Go-Go Girls of the Apocalypse - Gischler Victor (читаемые книги читать онлайн бесплатно полные txt) 📗
Armageddon sat back at the desk, sipped his own coffee. “It all has to be gradual, of course. We still own half the merchants in the village and subsidize others. But there are merchants who have opened shops on the edge of the village, and I have no idea where they came from. They simply showed up one day to join the economy. People aren’t waiting to be led anymore. They’re taking initiative.”
Mortimer thought about it, absorbed what he’d heard. Impressive. Still, it seemed odd, hard to swallow, that civilization could be reborn through a franchise of nudie bars. “It’s great…really…but…” He trailed off with an embarrassed smile.
“I want you to speak freely,” Armageddon said. “I’m not a dictator, and I’m not perfect. I want to hear if you have concerns.”
“I don’t understand why a go-go club,” Mortimer said. “If you’re setting out to save civilization, or build some kind of new civilization, then why not…well…anything but a titty bar?”
Armageddon cracked up laughing, genuinely amused. “Hell, man, you think I started all this to save the world? Hell, no. It was an accident. And it’s not a titty bar. It’s a go-go club. It might not make any difference to you, but it’s an important distinction to me.”
“I’m sorry.” Don’t poke the bear.
“We try to strike a certain tone. But I was going to tell you how it started. It’s still early but I think I could use a drink after all. Join me?”
“Anything but Jack Daniel’s.”
They went out to the porch, a table and chairs overlooking the valley. Mild, only a chill in the air but not cold. Mortimer definitely anticipated an early spring.
They smoked cigars, and Armageddon drank Jack Daniel’s over ice. Mortimer almost could not stand the smell of it, but a cold draft beer helped take the edge off his hangover. The cigar smelled good.
“It was never part of any grand scheme,” Armageddon began. “Like so many people back then, I found myself running for my life. Talk to anyone who lived through those first years, listen to their stories. They’ll always be stories of running.”
Mortimer wondered if he would forever be separated from the rest of humanity by this lack of experience. He’d hidden during those times. He’d been lonely, but he hadn’t been hunted.
“I was just coming out of a looted Ruby Tuesday’s in Birmingham when they spotted me.” Armageddon cradled his drink, a faraway look coming into his eyes as if he were trying to picture the episode, recall each detail precisely. “I’d been scavenging for food, hadn’t found any and was on my way out when I saw the three of them. They had that raider look about them. You learned the type fast enough if you wanted to live. You saw them coming, and you found a hiding place. Fast. But they saw me a second later, and I dashed back into the Ruby Tuesday’s. I ducked behind the bar, knowing that wasn’t good enough. So I’m looking around for something, anything, an idea of how I’m going to get out of this, but knowing I am truly fucked. And my eyes land on a bottle. I can’t believe it. In the midst of destruction is one unopened bottle of Captain Morgan spiced rum. I take out my pocket handkerchief and wipe the dust out of three shot glasses, just as I hear boots crunching through the rubble on the floor, and I know they’re creeping through the place looking for me. They’re coming slowly because maybe I have a gun, or who knows?”
Armageddon sipped his Jack and shook his head like he couldn’t believe what he was going to say next. “So I popped up, started wiping the bar with the handkerchief and said, ‘Gentlemen, how are you doing today?’ And I lined up the shot glasses and put the bottle on the bar. I was about to wet myself, and my legs felt like noodles. But you couldn’t guess it. On the outside, I was steady as a rock.
“The three of them looked at each other like they weren’t sure what was going on. Two of them had knives and one had a huge wooden baseball bat with nails sticking out of it. I didn’t look at the weapons, just smiled. There was this long, silent ten seconds. And they came over to the bar. Just came right over and nodded at the shot glasses. I kept filling the glasses and made small talk. Yes, it was a hot day. No, I hadn’t thought to cook rats that way. And I kept smiling and kept pouring and let myself believe I might actually bluff my way through this.
“And then the booze ran out. I figured that was it, but I smiled and said, ‘Thanks for coming in, gentlemen. I hope you stop back again soon.’”
Mortimer found he was hanging on Armageddon’s every word. “What happened?”
“They left. I shit you not, they waved good-bye and were on their way. They didn’t offer to pay, and I didn’t ask, but I thought about it a lot over the next few days. I think I reached something in them, triggered by the familiar sight of a neighborhood saloon. I realized that the most comforting thing a person could see was a place open for business, even if it was just pretend.”
They sat in silence, sipped drinks and smoked cigars. Mortimer thought he could understand. More than anything, people were desperate for normalcy. The comfort of routine and familiarity.
“So you see,” Armageddon said, “I didn’t plan anything. It all evolved. And try to imagine if I had set out with the sole intention of helping my fellow man. Maybe I should have given away food to all who needed it. But where would the food have come from? How would it be replaced? Never give to the needy. They take and take and use and use and never put back. I could give it all away and feel like a hero for a day, but then we’d be right back at square one.”
Mortimer frowned, tried to hide it by sticking the cigar in his mouth.
“You don’t seem convinced.”
“It’s just hard to believe the best way to help people is not to help people.”
“What political persuasion were you?” Armageddon asked. “Back when such things mattered, I mean.”
“I was a registered independent. My wife was a Democrat.”
“Ah, one of the independents.” Armageddon grinned. “The luxury of blaming everyone but taking no responsibility. Forgive my little jibe. The point is that none of that matters now. Nobody’s pandering for anyone’s vote anymore. There is only what works and what doesn’t work, and the difference is life and death.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Mortimer said. “This is all still new to me.”
“Well, it’s a beautiful day,” Armageddon said. “Let’s drink our drinks and smoke our cigars and I promise not to bore you with any more of my amateur babble on politics and economics.”
“It’s not boring,” Mortimer said. “But you are keeping me in suspense. You said we might be useful to each other.”
“You’ve heard of this Red Czar, I’m sure,” Armageddon said.
“Leader of the Red Stripes. I saw some of his handiwork in Cleveland.”
“That’s the man,” Armageddon said. “Little is known about him. What we’d like you to do is infiltrate his organization, find out what he’s planning.” Armageddon took a long, slow drink of his iced Jack, smacked his lips. “And if you can get close enough, we’d like you to kill him.”
