JК
Diaboliad :: Булгаков Михаил Афанасьевич
Страница: 28 из 30Right on the corner a glass sign with the words Restaurant und Bier cracked starlike, and an elderly cabby with a languidexpression on his face moved from the coach-box to sit on the pavement, saying:
«Hey there. Taking pot-shots just for kicks, eh, lads?»
A man ran out of a side-street, tried to catch Korotkov by his jacket and was left holding the lapel. Korotkov turned the corner, raced a few yards and ran into the mirrored expanse of the vestibule. A boy with braid and gold buttons jumped out of the lift and started crying.
«Get in, mister. Get in!» he bawled. «Only don't hit an orphan.»
Korotkov darted into the lift cabin, sat down on a green sofa opposite another Korotkov and started gulping like a fish on the sand. The boy got in after him, sobbing, closed the door, pulled a cord and the lift went up. At that moment shots rang out in the vestibule below, and the revolving glass doors spun wildly.
Up went the lift, gently and nauseatingly. The boy grew calmer and wiped his nose with one hand, while the other twiddled the cord.
«Stolen some money, mister?» he asked avidly, staring at the lacerated Korotkov.
«We're … attacking … Longjohn,» panted Korotkov in reply. «But he's taken the offensive…»
«You'd better go right to the top, mister, where the billiard tables are,» the boy advised him. «You can sit it out on the roof, if you've got a Mauser.»
«Let's go up there,» Korotkov agreed.
A moment later the lift stopped, the boy flung open the doors, sniffed hard and said:
«Get out, mister, and nip on the roof.»
Korotkov jumped out, looked round and did as he was told. From below came a growing, mounting noise, from the side the knocking of ivory balls through a glass partition with agitated faces flashing behind it. The boy darted back into the lift, closed the door and plunged down.
Surveying his position with an eagle eye, Korotkov hesitated for a moment, then ran into the billiard room with the battle-cry «Charge!» Green rectangles flashed past with shiny white balls and pale faces. From below, much nearer now, a shot echoed deafeningly and there was a sound of breaking glass. As if in response to a signal, the players flung down their cues and scrambled hurriedly through the side door with a clatter. Korotkov rushed over and shut the door behind them on the latch, slammed the main glass door from the staircase to the billiard room, and armed himself with some billiard balls. A few seconds later behind the glass the first head loomed up beside the lift. A ball flew out of Korotkov's hands, whistled through the glass and the head disappeared.
«Hey there. Taking pot-shots just for kicks, eh, lads?»
A man ran out of a side-street, tried to catch Korotkov by his jacket and was left holding the lapel. Korotkov turned the corner, raced a few yards and ran into the mirrored expanse of the vestibule. A boy with braid and gold buttons jumped out of the lift and started crying.
«Get in, mister. Get in!» he bawled. «Only don't hit an orphan.»
Korotkov darted into the lift cabin, sat down on a green sofa opposite another Korotkov and started gulping like a fish on the sand. The boy got in after him, sobbing, closed the door, pulled a cord and the lift went up. At that moment shots rang out in the vestibule below, and the revolving glass doors spun wildly.
Up went the lift, gently and nauseatingly. The boy grew calmer and wiped his nose with one hand, while the other twiddled the cord.
«Stolen some money, mister?» he asked avidly, staring at the lacerated Korotkov.
«We're … attacking … Longjohn,» panted Korotkov in reply. «But he's taken the offensive…»
«You'd better go right to the top, mister, where the billiard tables are,» the boy advised him. «You can sit it out on the roof, if you've got a Mauser.»
«Let's go up there,» Korotkov agreed.
A moment later the lift stopped, the boy flung open the doors, sniffed hard and said:
«Get out, mister, and nip on the roof.»
Korotkov jumped out, looked round and did as he was told. From below came a growing, mounting noise, from the side the knocking of ivory balls through a glass partition with agitated faces flashing behind it. The boy darted back into the lift, closed the door and plunged down.
Surveying his position with an eagle eye, Korotkov hesitated for a moment, then ran into the billiard room with the battle-cry «Charge!» Green rectangles flashed past with shiny white balls and pale faces. From below, much nearer now, a shot echoed deafeningly and there was a sound of breaking glass. As if in response to a signal, the players flung down their cues and scrambled hurriedly through the side door with a clatter. Korotkov rushed over and shut the door behind them on the latch, slammed the main glass door from the staircase to the billiard room, and armed himself with some billiard balls. A few seconds later behind the glass the first head loomed up beside the lift. A ball flew out of Korotkov's hands, whistled through the glass and the head disappeared.