"George R. R. Martin - WC 8 - One Eyed Jacks" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

fascinating pattern in the air before him as he spoke, took a sip of coffee,
spoke, took a drag on a Marlboro, without ever missing a beat. "Shit, nobody
human got any bizness there. Unless. .." Suspicion dawned and he looked narrowly
toward her. "Maybe you're one of 'em."
The way he asked, far too deliberately casual, trying to mask the sudden burr of
fear and hostility barely hidden underneath, caught Cody's attention and she
tilted her head to give her one eye a better view of him.
"One of what?" she asked, genuinely confused. "Them," as if that was the most
obvious reference in the world. "Jokers, aces-whole fuckin' crowd."
"I'm a doctor."
"Cops got a name for their precinct down there, `Fort Freak.' Fuckin' fits,


file:///F|/rah/George%20R.%20R.%20Martin/Mart...%20Wildcards%208%20-%20One%20Eyed%20Jacks.txt (4 of 156) [1/17/03 7:12:45 PM]
 file:///F|/rah/George%20R.%20R.%20Martin/Martin,%20George%20R.%20R%20-%20Wildcards%208%20-%20One%20Eyed%20Jacks.txt

y'know. Ain't there enough sick people needful amongst your own, why you gotta
go take care o' them? Pardon me for sayin', lady, but you ain't got the look o'
no Mutha Teresa, know what I mean?"
"Absolutely," his friend chimed in.
"Look. . ." She sighed, fatigue from her trip combining with apprehension to put
steel in her voice, an edge that made the cabbie stiffen ever so slightly and
take a reflexive half step backward. "All I'm looking for is a way into the
city. If none of you will take me, can you at least point out some other way?"
"Sure," the other cabbie said, striking out with some humor of his own, "walk."
Nobody laughed, and when Cody turned her eye on him, with a look she'd learned
within forty-eight hours of landing in Vietnam and perfected over twenty years
as a surgeon, he promptly wished he'd resisted the impulse.
"Hey, life's a bitch. Only other option's, you take the Q33 transit bus over to
Roosevelt Avenue/Jackson Heights, then catch the F take you right into
Jokertown."
"F what," she asked.
"F you," muttered the jokester, but she ignored him. "Subway," said the first
man. "Sixth Avenue line, that's what the letter stands for, take it downtown."
"Thank you," she told him, hefting shoulder bag and briefcase and following his
pointed direction along the sidewalk to the bus stop.
"Better watch your step, Doc," he called after her, "they're animals down there,
you got no idea." (And you do, she thought.) "They see a nice piece like you,
sonsabitch freaks'll prob'ly eat 'chu!" And on cue, came his friend's stolid
"Absolutely!"
Cody didn't argue. For all she knew he might be right.
At the station she scrambled into the next-to-the-last car, surprised to find it
crowded. Where'd all these people come from? she wondered. The bus driver said
this station's supposed to be one of the main ones on the line and there
couldn't have been more than a half dozen of us waiting. She shrugged. Isn't my
city, this could be the only train they run this time of night. The thing was,
as it had rumbled past her into the station, the other cars hadn't registered as
being so full.
It was standing room only-there was room to move, but not much else-the
passengers about as wide and wild a mix as could be imagined, the night people