Yvonne-Larisa, it seemed, had suffered a slight clouding of the reason. She sat opposite me and kept a nervous silence. Straightened the folds of her skirt, coughed a little, peered into her make-up bag, ruffled the crop of her hair with her fingers, slid her gaze over my jumper and jeans, folded her long legs in various ways, as though inadvertently demonstrating their even smoothness and smooth evenness. The legs were just the thing, remarkable legs. It seemed Lena had explained to Larisa that the big-eared sucker, that is to say myself, had not the faintest notion, by snout or by spirit, of their profession. Accordingly, they were honest girls with the full moral right to make eyes and lead a man on to playful thoughts. I was not led on.
In fact I was thinking about nothing at all, I was anxious for the success of the operation. Who Larisa was there and what she had dreamed up was the tenth matter down the list for me. Now if she had lodged herself in the heart of the Kushchino Lothario and procured his business card, I’d have doted on her and been a hundred percent certain of the success of the venture. Larisa’s stupidity was compensated for by her reliability.
But alas. Her height was grenadier’s, and from no angle did anything bulge on her anywhere. The ideal of a homosexual, the ideal of a coach, but in no way the ideal of Mamon.
Which is why I paid no attention either to the legs or to the sighs.
I greedily devoured Lena with my eyes and caught her words on the wing. Lena was ringing Alik.
Getting plausibly muddled and bashful, Lenochka poured life-giving balm onto Mamon’s heart, as if to say, this and that, pardon me if I’m distracting you from business, but su-uch a striking man… a-ah, I can’t forget it, a colonel no less, every inch of him… once again mille pardons for the cheek, but I like men who know what they want… only, excuse me please, there’s a mix-up with my free time… tomorrow, as we agreed, won’t work at all… they’ve unexpectedly moved my shift to Sunday, the wretches… Saturday’s gone, of course, but that doesn’t matter… it’s sad that I gave such a striking man hope of a meeting… oh, what are you saying, no, don’t mention it… well, you really are a this-and-that, oh… you’re pleased to be naughty, you rascal…
Mamon, it seemed, was dissolving in heartfelt languor; he hadn’t been licked over like that in a long time (for five grand of the green stuff I’d have said a good deal more. I’d have purred with him on the telephone round the clock). Somewhere around the middle of the conversation Lenochka arranged with Alik for a romantic evening, beginning today at eighteen hundred hours by the metro station “Shchukinskaya”.
I was dumbfounded, began making signs with my hands:
– What are you doing? Off your head? What metro? How am I supposed to keep watch on you?
Lena tore herself away from the receiver and hissed:
– I know how to fleece a client without your help. Cool it.
I nodded my head in agreement and relaxed. From the age of twenty I had learned by heart a fine capitalist rule: every job should be done by a professional. Hans, may the earth rest lightly on him, had taught me that. I let the conversation take its own course and switched my attention to Larisa. In a half-voice I inquired how her morning had gone and how they had got to my place. Then I walked with her, noticeably livened up and perked up, into the kitchen. Carried a chair in there from the room and passed the time in pleasant conversation over a cup of tea with a little cake.
Before long Lena joined us. I threw off the veneer of dreaminess and courtesy. Began a hard, point-by-point briefing:
– First. At exactly ten in the evening you ring the mobile. In conversation you call me Granny. Second. If there’s a chance of spending the night inside his house (the presumed place where the seal is kept), you inform me that you won’t be coming to spend the night. The house’s distinguishing features are simple – four storeys. It’s unlikely the client has another one like it. Third. If the rendezvous takes place somewhere else, the telephone conversation will consist of passing on greetings to relatives and loved ones. Where and with whom my splendid L. will spend this night is not to be dwelt on. Fourth…
My sensible companion subjected every point of the briefing to discussion. She reminded me that according to the legend she has no home telephone. Where is she to ring? A hitch. I reasonably observed that there is a telephone at her grandmother’s, who, as everyone knows, lives in a communal flat. Understood? Lena nodded her head and clarified the next point. What if in Mamon’s house there turns out to be no chance of getting to a telephone. They’ll put her straight to bed and tumble her about till morning without a breather. They won’t, I reassured her, it’s not a sixteen-year-old lad you’re going to…
The briefing lasted some twenty minutes. Meticulous Lena, with her pedantry and her grasp of detail, confirmed the thesis that it is not only fools who go out to trade in their own bodies. Having discussed all the possible hitches and delicate spots, we drank another cup of tea each and relaxed. Lena set off home to get ready for the meeting. Larisa, pleading problems with her health, begged to be allowed to sit in the flat until evening. I honored the lady’s request, inquired sympathetically about her little temperature, stroked her little forehead with my palm and spread my hands wide.
Not a doctor. Hell knows what’s wrong with you. I hope you won’t die.
Then I warned her that I was going off to the shop for various bits and pieces, and she, in the meantime, could lie on the sofa and try to come round. Already in the doorway, I reflected aloud that if a miracle occurred and the poor thing’s health improved, it wouldn’t be bad if the healed Larisa knocked up a dinner or whatever came out of it. Assorted convenience foods could be found in the fridge. After which I was gone, off to the nearest kiosks.
By the time I came back, Larisa was feeling fine. I guessed it at once, as soon as I caught the smell of masterly cooking at the door. We loudly thanked the magical forces that had returned Larisa’s health, and indulged ourselves with a three-course dinner. I couldn’t remember the names of the courses, something meaty and very tasty, which the champagne I had just bought went with most successfully. Incidentally, I bought five bottles, but we uncorked and drank only one.
The dinner passed in a businesslike, friendly atmosphere.
After dinner Larisa stood in the middle of the kitchen, put her hands on her hips and threw me out. She had resolved to wash up all the crockery I had piggied up over the week. A praiseworthy resolution. I obeyed without protest, took the four unopened bottles of champagne with me and locked myself in the bathroom. Began insulting the playful beverage by pouring it down the drain.
When the light foam, smelling of sour pies, had settled and come to nothing, I carried the empty containers into the big room. There, behind the bed, stood a jerrycan with the incendiary mixture prepared that morning. Observing precautions, I poured the mixture into the bottles. Then I worked some magic over the stoppers, remembering old Dirk with warmth. He could make an atomic bomb out of a heap of manure, and in his day he shared his boundless knowledge with me.
Before long five portions of “Molotov shake” were ready. Having carefully loaded the bottles into a large shopping bag, I finally relaxed. Wiped the sweat off my forehead, sighed, straightened my stiffened spine, grunted, let my gaze wander about the surroundings. The surroundings were very erotically enlivened by Larisa. Having dealt with all the household chores, she was propping up the doorway and looking at me. In her eyes anticipation shimmered, and through her quiet smile tenderness showed
From eighteen hundred to eighteen twenty we had safe sex.
From eighteen twenty to twenty-two hundred there was calf-love tenderness interspersed with sex, good and various.
At twenty-two hundred and five, something started beeping in the pocket of the shirt hanging on the chair. I took out the telephone and heard a dear grandmother being warned of a non-arrival at the dear little house, because my dear granddaughter had found herself in the company of very nice people who live very, very far away, getting home from there is a frightful pain and all the rest of it.
Clear. The client had gone for close contact of the first degree.
I imprinted a long passionate kiss on Lariska’s lips, got up and dressed quickly. Then armed myself, threw the police uniform into the bag, sat a while beside Lara on the bed, sighed, went downstairs, started Fedya and rolled off to Kushchino, to Mamon’s dacha.