Knoblauchpick 1

- Are you guessing from the entrails?

- Birds? - the master raised an eyebrow frowningly.

- Rabbit's, lamb's?

- Human.

The owner of the souvenir shop, a middle-aged man in a shabby vest, opened his mouth and went numb. The uniformed man stared at him stone-faced. Behind him three satisfied customers, cackling, were passing each other a brown vial, with a calligraphic inscription: "Alcoholism. You'll be drunk in six months!"

- What do you mean?

- Do you have a license to sell alcoholic beverages? - The guest leaned against the counter pretending he hadn't asked anything before.

- What kind of liquor is there? - The host shook his head. - Snake venom on monkey shit. I ordered it from Cambodia. They say it helps with prostatitis.

One of the guys accidentally pushed the janitor. He mumbled, twitching his neck, stumbled, almost knocked over the bucket. The guys didn't even turn around as they left the shop. The janitor looked back at the owner with tin eyes, pressed his crooked head into his shoulders and, bleating softly, continued his limp dance with the mop.

- Why do you deceive people? - sighed the investigator, studying the sign "Black magician Sergey Belov" above the counter.

- They want it themselves," Belov shrugged. - If they didn't want to, they wouldn't have come here.

- A store of black magic "Behind the Wall"? An evil souvenir shop? Are you serious?

- Pfft, of course not. It's fun to be evil. Black magic is in vogue. Like black humor, and questionable compliments. If I tell that girl that the beauty of her eyes hides the curvature of her legs, she'll find me interesting.

- Hmm, no, that never worked.

The owner made bored eyes, watching the janitor dripping saliva on the floor with the mop pressed to his chest.

- So is this business or just chitchat? I've got an imbecile guy hanging around.

The guest pulled out his ID:

- Eletsky," he introduced himself. - Senior Investigator.

Then he put a briefcase on the counter, clicked it, took out a folder, and handed it to the host. Putting his finger on the right page, he asked earnestly:

- So you're guessing at the insides?

***

Shit, all these murdered... Missing... Cuttings of human flesh in the neighborhood garbage cans, bodies with organs removed... Horrible. It's horrible that I don't feel anything. I'm not sorry. I won't lift a finger to help with the search, there's nothing else for me to do. They'll find the murderer themselves, even if he has time to tear apart a few more townspeople.

The gypsy woman is coming again today; she always comes on Thursdays. She'll buy some eye-witnesses on strings, a couple of Tarot decks and some oils. She'll clang with an iron-toothed laugh and sprinkle with flowery predictions. It will be loud and tiresome.

It's still quiet. This morning the haircutting kid bought a pendant with a unicorn supposedly keeping his virginity - fool. If you want me to wait, you better buy a chastity belt.

I'll go up to my room tonight and read in peace. That fool's going back to the basement to play with his toys. He sits there, messing around in the dirt, and then he smells so bad that even incense doesn't help, I have to air it out. At least he's smart enough to wash himself.

And anyway... Am I really that far removed from them? This wall, built brick by brick over the years. Where... where did it begin? Ah, as always, Father. Bastard.

***

- No kidding, I'm very sorry, but I can't help it. - Belov wiped his glasses and shook his hands. - You have medical examiners. Ask them. I'm just a charlatan. And we are not in the movies, so the investigation works like that.

- Just one question, then," Eletsky squeaked out, laying out a couple more pictures. - What are bloodstains doing on your porch?

- C-blood? - Belov's cheek twitched. - How? Where?

He stared at the pictures, unwrapping them and looking closely. Finally sighed with relief.

- And I thought... No one had told me. There's only a few drops. I wouldn't have even seen it.

- That's our job," said Eletsky. - To see what other people can't see. You didn't answer the question.

- I do not know the answer! - The warlock exhaled at a loss. - Perhaps someone had a bloody nose, incense can do that. Or a cut... But I slept soundly in my own bed last night.

- Is there anyone who can vouch for that?

- Only Chaya," he nodded at the janitor.

- Chaya?

- Well, ahem, I shouldn't call him Igor... He's like a mascot here. Creates an image. He lives here, like me, in the store. Except that Chaya is a fool. I mean, not at all. Yes, Chaya?

- Ummamf! - Haya nodded cheerfully, raising his asymmetrical snout at them, crumpled up in a smile. - Ygorf!

A steel shimmer played through the open door. Colorful skirts howled, shawls fluttered, a black-browed woman spoke up, tinkling her bracelets:

- ...My darling, all your amulets are taken, your lucky hand! Rahiba will tell you a good fortune! Long live you, may the sun shine on you, you're my lucky one, my treasure, my jack of hearts...

- "Civil woman, be quiet," Yeletsky raised his voice, browbeating Belov with his eyes. - You mean that the only one who can certify that you slept in the shop-room apartment was the lunatic janitor? Do you sleep with him?