"Mel Gilden - Zoot Marlow 2 - Hawaiian UFO Aliens" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gilden Mel)

Bill had picked up a rabbit and was stroking it. I said, 'Anything in your bubble memory about the Big
Orange Cab Company?'
'It has connections with organized crime.'
'What is that, criminals with their own filing cabinets?'
Bill didn't laugh, so what I'd said must not have even remotely been a joke. Gamely, I went on, 'I was
thinking more of their phone number.'
Bill gave me the number. I said, 'Don't get rabbit fur in your machinery,' and walked into the kitchen.
Out the window over the sink, the top hat sat on the sand, surrounded by yellow sawhorses as if they
were trying to get autographs. A convention of seagulls was being held on its top. The sun squatted on
the horizon, lowering itself into the cold Pacific with all the care of an old woman entering a swimming
pool. Still looking at the top hat, I dialled my number.
'Big Orange Cab Company. Will you hold?'
Before I could say anything she was gone and I was listening to music that had no more character
than a slice of white bread. It was polite music wearing polished shoes, mouse grey gloves and a small,
self-satisfied smile.
Before my brain had a chance to sit down to tea with that music the girl came back, sounding a little
harried, and said, 'Big Orange Cab Company. May I help you?'
'My name is Zoot Marlowe. I'm a private detective and I'm looking for one of your drivers.'
'Why?'
'He picked up a couple last night. They might know something about a little problem my client is
having.'
'We don't give out that kind of information.' She knew I wasn't a customer, and the tone of her voice
let me know she knew.
'He's a big black guy with moustache. Know him?'
'We have a lot of black drivers, and some of them have moustaches.'
I said, 'You know, you're cute when you're rude,' and hung up. If it had been earlier in the day and I'd
been thinking straight, I'd have been able to predict that conversation, down to the punctuation and my
snappy retorts. Back in the living room, Captain Hook's hands were still linking and unlinking rings. The
Captain himself didn't seem to be much involved. Bill was watching the rings closely while he petted the
rabbit. I said, 'I'm going out. Don't let anything happen.'
'Nothing happens. Right, Boss.'
I had thought it would be months at least before I'd need my short Johns again, but I got into them
now. They were still a little damp and difficult to manage, but I got them on and walked out to the beach.
There was a deep trench around the hat and some signs telling people to stay away from it. Whether the
police were afraid of somebody hurting the hat, or of the hat hurting someone, I didn't know. I hoped no
one else had been turned into a magician. Malibu couldn't take any more rabbits, not without cracking off
into the Pacific.
I plunged into the water and swam for my sneeve.
The water was cold, of course. And salty. And just for the record, it was wet too. When I got inside
my sneeve, I felt disconnected from it, as if it were somebody else's apartment that I'd only seen pictures
of. I dug around in the emergency gear, found what I wanted, and then stood in front of the screw,
looking the place over, making sure I hadn't forgotten anything. I'd left a copy of The Maltese Falcon on
the pilot's seat. Sam Spade stared at me from the cover. When he winked, I knew I'd been avoiding the
swim back too long, and went out into the water through the screw.
I changed out of the short Johns and back into my brown suit just before the gang got home, eager to
tell me about the monster picture they'd just seen. They were nice to Captain Hook, but nice the way
they'd be to someone with a terrible disease. It's not really the guy's fault, but you still don't want to go
near him.
'Enough magic is too much,' Mustard said, and sat down on the floor to roll dry grass into a line of his
smoking umbrellas. One by one, he dropped them in a plastic bag as if they were shotgun shells, and then