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

since the night before.
Mr Chesnik said, 'Marsha wants to see you.'
The Oriental guy nodded and put down the hammer before he walked back into the office. Mr
Chesnik took me to a corner of the garage and turned on a light hanging by a cord over a small
workbench on which insect-like electronic parts were strewn. He sat down on a low, worn stool with a
cracked leather seat that may once have been red.
'Nu?' he said.
'It'll be new to you,' I said, hoping I didn't sound like the idiot I felt myself to be.
Mr Chesnik laughed, but Bill didn't. I said, 'I need some money, about a hundred bucks, but I don't
want a loan. I want you to buy something from me.'
'I'm suspicious already. Go ahead.'
From my coat pocket I took the slaberingeo spine I'd brought from my sneeve. I kept a hold on it so
it wouldn't float to the ceiling. Bill watched Mr Chesnik take it from me and study it as if it were a
diamond. He let it pull his hand upward, where it bobbed like a seagull on water. Except for the
occasional truck going by, the garage was quiet. Marsha hadn't fired up her adding machine again.
Maybe she was done adding. Maybe she and the Oriental guy had their ears to the wall with hope
springing eternal.
'What is it?'
'Sort of a craft from the simple native artisans of Bay City.'
'It could be that, I suppose. Why is it worth a hundred dollars? Money don't grow on
treesтАФobviously not even in Bay City.'
'I don't know. But a little bit of anti-gravity must have its uses.'
Mr Chesnik grunted and turned toward the bench. He took something from his pocket and unfolded
it into a small, sharp knife that he used to hack off two bits of the spine. He put a bit into the heel of each
of his shoes and stood up, a smile growing on his face, blossoming on his face, absolutely blooming on his
face. 'I'm dancing,' he said, and shuffled his feet about stiffly. I got the feeling that he didn't dance very
often.
I said, 'What do you say?'
'We could sell these. Call them Slice O' Heaven Shoe Pads.'
'You know we can't. Not even if it were a good idea.'
He kind of bounced on his heels, enjoying it. 'OK, Zoot. The money is yours if you'll tell me more
about this stuff.'
'It don't grow on trees.'
He considered that before he said, 'I didn't know we got secrets between us.'
'Do you tell me everything?'
Mr Chesnik shrugged and turned the spine over and over in one hand.
I said, 'I can tell you this: If you begin to have a run of bad luck, get rid of the spine. All of it. Even the
bits in your shoes. What you'll be having is not bad luck, but statistical anomalies caused by an
unbalanced spine.'
'Statistical anomalies,' he said enjoying the way the words felt in his mouth. 'You won't tell me any
more?'
'No.'
'I must be going soft in the head.' He folded his knife and put it in a sweater pocket with the spine,
and buttoned the pocket. On his way back to the office, he walked pretty light for a guy as old and tired
as he had been a moment before.
As we got to the office, the Oriental guy came in the front door carrying three cups in a cardboard
box. They smelled like coffee. Not good coffee, but even bad coffee smells pretty good. He put a cup in
front of Marsha and another on Mr Chesnik's desk. He and Marsha watched while Mr Chesnik opened
a heavy desk drawer with a key and took out a pile of bills. He counted a hundred fifty dollars into my
outstretched palm, each one personally etched by the incredulous stares of Marsha and the Oriental guy.