"George R. R. Martin - WC 3 - Jokers High" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

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Wildcards III: Jokers WildJokers Wild
Book 3 of Wildcards
Edited by George R.R. Martin
ISBN: 0-553-26699-3


Prologue
There is Mardi Gras in New Orleans, Carnival in Rio, Fiestas and Festivals and
Founders' Days by the hundreds. The Irish have St. Patrick's Day, the Italians
Columbus Day, the nation its Fourth of July. History is full of mummers' parades
and masques and orgies and religious pageants and patriotic extravaganzas.
Wild Card Day is a little of all of that, and more.
On September 15, 1946, in the cold afternoon sky over Manhattan, Jetboy died and
the Takisian xenovirus-known colloquially as the wild card-was loosed upon the
world.
It is unclear just when the observances began, but by the late sixties, those
who had felt the touch of the wild card and had lived to talk of it, the jokers
and aces of New York City, had taken the day as their own.
September 15 became Wild Card Day. A time for celebrations and lamentations, for
grief and joy, for remembering the dead and cherishing the living. A day for
fireworks and street fairs and parades, for masked balls and political rallies
and memorial banquets, for drinking and making love and fighting in the alleys.
With each passing year, the festivities became larger and more fevered. Taverns
and restaurants and hospitals did record-setting business, the media began to
notice, and finally, of course, the tourists arrived.
Once a year, without sanction or statute, Wild Card Day engulfed Jokertown and
New York City, and the carnival of chaos ruled the streets.
September 15, 1986, was the fortieth anniversary.


Chapter One
6:00 a.m.
It was as dark as it ever gets on Fifth Avenue, and as quiet.
Jennifer Maloy glanced at the streetlights and the steady stream of traffic, and
pursed her lips in annoyance. She didn't like all the light and activity, but
there wasn't much she could do about it. This was, after all, Fifth Avenue and
73rd Street in the city that never sleeps. It had been equally as busy the past
few mornings she'd spent checking out the area and she had no reason to expect
that conditions would ever get any better.
Hands thrust deep into the pockets of her trench coat, she strode past the
five-story graystone apartment building and slipped into the alley behind it.
Here was darkness and si lence. She stepped into an area of the alley that was
screened by a garbage dumpster and smiled.
No matter how many times she'd done this, she thought, it was still exciting.
Her pulse speeded up and she breathed faster in anticipation as she put on a
hoodlike mask that obscured her finely sculpted features and hid the mass of
blond hair tied in a knot at the back of her head. She took off her trench coat,
folded it neatly, and set it down next to the dumpster. Under the coat she wore