Chapter III.I

Galbraith, who needed to catch a British Airways flight, had to spend two and a half hours at Portland International Airport. The wait didn't promise to be pleasant - by this time, such a crowd had formed in the building that it was completely incomprehensible to the inspector, unfamiliar with local orders, how people would even get on their planes. Leaving his suitcase in one of the waiting rooms, he headed to the second floor, where there were shops and cafes where he could buy a hamburger or coffee. Walking a little forward, Galbraith entered the establishment closest to the escalator - not least because he was attracted by the music playing there. The cafe was small, but quite cozy - the interior was dominated by purple and blue tones. On the walls hung curious paintings, made in the form of engravings, which depicted scenes from the life of the ancient Greeks.

Having taken a free table, the inspector looked around - besides him, there were two young people in the room who looked like Portuguese tourists. One of them was curly-haired and gloomy, the other, on the contrary, red-faced and talkative. They sat across from each other and played Xs and Os on a newspaper marked with a black marker in a six-by-six format. Sometimes these guys raised their heads and, exchanging short phrases in Portuguese, glanced in his direction. Galbraith began to look for the waiter. Finally, he saw a man walking slowly around the tables with some kind of tray. Having called out to him, the inspector involuntarily noticed that this man stood out strongly against the background of the interior - it was just strange to see in this room with a carefree atmosphere this tall and completely bald man, whose face seemed to be carved from granite. He was dressed simply and neatly - black trousers and a white shirt.

Galbraith would not have focused so much on these details, if this man gave his face, if not a smile, then at least just calm indifference, but instead the waiter's face was distorted by some kind of terrible grimace - as if he looked at every visitor as if he were a concentration camp prisoner who would soon be sent to the gas chamber. The bald spot only deepened this impression - although the inspector understood that even if this waiter had thick shoulder-length hair, his face would still remain the same... When the inspector's call reached the ears of this person, he turned to Galbraith's table and slowly walked up to him, after which, freezing two steps away from him, stared at the policeman with his own eyes. The inspector had suspicions that this guy clearly had problems with his gallbladder...

- Does this place serve coffee? - asked Galbraith, who wanted to relax at a table and drink his favourite drink.

The waiter, who continued to hold the plastic tray in his hands, did not answer, he only glared at the guest. The inspector involuntarily noticed that the pink colour of the tray in the hands of this maypole involuntarily gave his entire appearance a resemblance to a Greek statue on which some jokers had put a skirt and bra.

- I understand correctly that there is no coffee? - said Galbraith, who was tired of enduring this unblinking gaze.

- No coffee, - the waiter repeated his last words.

His voice sounded incredibly hoarse - the words seemed to come not from a human mouth, but from the speaker of a broken radio. The intonation like that of a automate only aggravated this feeling.

- Could I see menu please? - asked the inspector, who realized that talking to this waiter was like talking to a shoe box.

The waiter placed the tray directly on his table and walked towards the counter. Galbraith involuntarily began to look at the contents of the tray - there was a empty tea cup with a teaspoon sticking out of it, a saucer with bread crumbs and two crumpled napkins. Apparently, this should have been taken to the car wash, but the inspector unwittingly interfered with the waiter. Galbraith thought that the service in this cafe was simply disgusting - because he had never seen dirty dishes from a previous client being put on a new guest - they say, my hands are full, let him stand... Finally, the waiter returned to his table. He placed an A4 sheet of cardboard folded in the middle in front of the inspector and finally took away this impartial tray.

Galbraith took the cardboard sheet in his hands. Yes, the selection in this cafe was small - black tea, croissant without filling, some sweets (no indication, just "Sweets") and water. The inspector involuntarily glanced at the Portuguese sitting at the table. Now he understood why, instead of ordering food, they simply played Xs and Os - because rather than pay money for this, it’s better to sit hungry. Galbraith finally decided to order a cup of tea - not so much because he was very thirsty, he just thought that if he sat just like that, without food, then this gloomy waiter would decide to throw him out - they say, why are you sitting here if you don’t order anything?

- Can I have some black tea please? - the inspector shouted to the waiter, who, having gotten rid of the tray, returned empty-handed.

Bald maypole, nodding barely noticeably, left somewhere again. Galbraith had to wait ten minutes until his order was finally placed in front of him - a small tea cup, two-thirds full of a drink, not much different in colour from coffee. He raised the cup to his mouth and took a sip. The first feeling was that a tea bag was dipped into cold water and left for a day... Barely suppressing the urge to spit out this slop , he put the cup on the table and, sighing, stared at the ceiling. He didn't know how long he sat there, but when two Portuguese stood up from the table and walked past him towards the exit, he finally woke up and looked at his watch. Oh no, there's only a little time left before boarding the plane...

Galbraith got up from the table, on which the almost untouched tea continued to stand. The inspector ran to the escalator, trying not to throw off the little children running back and forth. Finally, he reached the security check area. The tedious procedure has begun - in front of beautiful young girls a thirty-one-year-old man had to take off his shoes and pull out his belt from his trousers... Galbraith involuntarily felt like an exhibitionist in a club for a representative of the womanhood. When these metal checks are finally over, he, trying to direct the blood flow back to the head, got into the relegation zone. Finally, Galbraith exhaled, here is the boarding gate.