"Thomas A. Easton - Movers and Shakers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Easton Thomas A)

around the shredder, not this, and not that. He said if I didn't make the place safer, I'd be paying fines, so
much a day until I was "in compliance."

And then he asked me what that box over the conveyer was. So what could I do? I told him. "It's a
control room."

"Not that small, it isn't. Unless you're violating the child labor laws too." He was a smartass, he was. But
then weren't they all?

"No kids," I protested. And then I put my foot in it. "No midgets or dwarfs, either."

"So who runs it? I don't see you paying anyone enough to squeeze himself in there." He paused for a
moment. Then he hauled his sheaf of forms out of his pocket again and said, "Maybe you'd better let me
have a look inside."

I backed off, quick. "Why bother? It's just machinery inside, you know? Automated." Oh boy! I didn't
want him seeing Wirtz. Not at all. He was trouble enough already, and I sure didn't want the feds walking
off with my diamond supply. They would, too, if they realized what it was.

But he insisted. "I see a door. Open it up."

So I did. I didn't say another word while we walked the few yards across to Wirtz's little metal box. I led
him right up to the door and opened it. And when he turned white I was too busy laughing to pay much
attention to Wirtz's look of surprise. "What is it?" he gasped.

"It's a sea cucumber." I crossed my fingers.

"The hell it is." He straightened up, the color coming back to his face. I closed the door again. Wirtz
would have to wait for an explanation. "The hell it is."

"Sure it is. I caught him off Cape Cod. Trained him to spot rocks and keep them out of the shredder."

"The hell you did. That's no sea . . . that's . . . not that big. Not with all those legs."

"So you tell me. Maybe I don't know a sea cucumber from a sea cabbage. Anyway, it's a trained
animal." If he would swallow that, I was okay. The worst he could do was sic the SPCA on me.

"Yeah. A trained animal." He shook his head. I could see he didn't know what to think. Fumes from all
the garbage, maybe? He'd probably wind up passing the buck to his boss, but it would be a few days
before he got back to the office. We had a little time anyway.

As I walked him back out to the parking lot, I heard the conveyer speed up. Wirtz had probably heard it
all, the damn peeper, but why should he be in a hurry now? Speeding up his cameras wouldn't get him
done and out of the way any faster. Besides, the conveyer wasn't a camera.

Once I was rid of the snoop, I headed back to Wirtz as fast as I could, but it didn't do me any good. He
was hunched over his window, staring down at the garbage zipping by on the conveyer twice as fast as
usual. He was concentrating so hard I don't think he even heard me shouting at him. So I just watched,
while he touched controls to speed up the shredder to keep up with the conveyer and the sorters to keep
up with the shredder. By then I couldn't hear myself think, much less shout, so I headed back to the