The kitchen was not occupied, but it was not empty. The sink was filled with dirty plates, glasses, spoons, forks. The table boasted of a row of bottles and plates bestrewed with cigarette butts.
"I can tell by your eyes you are a regular lad" admitted he, took a bottle of vodka and tried to fill the glass. The bottle produced a scanty drop. The boy peeped into the bottle's neck as if trying to understand where the contents had gone.
"You are late!' harped he on his favorite tune and struck his fist on the table. Some bottles fell on the floor.
"I can tell by you eyes, you are one of the lads!" said I adopting new tactics and patting Ruchko on the shoulder. "Do you respect me?"
"Sure".
"Then sign this paper". I gave him a pen and a waiver.
The boy stared blankly at the paper. "No. My mother always told me not to sign any papers". He put the pen aside. "What is it all about?"
I reminded him of the events at the restaurant.
Ruchkov's face brightened up. "We celebrated Vovan's birthday and that chick fell and broke the whole table". He chuckled. "And that zany woman, professor's wife!"
"You, slyboots. You must compensate. My jeans were spoilt". He wagged his finger at me.
"No problem. How much shall I pay?" I took out my wallet.
"No. That won't do. You see we have run out of fuel". He waved his hand at the rows of empty bottles. "A box of vodka and we'll be even-steven".
"And can I see Marina Sotova?" inquired I.
"Marka? You have just seen her ass". He carelessly pointed in the direction of the bedroom. "She will do what I'll tell her".
It took me about half an hour to find the nearest convenience store, buy a box of vodka and get two waivers in exchange.
I left Ruchko's flat feeling almost happy.
When I was approaching my car something heavy struck my head and I lost consciousness.
5. Olga's Discharge
When I came to my senses I saw a big head of a German sheep dog above me. The dog's tongue was hanging out and its saliva dropped on my necktie.
"Are you alive?" heard I a human voice.
I tried to raise myself a little and felt a sharp pain at the back of the head. Somebody picked me up under the arms and helped to stand up.
"I walked Jim along the street and saw that man attack you with that bar! Can you imagine that? But for my Jim he would have beaten you to death!" spoke an elderly man in an agitated tone.
"Voronin! It was he. With all these troubles I have forgotten about him", volleyed the thoughts through my mind.
"Thank you very much. Could you, please, help me to get to my car?" asked I and in a minute was walking to the car leaning on the old man's shoulder.
I was sitting in the car, my head reeling. The clock showed 1.20 a.m. It was time to visit "Otvet". I switched the roof light and turned back the sun visor to open a built-in mirror. The mirror showed a stained face with roughed up hair and battered clothes. I tried to tidy myself up as far as possible and then started the engine.
Mr. Zilberman eyed me tentatively. As he was a businessman I began our conversation giving him my business card. He read it carefully.
"I heard about you Mr. Larin", said he. "I'll keep your business card perhaps I'll need your assistance some day".
"Now it's me who needs your assistance", I forced a smile. "I mean the incident with Mrs. Smirnova in the evening. I defend her interests."
"Smirnova? But she gave some other name. Smirnova…Professor Smirnov's wife? I understand then. Yes, the episode was really unhappy. Miss Snegova and four guests were aggrieved".
"Four of them?" wondered I.
"Yes, they were sitting at the table that was broken".
"Strange", thought I. "The police recorded only two names".
"And what damage was caused to your restaurant?" asked I aloud. "I am ready to compensate you for it right now".
"The damage was not so great", answered the manager. "Let me see…A broken table, plates, cups, glasses; spoons and forks were curved; the table cloth torn. Well, it makes eighteen thousand rubles in total".
I took out my wallet that had grown very thin and gave him the money. He signed his waiver without any questions.
At 2 a.m. Police Station 11 was crowded with ruffians, prostitutes, tramps, and other lawbreakers and troublemakers. Police details arrived bringing new portions of them, and the work was in full swing. I noticed long ago that restaurants and police stations are the most attended places at night time and they work in close collaboration: a number of restaurant clients would migrate to police stations.
Captain Murkin greeted me as if I were his old friend. He read the waivers attentively and connected with unfailing Sidorov ordering him to convey Smirnova from the third cell with all her personal belongings to his office.
Olga appeared wearing a jammed skirt and a blouse. Her hair was tousled, she looked unkempt but very attractive.
"Where have you been all this time, you, pig?" greeted she me. "Where have you been while I was interrogated, then taken to a morgue to identify Smirnov, and arrested at that bloody restaurant? And here, at this stinky pigpen, I was fingerprinted, searched and this blockhead", she motioned to Murkin, "told me I was a prostitute, non Russian, and a criminal!
"Not me! Not me!" cried the Captain mopping his brow with a handkerchief. "This is ordinary routine. All detained persons are fingerprinted so that we could match the fingerprints with information in our databases. Recently all police stations got from Moscow polygraphs, i.e. electronic lie detectors with strict orders to apply them in practice. When Mrs. Smirnova was polygraphed the computer detected she had lied when she answered that she wasn't a prostitute, wasn't a criminal, and was Russian. But I didn't believe it! That's why I phoned you".
"Very instructive results", remarked I.
Olga's countenance changed, a wild gleam appeared in her eyes. She raised her hand against me but overbalanced and began falling on Murkin's desk. I couldn't let another piece of furniture be broken and caught her up. As soon as my hands found themselves on her waist and moved somewhat lower, the other parts of my body began functioning in unison with them. My belly nestled against her belly; by breast and her breast huddled together; my lips pressed to her lips in a fervent kiss.
"Well, well. You are not wasting your time", heard I Rogov's voice. Murkin stood up and Olga moved away from me.
"Alex, you are wounded!" her voice sounded with horror; she looked with fear at a red spot on her palm. The back of my head must be bleeding and the blood dropped to the neck.
Olga's bellicose mood gave place to anxiety. When she saw me wounded her female instincts prevailed. I was her man; I suffered; I needed care. She demanded that Murkin should give her a bandage and iodine and began bandaging my head.
Rogov who watched the procedures with true interest chuckled and said: "Olga, if you look around, you are sure to find a man better than this shabby dilapidated person". He straightened his shoulders and stuck out his chest.