"Lessig, Hugh - Purple Politics" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lessig Hugh)

"You going to shoot me, Web? Or do you prefer a knife in the throat?"

His smile is almost tender. "Monica showed good judgment in coming to you. She wanted to tell the world, and she knew the establishment media wouldn't believe her story. If it makes you feel any better, she went to you before some guy from Rolling Stone."

"You and Monica were in this together? A two-person racket to gather a drug flower?"

Web begins to drum his fingers as he talks. "It don't take much to get a resolution passed on the Hill, Mr. Barnes. Not if you know which committees to play. It's just a non-binding resolution anyway. It doesn't require anyone clean up the Purple Looseleaf. It just encourages them to."

The hand with the gun moves lazily across his lap. There is a door to my left. A small desk next to Web. No windows. If he hustled me into a waiting car, I could be anywhere.

"That little act you pulled in the office, where you grabbed the flower and ran out. Was that just to get me out on the street? Or are you really jacked on this stuff?"

Web giggles. "You sound like Monica, Mr. Barnes. She didn't like what the flower was doing to me. But it hurts less than getting shot. Speaking of which, I see no reason to drag this out..."

His grip tightens on the pistol, and there is a sharp crack. I look down at the folds of my shirt, expecting to see guts, but the next sound comes from Web. He howls at the ceiling and grabs his knee, which has turned into a ball of blood. The smell of cordite wafts in from an open door.

The receptionist from EDK.

The girl with no makeup.

She holds a small pistol with shiny silver plating, and she holds it well. Web is curled up in the fetal position. He appears to be crying. The woman comes over to me and kneels down by the cot. She looks nervous as hell.

"Hey Winston Churchill," I say. "Will you marry me?"

She is about to laugh when Web rolls up on one elbow and starts popping off shots from the Glock. Something tears into my ankle like a Rottweiler. A pretty crimson spray erupts from Winston's shoulder. I fall off the bed and grab my ankle, and Winston's gun goes off next to my ear. I hear something that sounds like Web, or what used to be Web.

It is a strangled, wet sound. It reminds me of Monica lying on the floor.

* * *

Her name is not Winston. It is Alex. We spend a few days in the same hospital, and we get out on the same day.

Now we are standing on Pennsylvania Avenue across from the White House, in the small park where the homeless people sometimes hang out. It is Saturday morning. My last day in D.C.

We are both a little shagged out.

She gives me a quick up-and-down appraisal. "How are the crutches?"

I shift around on my good leg and smile. "How is the sling?"

She pats her right arm. "I can't type for a while. But it won't matter. I'm getting promoted at EDK for busting up the Purple Menace scheme."

"That's what the media is calling it?"

"That's what The Foil editorial called it. It seems a little over-the-top, but then you've got that funny motto. Boldly seeking the -- what is it?"

"Truth and Mayhem."

"Ah. Yes. Well you've found both, I would think."