Sin by Zakhar Prilepin

Author:Zakhar Prilepin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Glagoslav Publications Limited

Six cigarettes and so on

By his hands I could tell that he wasn’t my enemy.

So I relaxed immediately.

He entered loudly, clinking the keys on his finger, the poser.

I looked out the window: sure enough, outside under the quiet rain falling from above, in the light of the street lamps, his long car was parked, pretty as a fish.

He spoke rudely to the barman with the nasty voice of an old pederast, sat on a tall stool opposite the bar, loudly moved the ashtray closer and threw the cigarette packet on to the table. A poser, as I said. He was wearing an overcoat.

“Are you asleep, you big-mouthed shmuck? The work day hasn’t started yet, and you’re already asleep. Give me a lighter, how long do I have to suck on an unlit cigarette?”

The barman Vadik extended him a lighter.

The poser took a few seconds to light up, looking at Vadik, and deliberately keeping the cigarette away from the flame. Vadik moved the lighter towards him, and the poser moved his head, mockingly moving his fat lips holding the filter.

It’s my conviction that people like this should be killed immediately, and that no one should ever regret it.

But I’m the bouncer here, I get paid for doing other things.

I’m not even obliged to protect Vadik. Barmen are crooks, at the end of the night there’s bound to be a scandal: one of the customers will discover that they have been charged for several dishes that nobody ordered.

I’m surprised that barmen don’t get beaten up: customers prefer to beat each other up, and break the dishes.

Although I feel sorry for Vadik now.

“Why aren’t there any girls here?” the poser asked, finally lighting up.

Vadik mumbled something in reply, to the effect that it was probably too early in the day.

“Maybe I should screw you, how about that?”

The barman rubbed the glasses, not replying.

The poser smiled, not taking his eyes off Vadik. I saw all of this from the store room, where I was tying my shoelaces.

It really gets me down to see men acting incapably like this: poor Vadik, how does he live if this is what he’s like. He’s taller than I am, and of average build. He’s a pale, quite charming guy.

He has a girlfriend, quite striking, she sometimes turns up before the club opens, and reads a textbook – she’s a student. Vadik pours her some coffee, and she drinks it neatly, not tearing her eyes away from the page. If she could hear this now, if only she could see it.

No one prohibits Vadik from saying something insulting to the poser, to call him a mud toad, a fatlipped scumbag.

And if the poser tries to hit the barman, then I will have to intervene.

But Vadik just keeps furiously rubbing the glasses.

I tied my shoelaces and came out, and sat on a stool at the bar, next to the poser.

And here I realized that he was not my enemy. His fingers were puffy and pink; his fist was feeble and soft, like a frog’s belly, he hadn’t hit anyone with this hand for a long time.

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