"Goodwin-SmallChange" - читать интересную книгу автора (Godwin Parker)

capitalism to the Russians. "He's on fire with it. Challenging, he said.
Original, immense! The only glitch . . ."

"What, what ?" Lemming caught him up, unable and unwilling to turn back now. "I
know there has to be a contract."

That was the obstacle: almost no precedent for Legal to go on. No felony was
involved, just lost and found and finders keepers. "The Front Office wants the
deal for the pure top drawer thinking, guy. You are in." J.B.'s ferret-sharp
features glowed with the transcendent joy of seraphim. "No problemo. We always
cut the contract to the deal; that's why we've lasted in business. And here's
the beauty part. It's gratis."

The magic word plucked true music from the untuned strings of Lemming's heart.
"Free . . ."

J.B. shrugged; the narrow lapels rose and fell. "Well, almost free. Sweetie,
that's a detail. We're talking moon walk here. Mars walk, a giant step for
mankind."

"Not yet. Back up." Lemming braked hard as the modifier twanged a more typical
note in his soul. "What's this 'almost'?"

Okay, up front, cards on the table. Front Office was willing to take the
contract at or near cost, but naturally not a dead loss. "Quid pro quo, G.L. Our
quid measured exactly to your quo. Not a day, not a second more. Hey, did I say
this was gorgeous?"

J.B. flourished a short-form contract before Lemming, offering a tasteful
Waterman pen for signing. The client deferred until he had microscopically
scrutinized every line for the boiler plate of legal grief: hidden clauses,
default penalties. There were none. Cut and dried, straight as a ruler. However
long he lived, he repaid that much time and not a day longer. Lemming signed,
J.B. pocketed the contract and consulted his Rolex with a flick of the
platinumed wrist.

"Five to midnight -- uh, that's my pen, G.L. He'll be here soon."

Lemming surrendered the silver mounted pen regretfully. "Who?"

"Collector Number Five, one of our best. Solid rep, great on detail."

"Here?" Lemming swallowed hard. "He's coming here now?"

"On the dot. In good faith you get credit for today. Where do you want the
stash?"

An embarrassment of gilded fate. As the clock hands closed to scissor off the
day, Lemming gestured vaguely. "Upstairs . . . guess. In the spare bedroom."