Crazy Detective. Funny detective - StaVl Zosimov Premudroslovsky

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you feed.

      – I make money on feed. And mother cooks and feeds from what I have earned. Got it?

      – Accepted, understood, reception…

      – Well done, your father, and you …?

      The son stood up at the SMIRNO counter, as the priest had drilled him.

      – Well done in the stable are, but I Well done.!!..

      – .. Asshole… heh heh heh… Salaga. – Otila slapped the back of the head gently to her son, but Izya dodged and delivered a counterattack straight to the dime (nose) of his father, as he taught.

      – Uh.. – Ottila cheered up, hiding the pain, his hand only twitched, and his eyes shed tears, – Well, so, is mother feeding you or not?

      – Feeds. Deliciously feeds … – the son began to pick in his left ear … – And then my sister and who?

      – And you and my sister?.. And you are PEOPLE! – the father smiled and put on his glasses, went down from the table to a chair and proceeded to write further, kneeling down so that it was higher.

      – And what does it mean then to our AUTHORITY, that week… this… another President came …, American, the KGB is sleeping, and the people are worried?

      – What else is such a president? – Daddy’s eyes popped out from under the glasses.

      – And the one that closes with the Power in the room when you sit in the toilet for three hours,..

      – And then what?

      – .. then, they laugh and gasp, like cats in March on the streets at night, then even squeal like piglets when they are neutered. And come out – as after a bath – wet.

      – And where am I at this time? – the father shook.

      – And you still sit in the toilet for an hour.., and then, as always, yelling: “bring the paper!!!”.

      – Here, piss!!. – escaped from the grin of teeth of General Klop.

      – And what is a “bitch”?

      – Don’t you dare say that anymore. Good?

      – Understood, accepted, Amen. – I got up again, in the Izza counter.

      – You have a combat mission, to find out who this second President is.

      – Already found out. This is your subordinate – Intsefalopath Arutun Karapetovich.

      – This old man? He is thirty years older than her, and forty-three older than me. Hey… this is a fool, is he a relative?! – Klop pinned up and began to write further.

      – Ha ha ha ha!!!! – After a little while, my father suddenly exploded and almost burst out of his chair. That’s how he laughed, that even a censored word can not be explained, only obscenities. But he held onto the shoulder of his son. – Oh, ha ha, okay, go, I have to work, and this other president has chicken eggs in their pockets and shoes that are in the refrigerator.

      – Hee-hee, – Izya grinned silently, – and maybe a cactus?

      – What you want…

      The son was delighted and fled to the first half of the hut.

      The second protagonist and first assistant of the district police officer, Corporal Intsefalopat Arutun Karapetovich, a former gastorbwriter, got a job in middle-aged retirement, solely because of Ottila’s wife, Isolda Fifovna Klop-Poryvaylo. He was three times taller than his boss and five times thinner than his boss’s wife. The nose is hunchbacked, like an eagle and a mustache, like Budenny or Barmaley. In general, the real son of the mountains, who at the beginning of Perestroika, going down for salt, stumbled and guessed in a gorge, right in a freight car open without roof, with coal from the Tbilisi-SPb freight train. At the station, Lyuban woke up and jumped. He worked here and there until he met the district policeman’s wife while drinking. She recommended him as a cousin from the Caucasus.

      Having finished work, Ottila Aligadzhievich Klop, as always, took a photo portrait on the table with the image of the incumbent President, breathed on it, wiped it on his sleeve, kissed the forehead on the crown of the head and put it back in its right place on the right corner of the table, resting it on a pencil case with pens, rubber, pencils, and a pack of chopped free advertising newspapers for personal hygiene. He hated toilet paper. It is thin and a finger is constantly pierced through it at the most crucial moment and then you have to shake it off. And shaking it in a narrow space, there is a chance of a finger hitting a wooden block of the inner corner of a Soviet-style street toilet and feeling pain, instinct made the sick finger moisten with warm saliva, instead feeling the taste of his feces, which he wore for 24 hours, putting the restroom out for later.

      To wipe sweat from his forehead, armpits, arms, legs and under the eggs, where he sweated exceptionally hard, he used a bath waffle towel. You ask: why not a rag? The answer is simple: the towel is large and lasts for a long time.

      It was too late, and the family was already breathing long ago. Ottila, entering the residential part of the hut, quietly went into the kitchen, took a five-liter can of moonshine from the refrigerator. Confiscated from a local huckster. He pressed it to the belly, just took a saucer, in which lay a piece of herring, bitten by one of the household. Or maybe this old goat, Intsephalopath, who had not brushed his teeth all his life and had simply bitten his jaw with caries.

      “That’s why I had caries,” Klopa dawned, “he kissed Isolde, Isolde Izyu, and Izya constantly kisses my lips for fives and fours brought from school once or twice a year. This is not pedophilism, one or two … – But Incephalopath’s teeth were mostly black, hemp and the roots were constantly bleeding, but Harutun did not feel pain at all. This defect in the DNA did not harm him at all, but rather even successfully helped in the investigation.

      Ottila wrinkled and wanted to put the plate back in place, but squinting at the jar, he decided not to disdain. Moonshine disinfects everything. So he changed his mind and went to the table. There was a small TV in the kitchen, and he turned it on along the way. Also along the way, I went to the gas stove and opened the pan lid, standing on tiptoe. The aroma, exhausted from it, simply intoxicated Ottila and he immediately wanted to eat one. He took in the cupboard: a plate, tabletop, pepper shaker, knife, bread, mayonnaise, sour cream, kefir, airan, koumiss, ketchup, bay leaf, a mug, two spoons: large and small, and, struggling to catch his balance, he went to the table, got up and got tired: both hands were through, too much overloaded and even had to use elbows. Everything dialed slowly swayed. Ottila tried to push the plate on the table with his nose, but the table was higher, and his elbows began to swell. Ottila puffed up and laid everything on a chair.

      Then he fussed about and, pushing the chair so that you could see the TV, standing by the chair, which is currently being re-qualified as an acting table, standing, poured one hundred and fifty grams of moonshine into the stopar and exhaled deeply, filled it all at once with one swig and accompanied it with a loud sound gurgling. He grimaced like an old lemon, without hesitation, grabbed a piece of the nibbled herring with his whole five and nibbled half along with the bones. Bones dug into his palate and tongue. He froze, but then he remembered his father’s yoga and forgot the pain, as grandmothers or children forget the keys and other trifles. Next in line was soup. The soup consisted of the following indigents: peas, sauerkraut, potatoes, fried onions with carrots on tomato paste, soft wheat horns, semolina, a mixed chicken egg with a caught piece of the shell, a fingernail, the size of an adult, and seasoned with one piece of bone from meat with veins into the pan floor. The meat, apparently, was eaten before, on the principle: “in a large family… don’t click.” In sucking already swollen soup and looked more like horseflies, Ottila nibbled on the bone and lived, while carefully absorbing the news. The next issue of the Call Center was on the TV screen:

      – And the most interesting thing, “the announcer

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