"Wildcards - 07 - Dead Mans Hand" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

Gregg Hartmann was the favorite, but his nomination would be a struggle,
particularly with the man directly opposite him in political philosophy and
belief-the Reverend Leo Barnett.
Brennan distrusted all politicians, but if he could vote, he would cast his
ballot for Hartmann. The man seemed honest and caring, especially when compared
with the demagogue Barnett.
A lot of jokers were backing Hartmann. The news cameras panned the Atlanta
public parks where they had gathered by the thousands to noisily show the nation
their depth of support for the senator.
Brennan watched a few interviews with the joker on the street, then turned down
the volume on the television set and turned his attention to the computer
screen. He wished .
Hartmann and his joker supporters well, but the day was already getting old and
he had his own worries.
His schedule had come up on the screen, and it promised to be a full day. Archer
Landscaping was in the middle of two jobs. Brennan was building a hill garden
with a tsutai ochi, a miniature waterfall trickling over a bed of emplaced
rocks, for a Japanese-American banker who had just moved into the area, and he
was also constructing a multiterraced shrubbery with a fish pond for a doctor
who lived down the road. Joachim Ortiz, Brennan's foreman, would boss the crew
at the doctor's while he took care of the other job. Japanese gardens were his
personal specialty.
Brennan leaned back in the chair, still mildly surprised at the contentment he
felt as he contemplated the upcoming day. Abandoning death and destruction and
returning to the country to nurture life was the best thing he had ever done. He
felt cleansed, content, and at peace for the first time in years. Sometimes he
felt guilty for setting aside his vendetta against Kien and the Shadow Fist
Society, but over the last few months the guilt had been coming less frequently
and with less intensity.
He took his copy of Sakuteiki, Tachibana Toshisuna's classic treatise on garden
design, from his reference shelf, but before he could look through it to get
some ideas for the new job he stopped to stare at the image of a well-remembered
woman that filled the television screen. He turned up the volume.
" . . mysterious woman known only as Chrysalis was found dead this morning in
the office of her nightclub, the Crystal Palace. The police have so far refused
comment, but an ace of spades found on her body has linked the slaying to the
mysterious bow-and-arrow vigilante known as Yeoman, who was responsible for at
least fifty deaths in 1986 and early 1987."
Brennan was still staring at the screen as Jennifer Maloy walked through the
wall, damp from her shower, carrying two cups of tea.
"What's the matter?" she asked when she saw the expression on his face. "What
happened?"
Brennan turned to her, the coldness back in his eyes, the hardness back on his
face. "Chrysalis is dead."
"Dead?" she echoed, unbelievingly. "Murdered."
"How? By who?" Jennifer asked as she sank down into the chair facing him. She
handed him one of the cups. He took it mechanically and put it aside.
"Report didn't say. But her killer tried to frame me by putting an ace of spades
on the body."
"Frame you? Why?"