"Adams, Douglas -- So Long and Thanks for All The Fish (4)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Adams Douglas)

by the Vogons to make way for a new hyperspace bypass.

He had kept it ever since because he found it useful to carry a
form of currency that no one would accept.

"Credit?" he said. "Aaaargggh ..."

These two words were usually coupled together in the Old Pink Dog
Bar.

"I thought," gasped Ford, "that this was meant to be a class
establishment ..."

He glanced around at the motley collection of thugs, pimps and
record company executives that skulked on the edges of the dim
pools of light with which the dark shadows of the bar's inner
recesses were pitted. They were all very deliberately looking in
any direction but his now, carefully picking up the threads of
their former conversations about murders, drug rings and music
publishing deals. They knew what would happen now and didn't want
to watch in case it put them off their drinks.

"You gonna die, boy," the barman murmured quietly at Ford
Prefect, and the evidence was on his side. The bar used to have
one of those signs hanging up which said, "Please don't ask for
credit as a punch in the mouth often offends", but in the
interest of strict accuracy this was altered to, "Please don't
ask for credit because having your throat torn out by a savage
bird while a disembodied hand smashes your head against the bar
often offends". However, this made an unreadable mess of the
notice, and anyway didn't have the same ring to it, so it was
taken down again. It was felt that the story would get about of
its own accord, and it had.

"Lemme look at the bill again," said Ford. He picked it up and
studied it thoughtfully under the malevolent gaze of the barman,
and the equally malevolent gaze of the bird, which was currently
gouging great furrows in the bar top with its talons.

It was a rather lengthy piece of paper.

At the bottom of it was a number which looked like one of those
serial numbers you find on the underside of stereo sets which
always takes so long to copy on to the registration form. He had,
after all, been in the bar all day, he had been drinking a lot of
stuff with bubbles in it, and he had bought an awful lot of
rounds for all the pimps, thugs and record executives who
suddenly couldn't remember who he was.

He cleared his throat rather quietly and patted his pockets.