He sat at the bar. He smoked a cigarette slowly, staring at the glowing tip; he wanted to anticipate the moment when the burnt ash would begin to fall. Twelve cigarette butts already lay in the ashtray in front of him, arranged in a rather interesting pattern. He took a long, ceremonious sniff, clearing his throat of phlegm. He waited until the bartender turned toward the coffee machine and spat on the floor. He glanced at an old, worn-out, hooded down jacket, a faded green color, hanging on a coat rack nearby. He stood up, swayed. He grabbed the countertop for support, though nothing indicated a fall. He took a step toward the coat rack, then another, much more confidently. From his green down jacket, he pulled out a note, a business card. He glanced at the writing on the back. "Anka, 9:00 p.m. I'll be wearing a red coat." He glanced at his watch. It was 9:10 p.m., five minutes to go. Damn, he thought, another bitch who'd changed her mind. He returned to the bar and waved at the bartender.
"Another vodka, please, only cold!" he said firmly, trying to lighten his mood.
"I'm serving the twelfth," the bartender replied.
"Twelve? Oh, how time flies..." He glanced around the room again.
He probably downed another hundred. It made him twitch slightly, and he felt the liquid slide down his throat. She walked in at that very moment. She was gorgeous. She had long legs, in black high heels with stiletto heels. Glittering tights accentuated their slenderness. Next, a short black skirt, ending just above the knee, hugged her slim hips. A burgundy sweater clung to her shapely bust, which he noticed immediately. A red and yellow scarf was tied tightly around her neck. Her hair fell carelessly over her shoulders. Very blond. It's not good, blondes haven't been doing so well lately. The warm, bright red coat, thigh-length, that he'd been waiting for, completed the whole thing. She brushed off the last of the snow and glanced around the room. He waved to her. He pulled himself up in his chair, smoothed his hair. He stood up as she approached, extending his hand with a broad smile.
"Is that you I was supposed to meet?" Her voice was chirpy, a little funny, but pleasant. She took his hand and returned the embrace.
"Yes, what would you like to drink?" He switched immediately to "you." He always did. She blushed discreetly but said nothing. He was counting on it.
"A martini. But not much, because I've already been to confession," she said calmly, averting her gaze. He directed her to a table against the wall and went to the bar. When he returned with the drinks, she was already seated. She stood up straight, crossing her legs. Her face flushed; it must have been cold outside.
"You're late..." He placed a full glass in front of her, a beer in front of himself.
"Sorry, my PCC was late. Because of the snow, they're always late. In our village, ladies, it's winter..."
"Okay, okay. Fine. Do you have those photos, baby?" he asked with that seductive smile of his.
"Oh, yes. Here's a portrait, here in a swimsuit. These are for serving, right?" She pulled an envelope from her purse and then the photos one by one. It turned out okay, but not particularly flattering.
"Yeah, sure. Well, nice, nice... How big are your busts, huh? Baby?" he said, laughing heartily.
"What, Mr..." she giggled, blushing. "Ninety-two...
" "Yeah..." he mused, looking at the curves filling out her sweater.
"That job is as a secretary, right?" she asked, smiling wider and wider as she sipped her drink. "Can I have another Martini?"
"Sure, I'll get you one in a minute." He stood up and went to the bar. He quickly returned with two drinks. "Here, both for you. Do you have a boyfriend?
" "Yes, his name is Robert." She sipped through a straw. "So, as a secretary, right?
" "Yeah. In a large company. Drink to your health." He raised his mug.
"Your... Yours too. But I don't know any foreign languages, and I've never done any paperwork... Will I be any good?"
"Sure, people like you are highly sought after... besides, they'll teach you everything, don't worry. So what about that boy? Do you love him?" He leaned back comfortably, sinking back into the armrest.
"Yeah, very much so.
" "So, are you sleeping together?" He looked into her eyes, smiling the entire time. He saw her blush.
"Well... I'm no longer a virgin, but that doesn't bother me, does it?" she worried. Her tongue was slowly getting tangled, as she finished her second Martini.
