A Crime at the LITO House

They tried their best. People, as they say, bent over backwards. Today's concert for the members of the LITO "Pegasus's Refuge" was momentous, and all because their director, Sergei Erastovich Sarymsakov, had finally managed to lure the great Abramiants himself.
Yes, that very Abramiants upon whom, to one degree or another, practically the entire population of their regional center depended. It was his sweeping signature on a document that meant happy ownership of real estate — or the lack thereof. The thing was that the members of LITO had been wandering for many years through various cultural centers and other people's creative studios. Every one of their meetings began with the same question — how long must this go on! All of Sarymsakov's petitions to the most varied authorities received the same resolution: "No available non-residential premises are currently available in the city."
Meanwhile, the LITO "Pegasus's Refuge" grew year by year. Amateur singers, composers, poets, and prose writers were drawn to one another. Their so-called "kurultais" could go on for more than one hour, and sometimes the tired but satisfied "Pegasovtsy" dispersed well past midnight, seen off by the disgruntled glances of watchmen and security guards. And so, quite possibly, today their fate would be decided. The old man Abramiants would finally deign to put an end to their years of wandering with a single stroke of his famous Parker pen. But the all-powerful official sat in the soft armchair brought especially for him, his face impassive as stone, only occasionally raising a handkerchief to his watery old eyes. The creative folk jostled behind the improvised wings…