Redrick opened the briefcase, took out the list of prices, and laid it on the table in front of Raspy. Raspy looked at it and pushed it away with one finger. Bony, standing behind his back, stared at the list over his shoulder.
“That’s the bill,” said Redrick.
“I see that,” replied Raspy. “Show us, show us!”
“The money?” said Redrick.
“What is this ‘ring’?” Bony demanded suspiciously, jabbing his finger at the list over Raspy’s shoulder.
Redrick was silent. He held the open briefcase on his knees and kept staring into the angelic blue eyes. Finally, Raspy chuckled.
“Why do I love you so much, my boy?” he cooed. “And they say there’s no love at first sight!” He sighed theatrically. “Phil, buddy, how do they say it around here? Pay the man, give him some moola… and pass me a match, already! As you can see…” And he shook the cigar still gripped between his fingers.
Bony grumbled something unintelligible, threw him a matchbox, and went into the neighboring room through a curtain-covered doorway. Redrick heard him speaking, irritably and indistinctly, saying something about a pig in a poke. Meanwhile, Raspy, having finally lit his cigar, kept examining Redrick with a fixed smile on his pale, thin lips and seemed to be considering something—so Redrick put his chin on his briefcase and stared back, also trying not to blink, although his eyes were burning and he was tearing up. Then Bony returned, threw two bundles of cash down on the table, and, looking sullen, sat next to Redrick. Redrick lazily reached for the money, but Raspy gestured him to stop, unwrapped the cash, and stuffed the wrappers into his pocket.
“Now you’re welcome to it,” he said.
Redrick took the money and, without counting, shoved it into an inner pocket of his jacket. After that, he spread out the swag. He did this slowly, giving them both a chance to examine each item and check it against the list. The room was silent, except for Raspy’s laborious breathing and a barely audible clinking coming from behind the curtain—probably a spoon tapping a glass.
When Redrick finally closed and locked his briefcase, Raspy looked up at him and asked, “All right, and our main object?”
“Nothing,” answered Redrick. He paused and added, “Yet.”
“I like that ‘yet,’” said Raspy affectionately. “And you, Phil?”
“You’re muddling things, Schuhart,” said Bony with distaste. “Why the secrecy, I ask?”
“This business is full of secrets,” said Redrick. “It’s a difficult business.”
“Well, all right,” said Raspy. “And where’s the camera?”
“Oh, shit!” Redrick rubbed his cheek with his hand, feeling his face turn red. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I totally forgot.”
“Over there?” asked Raspy, gesturing vaguely with his cigar.
“I’m not sure… Probably over there…” Redrick closed his eyes and leaned back on the couch. “No. I really can’t remember.”
“Too bad,” said Raspy, “But did you at least see it?”
“No, we didn’t,” said Redrick with vexation. “That’s the thing. We didn’t even make it to the furnaces. Burbridge got into the slime, and we turned right back. You can be sure that if I saw it, I wouldn’t have forgotten.”
“My God, Hugh, take a look!” Bony suddenly said in a frightened whisper. “What the hell is this?”
He was sitting with his right index finger extended tensely in front of him. Spinning around his finger was that same white metal bracelet, and Bony was staring at it wild-eyed.
“It won’t stop!” Bony said loudly, moving his astonished eyes from the bracelet to Raspy and back again.
“What do you mean, ‘won’t stop’?” Raspy said cautiously, and drew back slightly.
“I put it on my finger and spun it once, just for fun. And it’s now been spinning a whole minute!”
Bony bolted up and, holding his extended finger before him, ran through the curtained doorway. The bracelet, shimmering with silver, continued to rotate steadily in front of him, like an airplane propeller.
“What’s this you brought us?” asked Raspy.
“Hell if I know!” said Redrick. “I had no idea. If I did, I would have charged more.”
Raspy looked at him for some time, then got up and also disappeared through the doorway. Redrick immediately heard the murmur of voices. He took out a cigarette, lit up, picked up a magazine from the floor, and absentmindedly flipped through it. The magazine was full of tight-bodied beauties, but for some reason looking at them right now nauseated him. Redrick flung the magazine down and scanned the suite, searching for a drink. Then he pulled the money out of his pocket and counted the bills. Everything was fine, but in order to stay awake, he also counted the second pack. As he was putting it back in his pocket, Raspy returned.
“You’re in luck, my boy,” he announced, again sitting down across from Redrick. “Have you heard of perpetual motion?”
“Nope,” said Redrick. “Didn’t do that in school.”
“Just as well,” said Raspy. He pulled out another bundle of cash. “That’s the payment for the first specimen,” he declared, unwrapping the cash. “For every new specimen of this ring of yours, you’ll get two such bundles. You got it, my boy? Two bundles. But only under the condition that no one but us ever finds out about these rings. Deal?”
Redrick silently put the money in his pocket and got up. “I’m going,” he said. “When and where next time?”
Raspy also got up. “You’ll get a call,” he said. “Wait by the phone every Friday from nine to nine thirty in the morning. They’ll send regards from Phil and Hugh and arrange a meeting.”
Redrick nodded and headed for the door. Raspy followed him, laying his hand on Redrick’s shoulder.
“There’s something I want you to understand,” he continued. “This is all very nice, really quite charming, and the ring—that’s just lovely. But what we need most of all are two things: the photos and a full container. Bring us back our camera, but with the film exposed, and our porcelain container, but full instead of empty, and you’ll never need to enter the Zone again…”
Redrick shifted his shoulder, shook off the hand, unlocked the door, and left. He walked along the soft carpet, not looking back, the entire time feeling the angelic unblinking gaze on the back of this head. He didn’t wait for the elevator and instead walked down from the eighth floor.
After leaving the Metropole, he hailed a cab and took it to the other side of town. He didn’t know the driver, a new guy, some pimply beaked kid, one of the thousands who had recently flocked to Harmont looking for hair-raising adventures, untold riches, international fame, or some special religion; they came in droves but ended up as taxi drivers, waiters, construction workers, and bouncers in brothels—yearning, untalented, tormented by nebulous desires, angry at the whole world, horribly disappointed, and convinced that here, too, they’d been cheated. Half of them, after lingering for a month or two, returned home cursing, spreading news of their great disappointment to almost every corner of the globe; a rare few became stalkers and quickly perished, never having made any sense of things and turning posthumously into legendary heroes; some managed to get jobs at the Institute, the brightest and best-educated ones, capable at least of becoming lab assistants; the rest founded political parties, religious sects, and self-help groups and idled away their evenings in bars, brawling over differences of opinion, over girls, or just for the hell of it. From time to time they organized protests and petitions, staged demonstrations, went on strike—sit-down strikes, stand-up strikes, and even lie-down strikes—enraging the city police, administrators, and established residents; but the longer they stayed, the more thoroughly they calmed down and resigned themselves to things, and the less they worried about what exactly they were doing in Harmont.