"But no... Listen, aren't you pregnant by any chance?"
"No, sir, no!! We were paying attention like hell!" She leaned back, satisfied, unconsciously spreading her legs.
"Too bad." He finished his beer, put down the mug, and leaned forward. He'd been hoping to see some of her crotch, but there was no sign of any surprises; her legs were too narrow. "Listen, here's how we do it: you pay me four hundred now, a car will pick you up at seven tomorrow morning and take you to the border. Get ready. You'll give the remaining amount and your passport to the guys who are going with you. They'll take care of the rest.
" "Oh, exactly... That's quite a lot of money..." She frowned slightly.
"Well, no one's going to get you a job like that for free. And in Germany, at that. I'm also bearing the costs, and they're considerable, what do you think?" He feigned indignation, wanting to quickly dismiss the subject.
"Here, here's the entire sum. Robert and I were saving up for the holidays together, but the job is more important." She handed over another envelope, much smaller. He counted it. "
Okay, then get lost. Shall I take you back, or do you have a car to take home?"
"Robert is waiting for me, I'll go to him. Thank you... Merry Christmas!" - she stood up, swayed, stretching out her hand.
"You're welcome, really. Merry Christmas," he replied, shaking her hand warmly. She turned and went to get her coat; he didn't see her off. He watched her get dressed, wanting to give himself a pre-Christmas present, wanting to hit on her before she went out into the world, but he didn't want to scare her away. He stood up when she left and went to the bar. He sat down where he'd been sitting before. A strange guy sat down next to him, not too tall, not too short, just a bit tired. He looked washed up, and he'd only been there yesterday. The kind of guy who always wants to talk. It's a shitty time to be a bartender these days.
"It's snowing so hard; if it keeps up like this, it'll cover this whole fucking city by tomorrow," the weirdo said glumly. "Well, it's fucking started," he thought. Now he'll get the hang of it. "And what's the point of all this? We'll all die in the snow when it gets any colder.
" "If only for a drink," he replied to the stranger casually.
"A round for me and that gentleman!" the stranger yelled, making the bartender jump.
"So, life's a real pain, isn't it?"
"Like hell. You work your ass off from dawn till dusk, and they still beat you up after hours. Forget about this democracy. Where's the humanity in this?" He said, "Come on, be a fucking human!" Back in communism, there wasn't such a mess. What does it even mean to be a human being these days?" He quickly gulped the contents of the glass he'd been offered.
"I don't know? To be a human being is... Well, to manage.
" "Sir, no one manages these days. This is a country of losers and drunks. What can you do to avoid starving?
" "Like, for example, selling bitches abroad. What kind of money! Look at them: they offer them work abroad and charge a fortune to handle all the paperwork. They pay you because a good job is, damn it, a bargain in this country." The traffickers make a deal, for example, with a German; he'll buy a whore for two thousand. Pure profit. For them and for the German. The German will sell her, say, to France for five thousand dollars! And if she's pregnant, even more!
"More? Why more?" the stranger opened his mouth, curious.
"Because if she gives birth in an EU country, she immediately gets citizenship, and there's no need to mess around, and the emigrants won't give a damn if she works her ass off. And if she does, they'll sell the kid for organs or to pedophiles. Now, sir, there's such a demand for babies that, huh!
" "Look, I'm fucking toiling away at work, and these bastards are making so much money here! It makes me sick to think how much he must make a year, net of all that, because he doesn't pay taxes. What an injustice... I'm a Marian..." the stranger added after a moment.
- Nice. Where are you working?
"And the police. High risk, and they pay shit. They've screwed me over tomorrow night. On Christmas Eve. And what's this? Guarding a coal heap at the power plant! What the fuck, is someone supposed to fucking kill the coal? Lord, what times are these...
" "Aha. The police. Nice too. See how people are kicking ass. I have to go, hold on. Merry Christmas." He stood up, went to the coat rack, put on his green jacket. He pulled on his hat, and left. It was cold.
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