They bargained earnestly, but in different ways. Padlych tore his hair on his bald head - figuratively speaking, the stranger Seva continued to shoot lazily, as if he knew for sure that at some point Gena would give up, and all his “svaei Russian mother cursed” was nothing more than hot Spanish (as he endlessly emphasized) blood from which sound Georgian roots stretched. Although with a stretch, Gene would have passed for a Spaniard. With his nose, burning black eyes and temperament.

Oh, what a man! – whispers almost one lips Linka. Naturally, she does not admire Gena, but the second inveterate huckster. – The most perfect removal of the brain, have you seen?

I didn't see anything. Somehow it was not up to consideration. I stared at my hands, whiskey and the profile of the "object" until Rocinante and Don Quixote crashed under me. Well, someone was sitting next to me. Blond, it seems. But it is not exactly. I'm still worried about other matters.

I can feel the hair moving on the back of my head. They stand on end. These two outside the door have already reached a thousand dollars. And somehow it's not good for me. Restless. With what fright does a strange peasant pay my "debt" to the "motherland"? After all, not from a great love for altruism. Judging by the way he and Gena Pavlovich grappled, this Mr. X does not pull a penny on the good Samaritan.

Looks like they shook hands. The tit grabs my hand - and we rapidly make our feet. On tiptoe, so that heels do not click on the parquet. But the sound still breaks through - bang-bang, like a cat tapping its claws.

Before we had time to hide and take a breath, as the bald devil barked into the entire corridor:

Taisiya, where are you, my dear girl?

With God! Linka crosses my forehead and pushes me out.

“Serve the table, yes?” And look at mine! - he shakes his fist, the size of a good sledgehammer.

He could not have tried: everyone knows that Padlych can wave anything, but he won’t even touch a finger. Well, unless it hints at obscenity. But openly he never molested anyone, except that sometimes he kissed his asses with his hospitable worker-peasant wide palm.

While I arrange peppers, cucumbers and a pickled onion for a snack on the table, I stealthily study the visitor. Brutal. Macho. Heartthrob on all hundred points on a hundred-point scale. That's someone "slightly over thirty." Or maybe a little less. And how did Linka miss so much? Looks like I didn’t consider object number one.

His hair is combed carelessly back, revealing a high forehead. The eyes are deep-set, but do not spoil, but give the look something fatal. The truth is, I don't like those faces. Too charming, like a cat. Like a spider that lures gullible flies into its webs, then sucks it dry and throws it away. After such - only broken hearts and hopes remain.

I see him wince as he sips his soup. Well, yes, this is not Madrid for you. And not a fancy restaurant. Gena's cook ran away - competitors lured him away. And since then, the travails have begun: he is already changing the fifth and still does not warm the normal one. For some reason, Padlych was disastrously unlucky. He's a top notch bullshit. Don Quixote, twisted from automotive junk and a piece of iron, somehow poorly performed the function of a talisman.

Subject number two cautiously pushes the peas and lard aside and pounces on the meat with excellent appetite. Even the mediocrity that now plays the role of a cook could not spoil the meat.

The man makes a sign with his hand, stopping me.

“Sit down, please,” he measures me with his eyes from under lowered eyelids.

“It’s not allowed,” I say learnedly and politely, but he only smirks, stretching his beautiful lips into a smile.

Gennady Pavlovich will not mind. Sit down - and this is an order. Soft but heavy like a brick.

I sit on the edge of the chair. The heart beats and in the solar plexus shrinks so that it becomes difficult to breathe.

“I paid for that crap you ruined.” He continues to glare at me. undressing. Studying. Looking at my "charms", modestly covered by a uniform, but where necessary outstanding and pleasant enough - Gena Padlych does not take others. I went through a tough casting before I got a job at his restaurant. Only my legs are open, and this bastard examines them with great interest. Open. Brazenly. Here you go, you bastard.

“Thank you very much,” I humbly mutter thanks, but the man casually waves it off. Like I bored him to hell.

“As you know, nothing is done just like that. So save your thanks for later. Money for your salvation from the wrath of Gennady Pavlovich was given by Mr. Gints. So in return he wants you to do something for him. You'll have to work hard, Taisiya. Earn a large enough amount.

I knew it wouldn't end well. And it is still not clear who would be better off working out the installation that died untimely in the Bose - Gena Padlych or an unfamiliar Mr. Gints. To the very same. Deep forty. With beautiful hands and a Roman profile.

And why do I have an ugly giant blob inside me that feels like I've been hit?

4. Edgar

In the large hall of the building, Seva catches me literally at the exit and joins step by step while I go down the steps to the car.

In general, I talked with Gena.

With what Gena? - I look at the incoming call. Advocate. “Damn Canadians!

What? - Seva is lost, blinking incomprehensibly. With his height of ninety meters and mine four centimeters taller, we stand with him on the same step, practically looking eye to eye.

Nothing. They soldered us a lawsuit for violating the environmental protocol. You see, we spoil nature for them.

Yeah, fuck them. The plant is on our territory, they are thousands of kilometers away.

And they considered that, taking into account the prevailing winds and the height of the pipes, part of the harmful substances settles just on their territory. In general, we need to fly to London, - I drop the call. So what is Gena?

“The owner of the restaurant,” he rubs an eyebrow. - Well, yesterday. You said you want a girl.

Ah-ah-ah! Wife, for sure, I finally understand what he is talking about. - Let's go, tell me on the way.

“There’s not much to say, Edgar. I said you paid for the sculpture, she'll have to do some work for you.

You're an idiot, right? I turn to him at the car door. “I wonder what she imagined there.

And what is wrong? He puts his hands in his pockets. - I explained that the job is not difficult. That nothing threatens her.

And how is she? I chuckle. Did you clap your hands for joy?