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[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
"Good evening, Miss Maxfield," he said. "We met at--"
"You." She frowned darkly. "I know you."
"Exactly what I was saying. We met last year during a media conference
in Rio," he continued. "I'm Carlos Troxa with the--"
"Bullshit," she said. "I was scanning a file on you only last month.
You're Lopez... No, Gomez. Sidney Jose6 Gomez."
"You're confusing me, cara, with a notorious cousin of mine who--"
"Gomez the gumshoe," said Karla disdainfully. "Lowlife peeper,
disgraced flatfoot, unscrupulous snoop who--"
"Coming from the Executive Editor of Gossip Digest, that remark--"
"Right, you're the do ink who helped get my great friend Bennett Sands
killed," she went on. "And only a few weeks ago, learning up with that
flat chested shrike, Natalie Dent, from our hated rival, Newz, you
caused enormous grief for a dedicated psychiatrist named--"
"This is going to make the cordial conversation I had in mind
somewhat--"
"Scram," she suggested.
The black man offered, "I can toss him out on his ear, Karla." "No,
we'll simply move elsewhere." Giving him one more glowering glance,
she walked away from Gomez. "If he follows too closely on my heels, if
he so much as breathes on me for the rest of the evening, then you can
muss him up, Norm."
Gomez remained in place, watching the four of them depart.
"I'm not," he told himself, "getting off to a very good start here."
i;
Tncx-mcx( euz owhis mug of nearcaf, rolled up his sleeve and consulted
one of his bulletin watches. "Doesn't do us a heck of a lot of good,
Jake, if you're two minutes fifteen seconds early and then this dwork
is seven minutes forty-five seconds late," he complained.
"You sure he's the right guy for this chore?" Jake and the information
dealer were sharing a booth at the back of a Snax restaurant just off
Connecticut Avenue.
"Daddy, this Quatermain byes down under DC and he's a firstrate guide,"
Timecheck assured him. "His only flaw is that he's not prompt."
From up near the entrance came the sound of a robot waiter falling
over. "Vagrant, am I?" growled someone.
"He's also got something of a temper." Timecheck leaned out of the
booth. "Over here, Quatermain."
A large bearded man came lumbering up to them. "Told me they didn't
allow beggars in here," he said, scowling darkly. He was wearing a
dirt-smeared greatcoat that bore patches of several different fabrics.
"Hell, a few beggars would upgrade the looks of this cesspool."
"Jake Cardigan, this is Quatermain."
The big shaggy man held out his hand. "I hope you're not looking for
trouble, pilgrim."
Shaking hands, Jake answered, "I'm looking for somebody to guide me
through the Paper Archives Catacombs under the city."
Quatermain said, "Slide over, Timecheck," and pushed onto the seat next
to him. "Why--tourist?"
"Jake's a detective. I already told you about--"
"Let's hear him tell me."
Jake grinned. "Okay, I'm impressed with your toughness," he said to
the big man. "You don't take any crap from anybody and you consider
dirt a sign of manhood. Now, either we get down to business--because
I'm in a hurry--or you can take a hike."
Quatermain sat back, studying Jake. Then he shrugged. "What are you
looking for down there?" Much of the growl had left his voice.
From his pocket Jake took the scrap of newspaper he'd found in Alicia's
bedroom. "This is a longshot maybe, but it seems likely this came from
down there." He handed it across to the bearded man. "Someone I'm
interested in was grabbed. It's possible that she was taken by
somebody from the Catacombs. I want to look for her down there."
After wiping his large, flattened nose on his coat sleeve, Quatermain
took the scrap between stained thumb and forefinger. "1960s, New York
Times," he said after a few seconds. "Likely came from the Newspaper
Wing."
"I know a rich assortment of marginal citizens live down there in those
tunnels and storerooms," said Jake. "Including various gangs and
hoodlums for hire."
"Plus a hell of a lot of independent, creative folks," added
Quatermain, scowling as he tossed the fragment in Jake's direction.
"I'd hate to think you were implying that I'm a thug, pilgrim."
"You're too sweet tempered to be a thug." Putting the scrap of paper
away, Jake started to slide out of the booth. "Timecheck, I'll have to
find another guide. Your friend's got too many problems for--"
"I don't have problem one," Quatermain told him. "You want a guide,
I'm the best there is. Just because I won't be insulted or--"
"Jake, trust me, he's just in a grouchy mood tonight," put in
Timecheck. "Nobody knows the layout down there as well as
Quatermain." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
