"Sharon Green - Mists of the Ages" - читать интересную книгу автора (Green Sharon)

also be friends. If you make a habit of wiggling your backside at the fates, you
canтАЩt really complain when they arrange a suitable response to the gesture.
Not being the sort to make gestures for no reason, by the time I reached the
nightclub district I had my prowling suit, tools, and belt all neatly tucked
away in the safe spot in my Jump-around. No hiding place is really safe if its
location can change as soon as you turn your back on it, but many times half
measures are better than none at all. Even if someone managed to steal the
Jump-around, they would only be close to the rest, not have it.
And having the Jump-around stolen wasnтАЩt that far out of the question, not in
that neighborhood. Once off the concourse I drove more slowly, paying attention
to the darkened, dirty streets and watching those who roamed about on them. On
the outer fringes of the district were most of the nightclubs the city boasted,
and the foot traffic moved easily under bright lights with easy companionship
and enjoyment. About three blocks beyond that the district changed, and although
there were still clubs they werenтАЩt the sort to announce their whereabouts with
lights and laughter. Those who patronized this sub-district usually had money
and the urge for anonymity, a combination which encouraged the presence of those
who most liked to take things whose absence would not be reported to the proper
authorities. If youтАЩre only going to steal whatтАЩs safe, I donтАЩt understand why
youтАЩd bother, but thatтАЩs a personal prejudice. Others donтАЩt took at it the same,
which is really too bad.
The parking lot of the Dark of the Moon Club sat beneath the delicate blue glow
of its name sign, at least three-quarters of it neatly and quietly filled. I
pulled into a spot between a limo and a new-model sports job, which was the best
I could do in the way of protective prevention. In company like that, my little
jump-around was hardly worth looking at, and that, hopefully, meant it would
still be there when I came out.
Getting out of my transportation brought me the stale but familiar smell of the
air in that district, air that seemed to be holding itself as still as possible
to avoid being noticed. It was an attitude that seemed to be shared by a lot of
the denizens of the area, and one that had never failed to annoy me. I could
understand not wanting to be noticed at certain times, but to spend your lire
slipping from shadow to shadow, afraid to be touched by the light of day, afraid
to be seen by anyone who might take note and remember. I had grown up in that
area and learned a lot of things there, but that particular attitude wasnтАЩt one
of them. I enjoyed standing tall no matter who was watching, and if the day ever
came that I couldnтАЩt, I would know my lire was coming to an end.
Walking through the dark to the modest front entrance of the club didnтАЩt take

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long, and I smiled when I remembered the days there had been scanners which
checked out all new arrivals. What the club had offered then was blatantly
illegal rather than just mildly so, and theyтАЩd had to be careful not to be
surprised by unexpected visits. When the club had changed hands its policies had
also changed, and it had become a place where people could meet friends and sit
and talk in relative comfort, or indulge in certain vices that affected no one
but themselves. Those of us who became old time regulars after the change
preferred it that way, and with the amounts of money the club was now making