Attention, the Dead Head is Broadcasting. Collection

"Attention, the dead head is speaking:
'Does such a radio station really exist? If it does, then how—somebody who calls himself the “dead head”—interferes with a separate radio broadcast and predicts one’s fate in advance?'

A winter night:
'Outside, large snowflakes were swirling quickly, and the harsh blizzard howled ominously, hinting that perhaps the prank would go on until morning, as long as everything outside doesn’t quiet down. Especially since, at the merchant Varukh Mechnik’s house, the most interesting company had gathered—yet no one expected that someone would knock at the door; someone no one had expected...'

A matter of taste:
'A light drizzle scratched at the windowpanes of a small apartment on Weber Street. The rain had started relatively recently, and judging by the clouds, it would linger in Manhattan for a few hours—maybe even all night. Billy Malt ezos stepped onto the loggia and lit a cigarette. Opening the window and letting cold wind into the apartment, he clearly understood that no matter how much he smoked, no matter how hard he tried to lie down to sleep, he still wouldn’t fall asleep. And it was all because of his former job. Right now, Billy was restoring books, and he liked it. They paid, of course, poorly, but Billy had a side job at a small advertising company, advising on labeling. So money for life was enough. He didn’t like to remember his old work. It seemed this nightmare had only just ended—he still couldn’t sleep peacefully...'

Where is this pharmacy?:
'A desperate fight for life may turn out to be only the tip of a huge iceberg, behind which hides something far more sinister than searching for a homeopathic pharmacy on Les tars-drayv...'

A strange death:
'Gunnar and his young partner, having arrived at the transfer station from which the distress signal had been sent, couldn’t even imagine what ominous surprise awaited them there...'