Fly Hunter: The Story of an Inquisitor - страница 17

"Where did he stash his comrades?.. They flew to the capital together, but only one returns. He must've exposed his henchmen to gunfire, while he remains unscathed. Look at that nose, like a parrot's beak, all the growth must've gone into his nose… The inquisitors have it easy, see what cognac he drinks, French, and won't even share. No matter, our mountain 'Navesh' is just as good, one guy told me: the Saka chief only drinks that, two crates fly out every month, he drinks it all himself… And this tough chief enjoys Ahmed's complete trust, otherwise the plane wouldn't be at his disposal… But where did he stash his comrades?.. Maybe he left someone behind to keep watch? Ha! Watch! Even a child could figure out these henchmen, they're so obvious from a mile away. And why fly a plane to keep watch? Isn't there anyone in the capital to do that? More than enough. But if there's no one to watch, then why?.. Forget about others' business. Better keep an eye on the helm, avoid falling into a pit. Generally, the less you know, the longer you live… Gurg was talking about the annotations, where did he disappear to, who knows? Not even his wife knows… 'Without the right to correspondence'… For everyone else, the man is dead. Maybe he's alive somewhere, but is that living? No wine, no kebabs, no khachapuri, no Sudanese chicken, no women… A-ra, what is there?.. No one knows what there is or if there's anything. Like the afterlife: everyone knows it exists, but no one knows what's there. You won't know until you get there. And who wants to get there ahead of time? I swear, no one!.. The big-nosed one smiles, satisfied… Drinking such cognac, everyone would be satisfied… And not offering any to a fellow countryman… Not very comradely, eh!"

Aman-Jalil caught the pilot's envious glance and a devilish smirk played on his thin lips.

"I won't treat you, or you'll crash my plane, not because I care about the plane, feel free to crash it, but count me out," Aman-Jalil thought, pretending to pour himself cognac and drinking it, tilting the empty glass into his mouth. He didn't forget to nibble on a "Lux" chocolate, convincing the pilot more than if he had seen the cognac flowing down Aman-Jalil's throat. Alright, enough pretending, leave half for the pilot to shut his mouth… I wonder who he's bringing along?"

Aman-Jalil spilled a bit of cognac on his collar, waiting for the car to suddenly shake.

– Hey, driver, watch out, is there a pothole or something?

– You think this is a main avenue? Let's switch seats: you take the wheel, and I'll drink the cognac. Deal?

– Hold the bottle, it's exactly half full, honest… Just swear you'll finish it at home, they're already saying I'm getting all my friends drunk, the mullah almost hinted at it right in my face after the morning prayer. Don't you know?

– Small, isn't he? I don't drink at work!

Aman-Jalil stood up, discreetly wiped the bottle and handed it to the pilot.

– Drink up, elder, and understand!

– What am I understanding?

– Understand, I say.

– And what's that?

– I don't know, they say in the capital.

– Maybe it's a curse word?

– Maybe, but it sounds good.

– No, not a curse word: understand, learn, that's what it means…

– Clever! Listen, how clever you are, eh!

– Did you think…

Aman-Jalil suddenly saw a small black fly, it flew past Aman-Jalil and landed on the pilot's helmet.