"Smith, Martin Cruz - Red Square" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Martin Cruz)

'Did you lose count?' he asked.

'It's automatic,' the attendant said.

Arkady read the numbers off the counter's tiny dials. Already 7950. Fifteen canvas bags were full and tied shut, five empty bags to go.

'How much are they?' he asked.

'Four tokens for a dollar.'

'Four into... well, I'm not good at mathematics, but it seems enough to share.' When the attendant started around looking for help, Arkady said, 'Just joking. Relax.'

Jaak was sitting at the far end of the bar, sucking sugar cubes and talking to Julya, an elegant blonde dressed in cashmere and silk. A pack of Rothmans and a copy of Elle were open beside her espresso.

Jaak pushed a cube across the table as Arkady joined them. 'Hard-currency bar, they don't take rubles.'

'Let me buy you lunch,' Julya offered.

'We're staying pure,' Jaak said.

She gave him a rich smoker's laugh. 'I remember saying that myself.'

Jaak and Julya had once been man and wife. They had met on the job, so to speak, and fallen in love -not a unique situation in their callings. She had gone on to bigger and better things. Or he had. Hard to say.

The buffet had pastries and open sandwiches under banners for Spanish brandy. Was the sugar the product of imported Cuban sugar cane or the plain but honest Soviet sugar beet, Arkady wondered. He could become a connoisseur. Australians and Americans traded monotones along the bar. At nearby tables, Germans wooed prostitutes with sweet champagne.

'What are they like, the tourists?' Arkady asked Julya.

'You mean, special kinks?'

'Types.'

She allowed him to light her cigarette and took a thoughtful drag. She crossed her long legs in slow motion, drawing eyes from around the bar. 'Well, I specialize in Swedes. They're cold but they're clean and they're regular visitors. Other girls specialize in Africans. There's been a murder or two, but generally Africans are sweet and grateful.'

'Americans?'

'Americans are scared, Arabs are hairy, Germans are loud.'

'What about Russians?' Arkady asked.

'Russians? I feel sorry for Russian men. They're lazy, useless, drunk.'

'But in bed?' Jaak asked.

'That's what I was talking about,' Julya said. She looked around. 'This place is so low-class. Did you know that there are fifteen-year-old girls working the street?' she asked Arkady. 'At night girls work the rooms, knocking on doors. I can't believe Jaak asked me here.'

'Julya works at the Savoy,' Jaak explained. The Savoy was a Finnish venture around the comer from the KGB. It was the most expensive hotel in Moscow.

'The Savoy says they don't have any prostitutes,' Arkady said.