pustovalov rubbed his neck.

A walkie-talkie wheezed under the standard display.

- Sixth zero one, where you are bl ...

The bricklayer took the transmitter.

- Center, reception six zero one, we are moving along the Highway of Enthusiasts to the center, reception.

"Hurry, motherfucker..."

Pustovalov sighed.

- What's going on today, just pipets ...

We can take you to the subway.

- Underground? - Pustovalov asked puzzled, - it's closed.

“Fifteen minutes before closing.”

- And go two.

- You will succeed.

- What is it, Andryukha? Highway?

- Aircraft.

“Metro,” Pustovalov said, leaning back in his seat.

He hasn't ridden the subway for ten years.

Second passenger. 7608 meters east

Victor looked up from his shabby smartphone and glanced out of the corner of his eye at the girl sitting across the aisle across from him. This time he managed to examine her better than the first time, when he had just entered the car and, pretending to be indifferent, as if by chance sat down on the next seat, despite the abundance of empty seats around.

The girl looked out the window, and Victor greedily probed her with his eyes. A pretty face framed by golden hair. The tendency to be overweight in that ideal form, when there are still many years to the very fullness. A slightly upturned nose and a slightly raised upper lip, a gentle chin said that the “nyakha” was still quite a youngster, maybe only a couple of years younger than him.

The train started, and Victor hurriedly looked away, realizing with shame that at night nothing was visible in the window, except for the reflection. This time he managed to examine not only the face, but also the figure - after all, one second is enough for a man to fully appreciate the female beauty. He read about it in the ancient magazine Men's Health when he was ten years old.

A combination of smooth lines and sharp curves. The girl was obviously doing something, maybe sports dancing or crossfit. Looking at the first-class legs crammed into blue jeans, Victor remembered that this was the type he had always searched for on porn sites. The girl was still wearing a short beige raincoat and a dark red scarf, she was not tall, like a figure skater or a gymnast, and Victor thought that this girl would suit him quite well. Why not? Victor himself was no taller than one hundred and seventy, and even then only when he did not stoop and, according to weight standards, did not gain a couple of kilograms. In general, if you count on a first-class chan, then only this one.

Unable to look at the cracked screen of his smartphone anymore, Victor turned his gaze back to the girl, and was embarrassed to find that she was looking directly at him, and did not even think to look away. Confident, damn it!

Big bright eyes. Victor felt the blow of a warm wave, but pulled himself together - let in a fake indifference and, following the advice of the pickup guru, examined her figure in a consumer way, which, I must say, looked damn seductive.

That's rubbish, no flaws! Victor continued to stare at the faint "Unable to connect to internet" sign as he ran his finger over the scratch. A bright, puppy-like look shone before his eyes. Yes, this is, perhaps, the real "nine", thought Victor, and most importantly - there is no this vile cosmetics, everything is natural.

Victor was an ardent supporter of the "naturalness" of female beauty. True, for the most part, he defended his position in the company of Max and Dimon - his only friends, one of whom recently gave him an unpleasant surprise, telling him that he had not been a virgin for six months.

Everything has been difficult for Victor with “this case”. The idea was especially frustrating that the unprepossessing Max with a speech impediment, who a year ago was not at all interested in girls, no longer had such a problem. And, judging by how his second friend, a nerd and goner Dimon, often went out on dates, Victor threatened to soon become the last loser among losers.

Of course, the chosen ones of Dimon and Max are far from the status of reference chan, but at the age of nineteen, still being a virgin is a very bad ghost. The problem threatened to grow to catastrophic proportions, so Victor began to think about a prostitute.

Victor tried to imagine what would happen if he spoke to this “nyakha” right now, and his jaw immediately cramped with fear.

“Well, what do you have to lose? An inner voice broke through. “Go ahead while no one else is around, and no one will see your disgrace.”

And what if it doesn't recede? After all, even worse. Victor had no idea what to talk about with the girl. It's one thing with Dimon and Max - you can even talk about studies, video games, cars ... heifers. And what about the chicks?

“To hell with internal dialogue! - A voice with a recognizable intonation of a pickup guru said firmly in his head. Don't think - act.

Victor threw a sidelong glance at the girl - she looked out the window again and was beautiful again. Victor felt the familiar roll of the wave and thought how great it was to have such a girl. How jealous Dimon and Max would be, and indeed the whole institute, and how ...

Victor's thought was cut off as someone's skinny ass in saggy pants blocked his angelic appearance. Victor looked up with displeasure and saw a stooped man in the aisle, who was looking at the girl. After standing for a short time, the man sat down on the next seat, slowly took out a filthy notebook, a simple ballpoint pen and began to write something.

Victor felt anger, quickly replaced by relief - now at least his voice will shut up. Now, with all your desire, you will not speak. In the presence of this bastard... What the hell! Victor was always annoyed by the presence of strangers, he could not concentrate, he was lost and, as a rule, did not say what he wanted to say, basically, something similar to the ravings of a madman.

The voice really shut up, and Victor began to look out the window, although he was drawn to look in the other direction.