"Ron Goulart - Hello, Lemuria, Hello" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goulart Ron)

The assassin came in and ordered waffles.
It was a warm and pleasant morning in Organic, California, the last day of April, 2022. A faint
breeze was drifting in across the calm Pacific and the beach below.
The assassin was small and dapper, dark-complected and wearing a spotless white turban and a
spotless two-piece white daysuit. He carried his kilgun in his spotless white briefcase.
But Jake Conger didn't know that when he served him. A lean, deeply tanned man of thirty-two,
Conger was looking after their nearly empty Vegetable Patch restaurant this particular morning.
His wife was over in Gomezville #2 protesting.
"Haie, sahib!" exclaimed the assassin softly when the plate was set before him. "These be the
most delightful appearing soywaffles I have ever encountered. Surely Kali smiles upon my humble
self."
He poured surpsub lavishly over them, cut a square and ate it with sedate murmurs of joy and
small wiggles of pleasure. Then his left hand flashed into his briefcase, came out gripping his silver
kilgun.
Conger was a few seconds ahead of him. He kicked up with his booted right foot before the
barrel of the glittering weapon could point at any vital portion of him.
The boot toe made contact with a wrist bone. "Haie! By the numerous arms of Kali!" screamed
the spotless assassin.
Spinning, sparkling, the gun went upward until it smacked one of the realwood crossbeams.
The kilgun made a clicking sound and a ray of intense purplish light came flashing down out of it.
The ray touched the assassin's face. He screamed once. His head disappeared completely and
his turban slumped down into his collar.
"Jesus H. Christ!" Conger took a few unsteady steps backward as the assassin's body tumbled
over.
"Can we expect more of this sort of thing, Mr. Conger?" inquired a husky black skytrucker
who'd dived beneath his table an instant after the weapon had emerged.
"Huh?" Conger was scanning the room for more assassins.
"Some truckers enjoy rowdy joints, but as for myself I favor a quieter atmosphere. One where a
contemplative mode ofтАФ"
"I don't know, Caz." Conger watched the dead man twitch and grow still on the raw plank
flooring. "I'm retired now, nobody should want to do me in."
"Used to be a government agent of the killer sort," remarked a small grey customer to her
younger and larger blond husband. "I remember reading about him in Famous once. Conger the
killer."
"Oh, really?" The blond young man giggled while concentrating on getting the fork in his hand
to stop quivering.
2 RON GOULART


Very carefully, Conger approached the fallen gun. "Never seen one exactly like this," he
muttered while he scrutinized it "Too bad the damn thing destroyed him so fast, would have
enjoyed asking the guy a few pertinent and probing questions. Can't figure whyтАФ"
A footstep sounded behind him.
Conger spun around, the silver gun held in his hand now.
"That's another dozen you owe me," said the tall blonde girl in the two-piece knickersuit who
stood just inside the entrance.
"Jake, put that yoohoo gun away," suggested the small frazzled man who'd come in with her.
Conger placed the gun beside the assassin's unfinished breakfast. "I don't work for you
anymore, Geer. So there's no reason for killers to keep trying toтАФ"
"What do you want me to do?" said the rumpled little boss of the Wild Talent Division. "Get a