"Keith Laumer & Eric Flint - Future Imperfect" - читать интересную книгу автора (Laumer Keith)

for the down car. The bouncer was back with a short, plumpish fellow with artificial-
looking black hair and a darting eye.
"May I present Mr. Zablun," the gray-haired smoothie waved a hand in a
prestidigitator's gesture. "He will be happy to have a look at the piece, Mr. ummm. . . ."
"Philbert," I supplied. "Jimmy Philbert, from Butte, Montana."
Mr. Zablun's head bobbed on his short neck in a Prussian-type nod. He came across
and held out a cluster of fingers. I poked the coin at them and he thrust it up under his eye
as though he were wearing a jeweler's lens. Then he held it in front of the other eye,
giving it a crack at the find.
He and Gray Hair exchanged a quick glance. I started to reach for the coin, but
Zablun had turned for the side door.
"If you'll just follow along, Mr. Philbert," Gray Hair said. He waved that graceful
hand again and I trailed the short man along a narrow passage into a low-ceilinged room
with a plain desk with a draftsman's lamp shedding a cold light on a green show blotter.
Zablun went briskly behind the desk, pulled open a drawer, got out a black cloth, a small
electronic-looking gadget, a set of lenses like measuring spoons, began fussing over my
trophy. If it was a hog-calling award, at least it was not obvious at a glance.
Gray Hair stood by, not saying anything, no expression on his face. There was a small
window at the side of the office; through it I could see a red glare on the water from the
rising moon.
Zablun was putting things back in the drawer now, being very precise about their
arrangement. He placed the coin back on the desktop at the exact center of the pool of
light, stood.
 "The coin is genuine," he said indifferently. "Gold, twenty-four point nine five. Mint
specimen."
"You've seen one like it before?"
"It is not a great rarity."
"Where's it from?"
"A number have come to light at Crete in recent years. Not so fine, you understand.
Not uncirculated."
"A Greek coin, eh?"
"The actual origin is unknown. Where did you secure the piece?" His tone was as
cool as a detective lieutenant running through his list of routine questions; it had that
same quality of impeccable politeness, as impersonal as a traffic light.
"I picked it up in a poker game at Potosi a couple of weeks back," I confided. "I was
afraid I'd been suckered. Ah, by the way, what's it worth?"
"I can offer you fifty cees, Mr. Philbert," Gray Hair stepped into the conversation.
"I don't think I want to sell right now," I said. "Makes a nice pocket piece." I reached,
lifted the thick coin from the desk. "Just wanted to be sure I hadn't been taken."
"Perhaps an offer of one hundred ceesтАФ"
"It's not a matter of price." I showed them a breezy smile. "I took it for a ten-cee bet. I
think I'll just hang onto it. Maybe it brings me luck. I've stayed alive lately; that takes
luck today." I turned to the door. Gray Hair beat me to it, slipped past me, led the way
back to a door that opened into the wide hall with the cream-colored carpet.
"How much do I owe you?" I reached for my wallet, still beaming the happy smile of
a fellow who has lucked into something.
"Please." Gray Hair waved the idea of payment away. "If you should change your
mind, Mr. Philbert. . . ."
"I'll let you know first thing," I assured him. He inclined his head; I sauntered off
toward the lift. At the end of the hall I looked back. The lights were just going off in the