"Joe Haldeman - Tool of the Trade" - читать интересную книгу автора (Haldeman Joe)

shot of ouzo. There were several brands behind the bar, Greek
neighborhood; I picked the one whose name was hardest to
pronounce. I said it with a perfect accent and she nodded, unimpressed.
I watched thirty seconds of Gilligan and his island while she drew
the beer and selected the proper package of pretzels. She poured a
generous shot of ouzo and slid it over. "You're a pr'fessor, right?"
"It's that obvious?"
"Educated guess." She laughed.
I touched the watch and stared at her. "Tell me why."
"You, uh, you said 'please' and, well, you look like the kind of guy
who don't go to places like this. You know, tie and all. Like you're, like
you're slumming?" She looked confused and moved to the other end of
the bar.
I knocked back the shot of ouzo in one hard stab of licorice fire,
and shuddered. One brandy after dinner doesn't train you for this sort
of thing.
"Stuff'll grow hair on your throat," the other man at the bar said.
Late twenties, unshaven, swarthy, wearing a rumpled army-surplus field
jacket and incongruous sunglasses.
"Celebrate the first snow," I said, shrugging off my overcoat.
"Teach at Harvard?"
"MIT," I said.
"Engineer?"
"No, psychology. Mechanics of language acquisition. Through
semiotics." That should encourage conversation.
"Sem-me-autics," he said, sounding it out "What's so dangerous
about semiotics?"
"What do you mean?" I said, knowing what he meant.
"How come a psychology professor carries a gun?" He had the
sort of "directed whisper" that British men cultivate, though his accent
was coastal South Carolina. I could hear him clearly from eight feet
away, but I was sure no one else could.
"That's annoying," I said softly. "The tailor charged me a great
deal. He claimed that only a real pro could spot it."
"There you go," he said with a small proud smirk. "Come on.
What's your real racket?"
"Psychology," I said. 'Teaching and writing, some consultant
work." I actually did publish a paper or two every year on language
acquisition and semiotics, but that was a smoke screen, or protective
coloration. The Institute would not approve of my most important
work, since they have a policy against conducting secret research in
defense matters-even if the country you are defending is the United
States. In my case, it was not.
"Sure, psychology. If you say so, Doc." He carefully poured beer
right up to the rim of his glass.
I stared at him. "And what line of work would you be in? To know
about such matters?" He laughed sardonically. "No, really," I said, and
kept staring.
He laughed again, nervously this time. "I-this is crazy."
 "Yes," I said, and didn't blink.