. What vile deeds can they drive a mortal soul to, and what abyss of evil can they plunge and pervert human nature itself? Why not reread Dostoevsky or Bulgakov, at least. Although, if you're short on time, you can try to learn a lesson from the following story. We'll change the names to preserve the anonymity of those involved.
During my student years, long before I settled down, grew a beard, started writing memoirs, and macramé, my free time was devoted to all sorts of entertainment. Time was my friend and obeyed my every whim. You know, that intoxicating feeling when you truly believe that carefree days will never end. Almost every weekend was planned out six months in advance. But even with this busy schedule, I always found time to disappear for three days to my old friend Timur's. The parents of my faithful companion and brother in late-night drinking were on a business trip abroad. We had a cozy two-room apartment on the outskirts of town, where we hosted parties and relaxed in style. When all the guests had left, I helped clean up, and sometimes the cleaning would seamlessly transition into another party. It was never boring. New faces always joined the party.
And then, on one of my visits, I encountered an unusual guest at Timur's. A girl of about twenty, with fiery red hair and a languid gaze. Just one glance at this devil's figure would make you forget your own name—such a shapely and attractive young lady. Her name was Ksenia. Where and through what connections she met Timur, I never understood. But she clung to my friend tighter than a pit bull to a sugar bone. Well, my friend didn't mind this "invader" either—Ksenia stayed with him. It turned out the beauty worked at one of the city's casinos, manning the cash register and exchanging chips for cash. Her hours were irregular, but she earned tips for her pretty eyes and a generous salary from management.
One day, she returned from her shift during my tastings and cognac conversations with Timur. My friend and I were in the middle of our second day of nonstop revelry, fortunately, there were plenty of reasons: the session had ended, my first paycheck, and Tatyana's Day was coming soon...
Ksenia came in and said with excitement and horror in her eyes:
"Here you are, drinking here, and I almost gave up my soul..." We looked at Ksenia, and she seemed strange, as if she had just run home from work instead of taking the subway. She was more exhausted than usual. She was shaking like a mouse in a refrigerator, and her eyes were wild.
"Go ahead, mon sherry," I winked.
And Ksenia, sobbing and using uncharacteristic curse words, told me something like this.
Three days ago (or rather, night), a strange visitor showed up at the casino—a short, smiling man with a wide face that filled the cash register window. His face was large, but expressionless. Thin lips and pale skin. Bald as a billiard ball. Ksyusha initially mistook him for a "bro," only he was dressed uncharacteristically for his "caste": instead of a club jacket and a gold chain around his chest, he was wearing an old-fashioned three-piece suit and a black bow tie. He spoke very fluently and chuckled all the time. A sort of Merry U from the children's cartoon "The Mystery of the Third Planet." He took a minimum amount of chips and went into the hall. Only in the morning did he return to the cash register, and not alone. He was accompanied by three other casino regulars, already flush with cash—desperate gamblers, the kind you'd find in abundance in seedy spots. Like remora fish, they're hoping to snatch a piece of someone else's luck. They walk along, mesmerized, listening to the little man's chatter. Then he sidles up to the cashier and begins to lavishly and dramatically lay out chips on the counter. It rarely happens, but the man walked away with about thirty thousand dollars on the minimum bet. He left a hefty tip and led his entourage out into the street. Such things happen, the girl thought, and within an hour she'd forgotten all about the lucky man.
But the next night, he showed up at the casino again. Alone. In an impeccable black suit, vest, and bow tie. The man approached the counter and saluted playfully. He took the minimum bet and headed out into the room. And in the morning, with new followers, he returned to the counter. From snatches of conversation, Ksenia realized Veselchak was planning to teach his new friends a "lesson in real gambling" somewhere else. He collected his winnings, dropped a few chips on the table, and disappeared again.
Last night, he showed up for the third time. Security was already waiting for the lucky guy at the entrance. But surprisingly, the short guy said a few words to the security manager and walked unhindered to the cashier. He placed the minimum bet and smiled at Ksenia. The same thing happened again. The next morning, he was escorted from the casino by a young man, one of the then-popular "preppy boys." Veselchak strode swaggeringly toward the cashier. Security tried to approach him a second time, but his response was something along the lines of, "Don't worry, this is the last one." Ksenia, with her adventurous nature, decided to try her luck and ask the fat guy what had been bothering her for two days.
“Maybe you could teach me how to win?” the girl turned on.She had all her charm and allure.
But something she saw made her pause and panic. For a moment, it seemed the man had no eyes. Only dark spots where his beady eyes had once been. A nasty smile revealed small, cat-like teeth, and Veselchak, barely moving his lips, whispered:
"I have enough showers, and you have enough tips."
And he led his latest victim away from the casino.
We listened to Ksenia's story to the end and, I admit, we were quite tense. It could all have been attributed to exhaustion, but she hadn't shown any hysterics before or after. Whatever it was, it had terrified the girl.
Greed is a terrible force.
That's all.
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