"Eric Flint & Ryk E. Spoor - Diamonds are Forever" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flint Eric)

would put it, "telling the truth like a Jedi"тАФit was true "from a certain point of view." If I'd done the
casual voice right, though, she'd never suspect a thing. Once we were married, we'd be living near New
York and just visit the family homestead once in a while, so the chances were she'd never have to know.
"Well, that'll be a relief for my more cynical relatives," Jodi said, throwing back her long black hair.
"They were kinda worried about just what your background was, especially with your nickname."
I wasn't very surprised. "I suppose 'Crowbar' Slade does sound either like a real honest-to-god Good Ole
Boy, or like a wannabe wrestler." Truth was, I'd gotten the nickname in college because my roommates
noticed I had a crowbar in my baggage when I moved in, and that I had that particular bag with me most
of the time.
"Look," Jodi said, "if we're leaving to get there Monday like I think I heard you say, I gotta get moving.
We just got tomorrow to get ready. And like I didn't already have a busy schedule tomorrow? You know
what sort of planning I have to do for the wedding, and now we have to schlep all the way to Kentucky."
She leaned slightly down and we both shut up for a while for the good-bye kiss, which lasted for several
kisses as usual before she finally got out the door.
I sighed and grinned. Hey, maybe this would be fun.
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- Chapter 2

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 - Chapter 2




2. Meet the Slades
"Ow! I see why you have this oversuspended monster now." A larger bump than normal jolted Jodi
against the harness. "And boy am I glad we put the equipment in those transport cases."
"I wouldn't have pulled out of the driveway if you hadn't. You want to keep doing work on our vacation,
I'm at least going to make sure you can't wreck half the lab's equipment getting there. 'Sides, that one
weren't nothing. Right after winter you should see the potholes we get and have to fill in aforeтАФI mean,
beforeтАФwe can really drive the road well." I kicked myself mentally. One night sleeping over in a
southern West Virginia motel on the way and a few stops at regional gas stations and I was already
falling back into dialect. Pretty soon Jodi wouldn't even understand me.
"No bigger than the one on Seventeenth last month," Jodi said dismissingly. I had to remember that New
Yorkers are like Texans: their potholes are worse, their taxicab drivers more dangerous, and their people
tougher than anyone else, damn what the facts might be.