"Resnick, Mike - Oracle 3 - Prophet" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Mike)

The Iceman knelt down, gripped the corpse's left hand in his own, and displayed the index finger.
"Prosthetic," he said. "I spotted it at the bar, and when he turned his back, I saw the power pack under his shirt. While you were drawing your weapon, he'd have just pointed at you and bumed a hole right through your chest."
"Well, I'll be damned!" muttered the man in black. "I guess you did make my job easier, at that."
"I'll take it out of your pay," said the Iceman wryly.
"You know, one of these days someone's going to come out here who knows what you look like," said the man in black.
"What are you going to do then?"
"Duck, I suppose," replied the Iceman. "In the meantime, let's move our late friend here into my office and see what we can learn about him."
"I have a feeling he's going to be just like the others you described to me," predicted the man in black. "No identification, no fingerprints, surgically altered retinagram."
"Probably," agreed the Iceman. "But let's do it, anyway."
The man in black shrugged and gestured for a couple of other men to pick up the corpse. They began carrying it toward the casino.
The Iceman immediately barred their way. "Out the front and around to the side," he said. "We've got customers here. How would you like it if someone dragged a dead body right in front of you while you were drinking?" He paused, then sighed deeply. "Don't answer. Just do it."
They reversed their direction and carried the dead man out the front door.
"Well," said the man in black, "are you finally going to tell me what this is all about?"
"I wish to hell I knew," answered the Iceman, limping back to the bar and pouring himself a beer. He offered one to the man in black, who turned it down.
"Don't kill the next one and maybe you'll find out."
"Anyone who comes after me on Last Chance dies," answered the Iceman firmly. "That's part of the myth I spent three decades creating. If I let even one of these bastards live, the myth becomes a fairy tale and they'll be coming after me every hour instead of every week. Lord knows I've made enough enemies over the years."
"Then why did you hire me at all?" asked the man in black in, frustrated tones.
"As you say, one of them may know who I am-and I happen to be a seventy-one-year-old man with a beer belly and an artificial leg. When I finally need you, you'll earn your money, never fear."
"You ought to let me cripple one of them," said the man in black. "Then we'd get some answers."
"You want to cripple one?" asked the Iceman. He gestured to the door. "You've got the whole damned planet on which to do it. But once they walk through that door, my first concern is staying alive." He finished his beer. "Now, if you want to practice on men who are here to kill you, that's your privilege, and good luck to you -- but I didn't get to be this old by taking chances."
"They say there was a time when you took chances," replied the man in black. "Lots of 'em."
"I was young. I learned better."
"That's not the way I heard it."
"Then someone must have lied to you," said the Iceman.
"They even say," continued the man in black, "that you're the only man who ever took on the Oracle and won."
The Iceman grimaced. "I didn't win anything."
"Is she still alive?"
"I suppose so," replied the Iceman. "I can't imagine anything being able to kill her."
"Has the thought crossed your mind that she's behind all this?"
"Not for an instant."
"Why not?"
"Because if she was, I'd be dead," said the Iceman with absolute certainty.
"You faced her before, and you're still alive," persisted the man in black.
"Forget about her," replied the Iceman. "She's got nothing to do with this."
"You're sure?"
"To her, I'm about as insignificant as a grain of sand on a deserted beach." He paused. "If she's still alive, she's got more important things on her mind."
"What kind of things?"
"I hope to hell I never find out,'' answered the Iceman seriously. "Come on," he added. "Let's take a look at the body."
They walked over to his office and entered it, where they found the corpse laid out on a broad wooden desk.
The man in black examined the corpse's fingers closely.
"No prints," he announced. "Damned nice job on that fake finger. I never spotted it." He looked down at the dead man's face. "Got an ophthalmoscope?"
"A small one, inside the center drawer of the desk," said the Iceman, going over the body for scars or identifying marks. "But it's not tied into any computers."
The man in black walked to the desk and returned with the instrument. "I have a feeling that tying into a computer won't do you a bit of good with this guy -- but let's see." He stared through the scope for a moment, then put it away. "Yeah, there's some scar tissue on the rods and cones. Five'll get you ten they're not on record anywhere in the galaxy."
"No serial numbers on any of the weapons, either," noted the Iceman. "Strange. Out here on the Inner Frontier, most killers pick colorful names and brag about their accomplishments. But this is the fourth one in a row who has no name, no identification, no reputation."
"Nice boots, though," said the man in black.
"I suppose so."
"Very nice."
"I checked for labels or manufacturer's marks," said the Iceman. "There aren't any."
The man in black continued staring at the boots.
"Do you see something I'm missing?" asked the Iceman, suddenly interested.