"Carrol, Jonathan - Fish In A Barrel (txt)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Carroll Jonathan)

never-say-die who believed redemption was still possible. Aoyagi missed them
because he missed that wonderful quality in himself and knew it was gone
forever. He had given up hope decades ago on realizing he would never leave this
job. He hadn't had the strength or the necessary stuff to walk away while his
courage still had a heartbeat and the horizon wasn't an inch away from his nose.

"Okay. I'll look at that folder now."

Aoyagi's self-pitying reverie was broken by the boy's voice. His hand was out,
palm up, waiting to be handed the blue file on the desk. Kropik asking Kropik.
Pass Milton the file, Milton.

The only sign of the old man getting ready was a stiffening of his spine and a
ceremoniousness in the way he pressed his hands together, cleared his throat.
Pompous old ass. lust give the kid the bad news and run for cover. That was
always what Aoyagi wanted to do, but that wasn't allowed.

"Here you are."

The boy took the folder and flipped it open. From years of experience, Aoyagi
knew it took about ten seconds for the enormity of the first memory to hit and
then the emotional fallout would show. "And how was your lunch?"

Fucking Kropik! What a time to ask that question! He was cold. One cold
heartless bastard.

"Fine." Aoyagi retorted, not looking at him, trying to brush him off with the
word, the ugly tone with which he said it.

"And did you end up having the meatloaf?"

Lunch? Meatloaf? How could he ask such stupid irrelevant things when this kid
was about to go nuclear? Brute. A weird word, a stiff antique word, but it was
the one that flew into Aoyagi's mind. Was the guy still human? If so, he was a
brute.

Aoyagi glanced at Kropik a moment and in that instant he missed everything. As
the two bureaucrats looked at each other, the boy's eyes scanned down the list
he had been handed. His expression never changed not even when his eyes reached
the bottom of the paper. If either man had seen that they would have snapped
back like they'd been punched. But they were deep into a stare and their
expressions were almost identical: dislike, disdain, and disrespect that went
back forever and into every nook and cranny of their decades spent together in
this office.

"What is this shit?" The boy held out the single sheet of paper and waved it up
and down. "I don't know any of this stuff." His voice was accusation and
question in one.

Now they looked at him and the men were more confused than at any other time on