"Ron Goulart - Cure For Baldness" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goulart Ron)

"I know, that was the blurb on the jacket of Sins of the Flesh. Even so, I--"

"Here's something else I want you to think over, Rog. Either get ready for a
trip out to California-- or put all your crap in a cardboard box and vacate
this
office by sundown."

Roger took another look out his window. "Will you pay all my expenses for the
reunion?" he asked finally.

"Within reason, sure."

He said, "Okay, I'll go. I can't, though, promise --"

"I don't want promises, I want results." Tandem moved to the doorway. "And see
if you can, somehow, improve your overall looks before you head West."

Roger finished his Saturday list, weekly errands Natalie assigned him, an hour
earlier than he'd expected. When he realized that, he was driving his
six-year-old Toyota through a rural section of Brimstone, Connecticut that he
hadn't been in lately. It was ten minutes shy of three and the afternoon was
warm and somewhat hazy.

On his left he passed an abandoned roadside produce stand, an empty field and
then a freshly painted cottage. Attached to a post in front of the house was a
rustic sign -- Samson Institute: We Can Grow Hair Anywhere.

Roger slowed, then braked. He swung the car across the lane and onto the white
gravel driveway. He parked in front of the cottage and sat for a moment in his
car, robbing at his nearly hairless head. "Guy's probably a quack," he
murmured.
"But I am going to need hair in California."

Sighing, he eased out into the humid afternoon. While still three paces from
the
bright red front door, he heard an enormous ramble of thunder. He was aware,
too, of the crackling sizzle of lightning. But it all seemed to come from
inside
the Samson Institute.

Deciding this could be an emergency, he sprinted to the door. He ignored the
brass horseshoe knocker and tried the handle.

The door opened and he stepped into a cluttered parlor. The smell of smoke was
thick all around and there was also a sulfurous odor. Sprawled in the exact
center of a large shaky pentagram that had been sketched on the bare hardwood
floor in pale blue chalk was a suit of clothes. A brown tweedy suit of
clothes,
with a frayed blue shirt inside the coat and a mended black sock dangling out
of