When for the first time in two days I started to shave and cut myself quite tangibly, New Russian's fantasy suggested me to get 'Shick-Protector' also. Nothing else could come into my mind after that, just some messy ideas about the second phone line and second modem – in order for Vika to be able to download mail and do some other simple tasks while I'm traveling in the deep.

It's a bit far too much though. Even Maniac doesn't have second phone line.

By the way, I owe him beer, it looks very much like he saved my life yesterday.

And it's better not to procrastinate with it: I've got the suspicion that I'll be able to treat him with nothing more than just 'Navigator' in a week… well, quite a beer too, a strong one, with original taste…

I turned the computer on, connected to the Internet and transferred $5000 to my St. Petersburg account without any virtuality, just in 10 minutes. Then I checked my wardrobe, chose the decently fresh shirt and old but clean jeans, put my passport and Visa card in the pocket. What else? Ah yes… the beer.

The shabby 5 liter canister was standing sadly on the balcony. I unscrewed the cap and sniffed inside: it smelled of soured 'Zhigulevskoe' { classic Russian beer ;-) }. I had to wash the canister in cold water, then in hot one, then in cold again. Then I've put it into the bag that stayed here from previous apartment owners (I never have time to get rid of garbage) and walked out.

My, how much cleaner and neater my staircase in virtuality is! And unlike here, no eternal smell of flooded basement and stray cats!

Having left the side streets I stopped by the road and raised my hand; I had to stand like that for quite a time. Finally one junky 'Lada' condescended to stop.

– To the 'Kredo-Bank', – I said.

As strange as it seems, the driver knew the way.

In around 20 minutes, parted with the remains of my cash I was entering the palace of hidden and evident capitals under glassy stares of security guards.. In 20 minutes more, filled with various checkups, numerous phone calls to the bank's main office and requests to specify the account number, the bank clerks became kinder and finally gave me out $1000. In rouble equivalent of course.

And in quarter of an hour more I entered the Irish pub 'Molly' on 36 Rubinstein Street. It's not too crowded in the daytime and this helped me. The Big Mugs { security guards ;-) } by the entrance were relaxed and just froze dumb when they saw my canister. I passed the cloak room solemnly and entered the neat twilight of semi-basement, approached the bar and smiled to the bartender.

Luckily, bartender in 'Molly' is British. Whatever one can say, but they are far superior than we are in some aspects. He smiled and gazed at me questionably.

– Good afternoon, Christian, – I said. – May I ask for 5 liters of beer?

He definitely wasn't used to sell the beer by liters. But it took him only five seconds to regain his smile.

– Which beer?

– 'Zhigulevskoye'.

The guards behind my back who for some reason decided to visit the hall together with me, started to breathe heavily.

– Just kidding, – I explained, – 'Guinness' of course, – And I gave the canister to Christian.

Self control seems to be one of the most important qualities of the best European bartenders, and Christian is one of them. He picked the canister up casually, weighted it in his hand as if to estimate it's volume and started to fill it from the sparkling faucet.

Big Mugs behind me were silently going crazy, and it amused me lots.

– Please wait for the foam to settle, – said Christian with a strong accent putting the canister on the bar. Wow, what a cool guy! I visit 'Molly' pretty seldom and never noticed him to be so proficient.

– Okay, then one more mug to drink here please, – I said and turned around.

Big Mugs pretended to study the bottle rows behind Christian's back. Okay. Until they are sure in my paying capacity, I won't be able to drink my beer in peace.

I dragged out a pile of small notes from the right pocket of my jeans and started to examine it. The guards' breathing became faster again.

Shit, do I really look that lousy?!

A thick pack of hundred thousand rouble notes emerged from the left pocket. I put three notes on the bar, took the mug and turned around.

Have anybody really stood here? No, looks like I was imagining things…

Having seated by the nearest table I silently enjoyed the best beer invented in this sinful world. Then I took my canister from the merry bartender (Europe! One can't affect him so easily), and after short hesitation took the change too. He'll do without it: the beer isn't cheap itself.

It's no difference in the Deep though: either 'Bavaria' in cans or 'Guinness' from the

barrel, the cost is the same. Now I managed to stop the car much quicker, or it was just the time running faster? I jumped into the rattling 'Volga' and shouted cheerfully:

– Whip it up to Maniac!

A pair of very big and round eyes gazed at me.

– Get out, – said the driver in the same brief manner.

When stopping the next volunteer to earn easy money I kept reminding myself that I'm not in virtuality where patient Vika will turn the simple voice command into understandable address.

Maniac lives on Vasilievsky [Island] {a district of St.Petersburg }. Panting, I climbed to the fifth floor: at the time this house was built, elevators were yet a novelty, and rang at the door. One, two, three… pause.. one, two. Even if Maniac is in the Deep, the computer connected to all apartment wiring will submit to the code ring at the door and eject Maniac from virtuality.

The steps sounded in the depth of the apartment, I closed the peephole with a finger quickly.

– Who? – asked Maniac gloomily.

– Racket requested?

Pause. Obviously Maniac is just from the deep and has a little mood for humor.

– Who?!

– Shit, it's me, me! – I removed the finger.

Maniac rattled with locks opening the door.. I entered. He was dressed in virtual suit right on the naked body, with a shotgun in his hand. The gun was huge, with it the slim and narrow shouldered hacker looked like a kid playing war game.

– Wow, – I just said.

– Yeah… I was fumbling in one guy's comp… hardly managed to get my ass outta there. – Maniac was brief, he locked the door, glanced at the canister and asked sympathetically, – Dire straits again?

– No, not really.

– I have a couple of bottles of 'Baltic'…

– I's 'Guinness' here, – I declared proudly. Maniac looked at the canister thoughtfully and hurled:

– You pervert…

I followed him to the small neat kitchen and asked cautiously:

– Where's… yours…?

– With her folks.

– Quarreled again?

– Why quarreled? – said Maniac indignantly, – Does the wife's not being at home immediately mean that we quarreled? She have just… decided to visit Mommy… well okay, we have quarreled a little..

– Why so?

– Ah… I've passed the red light…

I nodded: it's very difficult to live in the deep and be married. What the hell betrayal is in visiting the virtual brothel? It's all unreal there!

But Maniac's spouse got hurt anyway…

We sat by the table, Maniac searched the fridge, got the pack of franks, a piece of cheese, then brought two huge clay glasses from his room. I filled them with beer solemnly.

– Gee, it's really 'Guinness'… – admitted Maniac drawing the letter 'M' on the thick foam.

– For the Love, Shurka.

– Um-gm… – Maniac said gloomily and drained his glass, – Yeah. Love. Shit, the devil tempted me! I had to flee… a couple of lamers was on my tail… So I decided to visit 'Strawberry Fields'…

– What the hell for?

– Don't you really know what security systems those brothels have? – Maniac was surprised, – This is where senators, Duma deputies, businessmen … other money sacks always are. Security will cut you off from your pursuers at once!