Creatures of the night. Viktoria Koshkina

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СКАЧАТЬ On the street still there was that company, and it with pride watched “feat” of the cranky friend.

      – What are you doing? – I shouted maliciously to him, then approached and pushed away from the car.

      Being unsteady and faltering the offender of my transport jumped aside.

      – You went nuts, – he began to roar with a drunk voice.

      Meanwhile I inspected a bumper of the car on which there were wet spots too which appeared thanks to this “the pissing boy”.

      – I will show you, son of a bitch …, – sounded nearby.

      Having turned back, I right there managed to evade from the fist flying to my party. From running start the man fell to the ground and tore apart to himself an elbow about asphalt. He began to roar from pain, talking smut in my address. But I didn’t catch these words as it was occupied with something. His blood! His blood! His blood! The head stopped only on it. I am not hungry, but this liquid simply dements. And his hands are soiled by it.

      – You are a freak, asshole, a stupid motherfucker, – hysterical growled the man.

      – Hey, you don’t want to apologize? – the female voice shouted. And right there on eyes there was a lady with a mohawk.

      There was such feeling as if I am the animal driven into a corner. In total because of the blood which flowed out from a wound of this type. He sat, having grabbed the torn apart elbow, rocking forward, back. I felt as eyes became covered by a black film. You know what feelings I give out it? As if the sharp needle entering more deeply and more deeply sticks into the center of a pupil.

      – What’s wrong with you, guy? You are crazy? – the same woman told.

      Well, no one called me crazy yet. When there come such moments, I can’t simply control myself and the acts. Don’t think that I am really crazy and the washed-up freak. Get it, I am an animal, a predator.

      – What did you say there? – I asked silently.

      – The fucking loony, look what you made with him.

      – I didn’t even touch him, – quiet and laconically I said, approaching closer.

      – Hey, steer clear better, – with an easy fright in the eyes the woman with a freak hairdress uttered.

      – And so what? – even more silently as if I was inhaling a smell of rose told and doing it a compliment.

      – Zhora, it he that, runs, perhaps on me? – the excited lady opened a dribbling mouth.

      – You thrust, – the wounded man said whom now as I understood, call Zhora. He rose from a sitting position, and went to me. Other part of their company silently watched the events, being in a shadow and drinking beer from bottles.

      – Is it visible little for you?

      – It now won’t seem to you a little.

      Everything occurred literally for some seconds. The type again flew on me with fists, and I again evaded, twisted his hands and threw on the earth. He fell and fainted.

      – What have you done? – his girlfriend began to yell and jumped up to the Zhora.

      – Don’t cry, he’s alive, – I threw, having opened a car door.

      Having sat down in salon, I got a piece of paper which to me was given by Valentin Mikhaylovich from a pocket. On it he wrote the address of the house of Sokolov Sergey. Reading a small note took away from me no more than five seconds.

      I started, and my car soon was gone from a field of vision of those Neanderthal men. Finally, I looked through tinted glass. Aside bar I noticed how Zhora, to whose prompt falling I just promoted, slowly rises to the feet, holding a free hand the blood-stained chin. His girlfriend diligently tries to help him to get up, but he, having standed, pushed away the woman from himself, having shouted at her.

      Chapter 6

      My car rushes on the long route. In all parties is wide forest. High shadows of trees cast black shadows on without that the dark, impenetrable road. Lamps aren’t present.

      I curtailed on a roadside and howled down the engine. I remained squeezed in a palm the old tram ticket, with the couple of words scratched on it. I forgot to put it in a glove compartment. Words which the normal person wouldn’t understand rather are scribbled on a small slice of the paper which turned yellow from time. I twisted the handle on a door, and window slowly slipped down. In salon the cool breeze blew. Imperceptibly, it snatched out a note from my hand and carried away somewhere afar. I didn’t accept this nonsense in seriousness, besides, the address well remembered, and to forget it to me not really, at least, in the next some hours. One more quite good quality of the vampire – unconditional memory.

      Where to look for this place, this house, this street? I don’t know. In total, because of that loser who didn’t find more adequate place to pee than my car. I didn’t manage to specify concrete coordinates of a place necessary to me from Valentin Mikhaylovich, and somehow from the head it took off. And to all fault this crude Zhora, God damn it.

      Having thought a little, with the head which fell to a wheel, I turned the car, and returned back to bar.

      Gloomy light, ominous buildings, the lane where the bar is located – a place reminds a crypt with one small window. The neon sign went out, and lifelessly dominates over doors.

      I left the car round the corner. This time no one from those Neanderthal men wasn’t visible, as on the waste ground. From bar doors, there was a familiar young man, the bartender Vasya.

      – You are late, – having seen me the guy sadly uttered, locking doors, turning a key in a padlock.

      – You remember type to which I talked in the bar, quite recently?

      – Which?

      – He sat at a table at a window, such in a hat with a long, gray-haired beard.

      – I remembered, he just left bar after you left, even beer didn’t drink up, strange some, – the young man hemmed, having delayed one corner of a mouth.

      – Where he went you don’t know, am I right? – I uttered hopelessly, and rested a back about a wall.

      – You are right, – the guy answered.

      Vasily faces me, with the hands ground in pockets blue джинс. From above on it an old-fashioned beige windbreaker, and standing shabby black moccasins. On his one shoulder the black bag on a long thong of the same color which is carried usually by workers of the railroads hangs. He resembles the poor student.

      – Are you a student?

      – Yes, – Vasya stretched.

      – You earn additionally?

      – Well, I have to, – he exhaled.

      Having СКАЧАТЬ