"Paul Di Filippo - The Publishing House Always Wins" - читать интересную книгу автора (Di Filippo Paul)

Turning again to his fellow players, Tex said, тАЬOkay, boys, letтАЩs get
back to building up DaddyтАЩs retirement fund. This handтАЩs gonna be тАШRogue
Moon,тАЩ with the multiple sudden death option.тАЭ

Everyone groaned, but resigned themselves to the TexanтАЩs choice as
their only chance to win any of their money back.

For the next three hours I kept close to Tex, stoking him with drinks
and letting him grope my butt. The way he was raking it in, I was counting on
at least a thousand for a tip, maybe more. That would go a long way toward
improving my finances.

But the longer he played and the more he drank without getting dumb
as a lab rat, the more suspicious I got. There was just something plain
unnatural about this guy.

Then it hit me, and without meaning to, I blurted it right out.

тАЬHey, this guyтАЩs Ferdinand Feghoot!тАЭ

Instantly a pile of security guys were on top of us, immobilizing Tex
before he could escape. Acknowledging he was trapped, the guy
shimmered, changing his very looks. In place of the tall skinny Texan was a
burly, black-haired guy with plastic-frame glasses and plenty of chin
spinach: the most common appearance of Ferdinand Feghoot, aka Randall
Garrett, Mark Phillips, Robert Randall, and a dozen other crooked bylines, a
notorious cardsharp with access to various unnatural powers and
knowledge of the future, banned from every casino on the Strip.
 Feghoot gave me a wry smile and said, тАЬWell spotted, little miss. But
youтАЩve just blown a very sizable tip.тАЭ

The Starship Troopers hustled the con man away and I collapsed into
his seat and began to cry.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was one of the Time Patrol.

тАЬMiss Davidson, the Owner would like to see you in his offices.тАЭ

I managed to pull myself together somehow, and followed the Time
Patrolman.

The OwnerтАЩs offices were a swank penthouse with a view of the whole
damn sleazy city. I had never been in such luxurious digs. While I sipped a
rum and Coke (the Time Patrolman had told me to take whatever I wanted
from the private bar), I gawked at all the artwork on the walls: Freas, Emsh,
Hunter, Walotsky.... Several portraits showed all the past Owners, right
down to some guy named Ed Ferman. While I was admiring their happy
faces, the current Owner walked in.

I had never seen his face before, not any pictures either, and I