"Robert Reed - Intolerance" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reed Robert)

She says, "Lunch, darling?"

"No."

"My treat."
"It wouldn't be mine," he snarls.

Silence is wrapped in a sharp pain. Then she says, "Cabe--"

And he disconnects, instructing his phone not to accept another call from that number. The traffic light has
turned green. But most of the pedestrians remain on the curb, confused but exceptionally curious.

"None of your business," he growls.

Faces tilt up now, and everyone crosses in a rush.

Cabe sits on the curb, stuffing the phone back where it belongs, preparing to wait through another red
light. But the traffic is light. An empty bus and a pair of old hybrids roll past, and he steps out early.

Dominating the next corner is the city's main library--a grim concrete building with tall windows on the
ground floor, allowing passersby to stare in at the derelicts and mental patients who keep the chairs filled.
Outside stands one of the resident librarians. A nervous man with a strong union and dreams of a
pension, he is smoking, probably enjoying one of the new therapeutic cigarettes made from biogenetic
tobaccos. Red eyes see the tiny figure approaching. The man takes a couple of puffs, bracing himself for
whatever happens next. What sort of cutting insult will be thrown his way? Or worse, will the creature
ask for help in some ridiculous research project? But Cabe surprises the librarian, waving once in his
general direction before turning, little legs carrying him toward the west.

Beside the library stands an even older building--an ensemble of brick and mortar that currently serves as
the downtown YWCA. Cabe usually approaches from a different direction; passing by the main entrance
has its risks. But the only soul paying attention is an old man sitting on one of the concrete stairs. The
monster gives him a little nod, and the man smiles and says, "Good day," while waving one of his bony
hands.

Around the corner waits a world of mayhem and shrill nonsense syllables, clumsy running and random
tantrums.

A three-meter fence surrounds the playground, but that overstates the security measures. From the shade
of a stunted crab apple tree, Cabe examines the assorted faces, spotting one that he doesn't know and
that will probably serve his purpose.

"Ugh!" a boy shouts at him, brown fingers wrapped in the chain link.

"Ugh yourself," Cabe mocks.

A girl joins ugh-boy, older by a year and far more verbal. She regards the newcomer with a deep
suspicion. Grabbing her companion with a protective arm, she shouts at Cabe, "Go away."

Ugh-boy squirms in her grip.