"C M Kornbluth - The Goodly Creatures" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kornbluth C M)

Farwell leaned back, cursing whoever in New York had crossed up the message. It had probably been
done deliberately, he decidedтАФPete Messier, the New York office manager trying to make him look
bad.



He tried to work on an account or two, but nervously put them aside to wait for Greenhough's call. At 5
he tried to reach Greenhough to tell him he was going home and give him his home number. Greenhough's
room didn't answer the call or his next four, so he phoned a drugstore to send up a sandwich and coffee.



Before he could get started on the sandwich Greenhough phoned again to invite him to dinner at the
Mars Room. He was jovial as could be: "Get myself some of that famous Chicago hospitality, hey, Jim?
You know I'm just a hick from Colorado, don't you?" He went on to give Farwell about ten minutes of
chuckling reminiscence and then hung up without confirming the dinner date. It turned out that it didn't
matter. As Farwell was leaving the deserted office his phone buzzed again. It was Greenhough abruptly
calling off the Mars Room. He told Farwell: "I've got somebody important to talk to this evening."



The branch manager at last dared to pour himself a heavy drink and left.



His bedside phone shrilled at 3 in the morning. "Jim Far-well," he croaked into it while two clock dials
with the hands making two luminous L's wavered in front of him. His drink at the office had been the first
of a series.



"This is Greenhough, Farwell," snarled the voice of the senior partner. "You get over here right away.
Bring Clancy, whatever his name isтАФthe lawyer." Click.



Where was "here"? Farwell phoned the Greybar. "Don't connect me with his roomтАФI just want to know
if he's in."



The floor clerk said he was and Farwell tried to phone the home of the Chicago branch's lawyer, but got
no answer. Too much time lost. He soaked his head in cold water, threw his clothes on and drove
hell-for-leather to the Greybar.



Greenhough was in one of the big two-bedroom suites on the sixteenth floor. A frozen-faced blond girl
in an evening gown let Farwell in without a word. The senior partner was sprawled on the sofa in dress
trousers and stiff shirt. He had a bruise under his left eye.