The Case of the General's Thumb by Andréi Kurkov Read Free Book Online Page A

roubles?”
    â€œA million.”
    â€œRight,” he said, and went his way.
    By Sarny, Nik was so deeply asleep that the conductress had a job to wake him.
    â€œThat’s what drinking does,” she said. “We’re here. You’ve got five minutes.”
    He woke Sakhno, and no sooner were they out on the deserted platform than the train moved off.
    â€œWhat’s the time?” Sakhno asked.
    â€œTen to six.”
    â€œBloody hell!”
    They flopped down on the wooden seats in the waiting room.
    Sakhno yawned.
    â€œWhere now?”
    â€œA night here, then on to Brest and Poland.”
    Sakhno went back to sleep.

16
    Not feeling sleepy, Viktor sat in the kitchen with the light out and a cup of tea at his elbow. He now had the menus of three restaurants – the Kozak, the Mlyn and the Moskva – where Bronitsky could have ordered red caviar pancakes. Zanozin had excelled himself. Tomorrow he would pay them a visit.

17
    Nik and Sakhno put up at the small hotel outside the station, slept till four, then toured the few shops Sarny had to offer. The two old-style commission shops were a stark reminder of the Soviet past, and in one of these, with Sakhno looking on in frank disbelief, Nik bought two battered suitcases using their Belarusian toy money.
    â€œWhat the devil are they for?” Sakhno asked. “But skip that. How about that explanation you promised?”
    â€œWhen we’ve got the tickets, we’ll go somewhere for a meal.”
    â€œFine,” said Sakhno, who was ravenous.
    Walking back to the hotel with three hours to go before the train, Nik insisted on buying toothbrushes and toothpaste.
    â€œWhy bother with the bloody hotel?” Sakhno demanded, halting abruptly.
    â€œTo collect our passports. Look, I’ll do that, you wait here.”
    â€œLeft the key?” the girl asked looking languidly up from her book.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œHang on. Kla-a-va!”
    A sleepy-looking old woman poked her head out of a door.
    â€œCheck 35 still has its towels and drinking glasses.”
    Ten minutes later she slapped down their passports, and with a “Do come again!” returned to her book.
    Seeing no sign of Sakhno, Nik broke into a cold sweat. Casting around, he spotted a blue-painted hut with a board saying Bar, and in its gloomy interior found Sakhno addressing a glass.
    â€œWhat are you having?” he asked.
    â€œGot any money?”
    â€œThey take dollars. And they’ve got port.” Sakhno turned to the barman, “One large port, and play this,” he said, pulling a cassette from his pocket, and as he made his way back to the table, booming heartbeats filled the bar.
    â€œBloody tape’s blank!” called the barman, replacing it with an old Afghan War number.
    Sakhno hauled himself to his feet, eyes flashing fire.
    â€œTake it easy, let’s finish our drinks,” Nik urged, and to his surprise, Sakhno slumped back onto his seat, clearly drunk or the worse for his recent experience.
    â€œGet him out of here,” said the barman, as Nik collected the cassette.
    â€œGot anything to eat?”
    â€œSnickers.”
    â€œGive me four.”
    â€œYou promised to explain,” Sakhno grumbled.
    â€œI will when you’re more yourself. Just now, we’ve a train to catch. Bring the cases.”
    Reluctantly, Sakhno got up, pocketed the cassette, picked up the cases, and made unsteadily for the door.

18
    Viktor’s round of the restaurants proved unproductive.
    The Kozak waiters were reluctant to say anything beyond a “No, don’t remember”, almost before looking at his photograph of Bronitsky.
    At the Mlyn, the manager checked his receipts for May 20th and shook his head. According to a waitress, only two tables had been taken: one by prostitutes celebrating a birthday, the other by men celebrating something else. There’d been no order for caviar pancakes.
    The manager