"Jack Dann - The Diamond Pit" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dann Jack)

"What would you care?" Mr. Jefferson said. "Whatever spirits you
request are sent to you. What more could you ask for?"
That elicited shouting and swearing, and Mr. Jefferson just smiled and
held up his hands. "Well, gentlemen, I see that we're finished."
"We do care about whether prohibition has been repealed," Eddie shouted
up to Mr. Jefferson. "Just as we care about what the stock market is doing,
what's the new dance, what's happening with the Fascists in Italy, what's the
latest Zane Grey, is Dempsey still heavyweight champion, who won the World
Series?"
"Giants over the Yankees, 5-3 in the fifth," I said in a low voice.
Eddie nodded to me, and a few of the other boys started to argue the merits of
the Giants and the Yankees.
"There's your answer," Mr. Jefferson said. He could only have heard me
if he had listening devices planted in here, which, of course, he would.
"We need access to newspapers -- and the radio," Eddie said.
"It will only stir you up, son, and make you yearn for what you can't
have," Jefferson said. "You've got a library of the great classics of
literature. That should be edification enough."
"I want _The Saturday Evening Post_," Crocker said.
"I want _The Strand_."
"I want Phoebe."
"Good-bye, gentlemen," Jefferson said.
"Wait," shouted Eddie. "Why not at least give us leave? At least, let
one or two of us out for a few days. You could have your slaves guard us to
make sure we couldn't run for it. We could at least see a ball game, or a
movie. Then you could bring us back, and take another group out. As you are
always fond of telling us, 'Money's no object.'"
Jefferson made a clucking noise and said, "That's a new twist, Mr.
Barthelmet. Very good, indeed. Except my slaves would have to gag you and bind
you so you wouldn't shout for help or make a run for it, and the constabulary
might look askance at that. But even if you were a model parolee, you'd come
back and yearn for what you'd seen. No, it would just deepen the pain of your
circumstances. Allow me to bring your wives or lovers or friends to you."
"No," shouted Rick Moss, and he was echoed by the others.
"It's bad enough you've buried us."
"Let us the hell out of here, you bastid."
"Well, gentlemen, I think that's more than enough," Jefferson said.
"Come on, Phoebe, enough diversion for you." He stood up, and I could see then
that he had been holding a golf club, not a cane. We were buried under his
golf course, and he and his daughter were just out playing eighteen holes. The
sonovabitch!
There was a grating noise, and the opening above went black.
"Wait," I shouted reflexively.
The ceiling irised open, and Jefferson and his beautiful Phoebe looked
down at us. "Yes, Mr. Orsatti?" he asked.
"I'd like a piano."
Jefferson laughed and said, "Done."
"That's all we need, more noise -- "
"We could use some of that -- "
"You boys can dance with each other -- "