"Alan Dean Foster - With friends like these." - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

on any more of the tacky blue-black gunk.
"Yeah. So you'll understand, Hector, when I say the J.J.'s got to be in tiptop shape,"
"Ciertamente! You want to open her up, please?"
Frank nodded and moved over to where the J.J. rested,'just inside the rolled-up armor-grille
entrance to the big garage. He slid into the deep pile of the driver's bucket, flipped the three
keys on the combination ignition, and then jabbed the hood-release switch. As soon as the hood
started up he climbed out, leaving the keys in the On position. Hector was already bent over the
car's power plant, staring intently into the works.
"Well, Mr. Merwin, from what I can see your engine at least is in excellent condition, yes,
excellent! You want me to fill 'er up?"
Frank nodded wordlessly. He wasn't at all surprised at the mechanic's rapid inspection of the
engine. After all, the J.J. had been given the best of professional care and the benefits of his
own considerable work since he'd purchased her. Hector did not look up as he set about releasing
the protective panels over the right-side .70 caliber.
"If I may ask, how do you plan to go?" Frank had the big Meerschaum out and was tamping tobacco
into it.
"Hmm. I'll go down Burbank to the San Diego Freeway and get on there. It'd be a little faster to
get on the Ventura, but on a trip of this length that little bit of time saved would be negligible
and I don't see the point in fighting the interchange."
Hector nodded approvingly. "Quite wise. You know, Mr. Merwin, you've got two pretty bad stretches
on this trip. Very iffy, I readтАФabout your son. I sorrow. The jornada de la muerte comes
eventually to all of us."
Frank paused in lighting the pipe. "Couldn't be helped," he said tightly. "Bob didn't realize what
was тАФwhat he was getting into, that's all. I blame myself, too, but what could I do? He was
eighteen and by law there wasn't anything I could do to hold him back. He simply took on more than
he could handle."
One of Hector's grease monks had wheeled over a bulky ammo cart. The mechanic waved the assistant
off and proceeded about the loading himself. Frank appreciated the gesture.
"A Cad, wasn't it?"
"It was." He was leaning over the mechanic's shoulder, better to follow the loading process. Never
could tell what you might have to do for yourself on the road. "What are you giving me? Explosive
or armor-piercing?"
"Mixed." Hector slammed down the box-load cover on the heavy gun. It clicked shut, locked. He
moved away to get a small, curved ladder, wheeled it back. At the top he began checking over the
custom roof turret. "Both, alternating sequence. True, it's more expensive, but after all your
son's car was destroyed by a Marauder. A black one?"
"Yes, that's right," said Frank, only mildly surprised. "How'd you find out?"
"Oh, among the trade the word gets passed along. I know of this particular vehicle, I believe.


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Owner does a lot of his own work, I understand. That's tough to tangle with, Mr. Merwin. Might you
be thinking ofтАФ" Frank shrugged, looked the other way. "Never know who you'll bump into on the
roads these days, Hector. I've never been one to run from a dogfight."
"I did not mean to imply that you would. We all know your driver's combat record, Mr. Merwin.There
are not all that many aces living in the Valley."
He gestured meaningfully at the side of the car. Eleven silhouettes were imprinted there. Four
mediums, four compactsтАФcrazy people. Gutsy, but crazy. Two sportscarsтАФkidsтАФa Jag and a Vet, as he