Theodor Ventskevich - Buy or Die. There cometh a time of ruthless advertising

“Of course. Without any doubt. You need a good rest.”

***

Half an hour later they parted.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” the doctor was saying. “Any time after six in the morning. By that time your new ear will be completely ready.”

“Thanks. See you tomorrow then,” Z answered.

On the street, he unrolled his loot and ran through it with his eyes greedily.

“Visit otolaryngologist from 8:15 till 9:15. Diagnosis… Recommendations… Here it was! Sick leave for 2 hours (till 11:15).”

Z spat. What a generous world!

***

“Unbelievable!” Z brooded sitting in a cafe and fumbling for a cigarette in his pocket. “To get out of the car without any protection in the very center of the city! Best way to turn into an imbecile. I wonder if I would ever notice?”

He touched the ear mechanically and pulled back his hand at once.

“Great,” he summed up. “Just great.”

A drink or two would have helped him feel much better. Z glanced out the window, where Toy, shiny and clean-fingered, was bathing in the sunlight. And while he was there, a drink was out of the question. Z remembered how, having detected the smell of fresh beer, Toy drove him to the police station without a word. Toy had received an honorary sticker on his hood then, and Z had got the subway for half a year. Recalling this period, he shivered. On the other hand, it was the subway where he had met Ness.

“Bloody bastard”, Z murmured, squinting at the car. He finally found a “Cameleon’ pack in his pocket, pulled out a cigarette and flicked his lighter. A fiery tongue, shaped like a camel and changing its color like a chameleon, touched the tip of the cigarette.

“I warn you,” the cigarette squeaked, “I can do harm. For example, I can impair potency. And I am actually going to do this! Also, I may increase the risk of cardiovascular diseases. And you will see, I will increase it. Draw a horizontal line in the air if you want to know the details. Draw a vertical…”

Z waved his cigarette up and down impatiently, cutting off the squeak in mid-sentence. His thoughts returned to the recent incident. A fight in the street… It seems to be in the category of socially dangerous crimes already. He could consider himself lucky. It was a very near escape. And, thanks to recent changes in legislation, justice had no retroactive effect any more. Until you were caught at the scene of the crime you were innocent. Z automatically touched his ear and turned cold.

“Here it was! Or better to say, was not. That is, it was exactly at the scene of the crime now!”

He thought this over carefully. If the ear was found, this could be interpreted as if he, Z, was, although partially, detained at the crime scene. Or as if he had not left it completely. In that case, formally, the judgment should probably be made in proportion to the arrested part…

“Bullshit,” he interrupted himself. “Nobody will pick up someone else’s ear off the street.”

He drank his coffee in a gulp and went outside; he had to hurry. A bunch of kids had already gathered near Toy. They looked very excited and were discussing something heatedly, poking Toy’s windows with their fingers.

The cook really looked bad. His open eyes were swollen and had turned pale, and unpleasant yellowish-green spots were creeping across his face.

“I was telling him that smoking is harmful,” Z explained to the kids, nearing from behind. “He never listened. Never! And just imagine; he was still under ten!”

The schedule was tight. According to the plan, Twick had to be in school at seven thirty. Next, Kwick had to be in school at seven thirty-five. And finally, no later than seven forty, Mick had to present himself in the nursery. While all three places were respectively on the eleventh, twelfth and thirteenth floors of the same building, the plan had never been fully and successfully implemented. Sometimes Twick was late, and, if not, then Kwick was; if they somehow succeeded to get in on time, there was always Mick. Y himself, who had to be at work by eight, was always late. Sure enough, today they were late too. Twick did it first, leaving no chance for the others. The troubles started in the hall, where they witnessed a deafening family scandal; an event that was not to be missed. In a huge wall aquarium, Dad-fish and Mom-fish, suspended motionlessly in the water, both utterly worked up and with a “come on, just touch me, just try’ expression on their faces, were confronting each other face-to-face.

“Dad, why is she ye’‘ing at him zet offu’y?” asked Mick in a whisper.

“He either drinks too much or earns too little,” Kwick explained condescendingly.

“Bullshit!” Twick stepped in contemptuously. “It’s absolutely clear that he either cheated on her or didn’t take out the trash.”

“He didn’t take out the trash,” Y said firmly. “Let’s go. Respect their privacy. Let them be.”

When they reached the elevator, Twick remembered that he had left his PE kit at home.

“To hell with the kit,” decided Y.

“And with my schoolbag too,” Kwick suggested modestly.

They went home and got the kit and the bag, said another goodbye to Tess and returned to the elevator.

The elevator arrived and brought a new problem. It turned out that the old elevator attendant had been replaced with a new model and the new one couldn’t understand Mick’s orders.

Communication with elevator attendants was Mick’s exclusive privilege, won in bloody battles with his older brothers. It was impossible to deprive Mick of this privilege without a terrible and completely indecent scandal.

“E’even!” Mick announced proudly.

“Hey to you too, little sir,” the elevator attendant replied politely, “but I am not Evan. Evan is out of order, I believe, so I am here to replace him. My name is Steven, sir, at your service.”

Mick nodded solemnly.

“Nice to meet you, Steven. I’m Mick. We need the e’evens f’oor…”

“Hey again, little sir,” the elevator attendant replied with a somewhat puzzled look. “The fourth floor you said, did you?”

“E’even!” Mick corrected.

The lenses of the elevator assistant began to glow intensely. The sharp smell of engine oil filled the cabin. The elevator assistant bowed and turned to Y.

“Excuse me, sir, what floor do you need?”

“He told you.” Y pointed at Mick calmly.

The elevator attendant rummaged through his logic.

“We don’t have that,” he announced finally. “I can offer the first, the second, the third…”

“No, no, no,” Y interrupted him hastily. “Of course you have.”

“Where?” the elevator attendant inquired.

“It’s somewhere above the tenth,” Y hinted cautiously.

The elevator attendant thought this over. This took a while.

“Eleventh?” he asked finally.

“Yes!” Mick nodded happily. “E’even.”

“Hey, Evan,” the elevator attendant repeated slowly and thoughtfully. He nodded and pressed the button.

In silence, they arrived on the eleventh floor and Twick got out.

After that, there was “ze twe’fs” (two minutes lost) and “ze ‘eve’ up” (one minute lost; apparently, the elevator attendant was a quick learner). It was five minutes to eight when Y launched Mick into the nursery, and Y would surely have gotten to work in time had it been on the 14th floor. Unfortunately, it was not. Y, like Z, worked in Undo service.

***

Once in the street, Y looked at his watch again. Six minutes past eight, which meant three credits out from his wage. Half a credit per minute. He quickly calculated his options. A taxi would mean fifteen credits plus five-minute tardiness. In total, a little more than seventeen credits. A subway would be free as he had a travel card and would take twenty minutes – that is, it would cost him only ten credits. Without hesitation, he turned towards the subway station. Ah, if only he had a car! But, in this aspect, Y was a unique: the only horseless Undo officer ever. Not that he liked to walk and not that he didn’t have a service car; it was just that he could not drive a car at all. He was absolutely unable to get a driving license. Topographical cretinism multiplied by pathological absentmindedness aggravated by malicious irresponsibility with progressing dreaminess – and this was only an extract from a conclusion that had been unanimously signed by all the driving instructors of the service. His fifteen attempts to pass the driving test were remembered by driving instructors as the darkest days of their lives. The matter ended in a draw; Y did not manage to kill the instructors and the instructors did not manage to teach Y to drive a car.