"Keith Laumer - The Lighter Side" - читать интересную книгу автора (Laumer Keith)

"Hell, he never said a word," he said, and spat, just missing Hestler's shoe.
"Died intestate," the cop intoned, and wrote a note in his book. He gestured and a clean-up
squad moved in, lifted the corpse onto a cart, covered it, trundled it away.
"Close it up," the cop ordered.
"Intestate," somebody grumbled. "Crap!"
"A rotten shame. The slot goes back to the government. Nobody profits. Goddamn!" the fat
man who had spoken looked around at the others. "In a case like this we ought to get together,
have some equitable plan worked out and agreed to in advance-"
 "Hey," the slack-jawed boy said. "That's conspiracy!"
"I meant to suggest nothing illegal." The fat man faded back to his Place in Line. As if by
common consent, the small crowd dissipated, sliding into their Places with deft footwork. Hestler
shrugged and remounted his wheel, put-putted forward, aware of the envious eyes that followed
him. He passed the same backs he always passed, some standing, some sitting on canvas camp
stools under sun-faded umbrellas, here and there a nylon queuebana, high and square, some
shabby, some ornate, owned by the more fortunate. Like himself: he was a lucky man, he had
never been a Standee, sweating the line exposed to the sun and prying eyes.
It was a bright afternoon. The sun shone down on the vast concrete ramp across which the
Line snaked from a point lost in distance across the plain. Ahead-not far ahead now, and getting
closer every day-was the blank white wall perforated only by the Window, the terminal point of
the Line. Hestler slowed as he approached the Hestler queuebana; his mouth went dry as he saw
how close it was to the Head of the Line now. One, two, three, four slots back! Ye Gods, that
meant six people had been processed in the past twelve hours-an unprecedented number. And it
meant-Hestler caught his breath-he might reach the Window himself, this shift. For a moment, he
felt a panicky urge to flee, to trade places with First Back, and then with Second, work his way
back to a safe distance, give himself a chance to think about it, get ready . . .
"Say, Farn." The head of his proxy, Cousin Galpert, poked from the curtains of the three foot
square, five foot high nylon-walled queuebana. "Guess what? I moved up a spot while you were
gone."
Hestler folded the wheel and leaned it against the weathered cloth. He waited until Galpert
had emerged, then surreptitiously twitched the curtains wide open. The place always smelled
fudgy and stale after his cousin had spent half an hour in it while he was away for his Comfort
Break.
"We're getting close to the Head," Galpert said excitedly, handing over the lockbox that
contained the Papers. "I have a feeling-" He broke off as sharp voices were suddenly raised a few
Spaces behind. A small, pale-haired man with bulging blue eyes was attempting to force himself
into Line between Third Back and Fifth Back.
"Say, isn't that Four Back?" Hestler asked.
"You don't understand," the little man was whimpering. "I had to go answer an unscheduled
call of nature . . . " His weak eyes fixed on Fifth Back, a large, coarse-featured man in a loud shirt
and sunglasses. "You said you'd watch my Place . . . !"
"So whattaya think ya got a Comfort Break for, ya bum! Beat it!"
Lots of people were shouting at the little man now:
"Line-ine-ucker-bucker-Line bucker, Line bucker . . . "
The little man fell back, covering his ears. The obscene chant gained in volume as other
voices took it up.
"But it's my Place," the evictee wailed. "Father left it to me when he died, you all remember
him . . . " His voice was drowned in the uproar.
"Serves him right," Galpert said, embarrassed by the chant. "A man with no more regard for
his inheritance than to walk off and leave it . . . "
They watched the former Fourth Back turn and flee, his hands still over his ears.