"Alan Dean Foster - Lost and Found" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

wondering what she did for a living. So he asked.

She smiled responsively enough. Her eyes were the same pale cornflower blue as the shallow parts of
Lake Cawley. тАЬJaney Haskell. I work for the satellite TV people. You know: repairs, installs, sales.тАЭ

That neatly explained the education as well as her knowledge of satellites, falling and otherwise. тАЬMarc
Walker. IтАЩm visitingтАФтАЭ

тАЬNo kidding,тАЭ she quipped.

тАЬтАФfrom Chicago. IтАЩm in chocolate.тАЭ

Her eyes lit up. It was expected. Never failed, he mused. Explaining that he was in orange juice
concentrates would not have had the same effect.

Despite the fact that he had started on his drink before her, she finished her Jack and water ahead of him.
Another seven, he observed happily. He bought her another. When he finished his Stoli, she bought him
his next. He was definitely on a roll. They spent the next few hours chatting and laughing and swapping
stories and buying each other distilled spirits. When the father of a beard who occupied the bar stool
next to him tossed down the remainder of his last shot and lumbered out, she slid onto it with a sensuous
squeak of denim against leather. As she did so, her leg bumped up against his. She did not move it away.

If he failed to spend the night in the tent by the lake, he knew, he would lose the bet with his friends.
Probing sweet JaneyтАЩs increasingly moist eyes, he found himself wondering if it might be worth it. His
friends wouldnтАЩt know, anyway. Early enough in the morning to be convincing, heтАЩd do as heтАЩd done
every day since his arrival: switch on his cell phone pickup and send them the usual pictures to prove
that he was indeed still where he had promised to be.

Unfortunately, after rolling nothing but consecutive sevens on his pass, snake eyes finally decided to put
in an appearance.



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 LostandFound

The guyтАЩs name might even have been Snakeyes. He was short and ugly and looked a lot like something
that might have scratched its way out of the dirt behind one of the local ranchettes. In contrast, the two
buddies who backed him up were clean-shaven and neatly dressed. At first glance, it escaped Walker as
to why such a pair of clean-cut types would even associate with the perambulating lump of soiled goods
who seemed to be their leader. Maybe they owed him money, Walker thought. Not that it mattered. The
sparks in Shorty SnakeyesтАЩs eyes were not reflections of the distant blaze in the corner fireplace.

тАЬYouтАЩre not from around here, are you, dude?тАЭ

Oh, Lord. The slightly inebriated Walker fought down a rising chuckle. Next thing, heтАЩll be asking me to
step outside and draw.

He wasnтАЩt afraid of the jerk, or his friends. But therewere three of them. Not good odds, whether in the
city or the country. He wondered if they had just singled him out for entertainment, or if one of them had