"Alfred Bester - Demolished Man, The" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bester Alfred)

Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun.

Despite all rival claims, pawnbroking is still the oldest profession.
The business of lending money on portable security is the most ancient of
human occupations. It extends from the depths of the past to the uttermost
reaches of the future, as unchanging as the pawnbroker's shop itself. You
walked into Jerry Church's cellar store, crammed and littered with the
debris of time, and you were in a museum of eternity. And even Church
himself, wizened, peering, his face blackened and bruised by the internal
blows of suffering, embodied the ageless money-lender.
Church shuffled out of the shadows and came face to face with Reich,
standing starkly illuminated in a patch of sunlight slanting across the
counter. He did not start. He did not acknowledge Reich's identity.
Brushing past the man who for ten years had been his mortal enemy, he
placed himself behind the counter and said: "Yes, please?"
"Hello, Jerry."
Without looking up. Church extended his hand across the counter. Reich
attempted to clasp it. It was snatched away.
"No," Church said with a snarl that was half hysterical laugh. "Not
that, thank you. Just give me what you want to pawn."
It was the peeper's sour little trap, and he had tumbled into it. No
matter.
"I haven't anything to pawn, Jerry."
"As poor as that? How the mighty have fallen. But we must expect it,
eh? We all fall. We all fall."
Church glanced sidelong at him, trying to peep him. Let him try.
Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun. Let him get through the
crazy tune rattling in his head.
"All of us fall," Church said. "All of us."
"I expect so, Jerry. I haven't yet. I've been lucky."
"I wasn't lucky," the peeper leered. "I met you."
"Jerry," Reich said patiently. "I've never been your bad luck. It was
your own luck that ruined you. Not---"
"You God damned bastard," Church said in a horribly soft voice. "You
God damned eater of slok. May you rot before you die. Get out of here. I
want nothing to do with you. Nothing! Understand?"
"Not even my money?" Reich withdrew ten gleaming sovereigns from his
pocket and placed them on the counter. It was a subtle touch. Unlike the
credit, the sovereign was the coin of the underworld. Tension,
apprehension, and dissension have begun...
"Least of all your money. I want your heart cut open. I want your
blood spilling on the ground. I want the maggots eating the eyes out of
your living head... But I don't want your money."
"Then what do you want, Jerry?"
"I told you!" the peeper screamed. "I told you! You God damned
lousy---"
"What do you want, Jerry?" Reich repeated coldly, keeping his eyes on
the wizened man. Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun. He could
still control Church. It didn't matter that Church had been a 2nd. Control
wasn't a question of peeping. It was a question of personality. Eight, sir;