"Robert Reed - Game of the Century" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reed Robert)

boyish. A laser mind lurked behind those eyes, yet in most circumstances he
preferred playing the cultured hick, knowing how much it improved his odds.

"He's a fine lookin' boy," the coach drawled. "Fine lookin'."

The proud parents stood arm in arm, smiling with a frothy, nervous joy.

"May I?" asked Marlboro. Then without waiting for permission, he yanked the
screen off the crib, reached in and grabbed both bare feet. He tugged once, then
again. Harder. "Damn, look at those legs! You'd think this boy'd be scampering
around already. Strong as these seem...!"

"Well," said his mother, "he is awfully active."

"In a good way," the father cautioned.

"I believe it. I do!" Marlboro grinned, noticing that Mom looked awfully sweet
in a tired-of-motherhood way, and it was too bad that he couldn't make a play
for her, too. "Let me tell ya what I'm offering," he boomed. "A free ride. For
the boy here --"

"Alan," Mom interjected.

"Alan," the coach repeated. Instantly, with an easy affection. Then he gave her
a little wink, saying, "For Alan. A free education and every benefit that I'm
allowed to give. Plus the same for your other two kids. Which I'm not supposed
to offer. But it's my school and my scholarships, and I'll be damned if it's
anybody's business but yours and mine!"

The parents squeezed one another, then with a nervous voice, the father made
himself ask, "What about us?"

The coach didn't blink.

"What do you want, Mr. Wilde?" Marlboro smiled and said, "Name it."

"I'm not sure," the father confessed. "I know that we can't be too obvious --"

"But we were hoping," Mom blurted. "I mean, it's not like we're wealthy people.
And we had to spend most of our savings --"

"On your little Alan. I bet you did." A huge wink was followed with, "It'll be
taken care of. My school doesn't have that big college of genetics for nothing."
He looked at the infant again, investing several seconds of hard thought into
how they could bend the system just enough. Then he promised, "You'll be
reimbursed for your expenses. Up front. And we'll put your son on the payroll.
Gentlefolks in lab coats'll come take blood every half-year or so. For a
healthy, just-under-the-table fee. How's that sound?"
The father seemed doubtful. "Will the scientists agree to that?"