"Robinson, Spider - Lady Slings The Booze" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robinson Spider)

"How much discretion are we talking about?" I asked, studying a fingernail.
"You were never here. I don't know anybody who'd know anyone you know. We've never walked on the same real estate, even at different times. Any information you receive from me, or that you turn up as a result of your investigation, is to be between you and me and the principals involved. You will divulge nothing to anyone else. That includes grand juries, city, state or federal, judicial or legislative inquiry, and your confessor if any. And one other thing: you will treat La. . . uh, the principal here... with the utmost respect at all times. If she- reports to me that you knocked ashes on her carpet-hear me, now-I will make you wish you were on Rikers Island. Do you believe I can do that?"
Oof. A little hard to imagine. I'd even rather be in New Jersey. But I knew the answer was: "Yes."
"Good. Do we have a meeting of the minds?"
I was in hog heaven-but I was also -a professional. I turned my fingernail another way and inspected it again to see how it looked from that angle. "Not quite. I haven't told you my rates."
"I burn to know."
"Two hundred a day plus expenses."
He flashed his famous grin for the first time. "Rockford Files. James Garner. At least you follow good trash."
He had me cold. "The best," I agreed. "Just like with him, it's not negotiable." I tried for Gamer's I'm-not-budging expression. "And I also get medical expenses for job-related injuries. After all, we're using smaller dollars these days."
"I seem to remember Rockford almost never gets paid."
I shrugged. "Is it a deal or not?"
To my surprise, he hesitated. "It's not that I'd have the slightest difficulty making it drop off the books," he mused. "Partly -I'm curious to see what you'd do if I said no, you gotta work for free on this -one. And mostly it goes against my grain to pay an overgrown adolescent who's built like a linebacker two hundred dollars a day to hang out in Lady Sally's House."
I had to work to control my face. Lady Sally McGee's House? Not maybe the most famous, but -surely the most legendary whorehouse in the greater New York area? I'd heard of it for years, but always very quiet, and third-hand at least. l'hey said you had to know Somebody, real well, to get invited there. Until today, I hadn't known anybody who knew anybody who knew Somebody. I opened my mouth to say I could manage to pay him two hundred dollars, and absorb my own expenses- "Oh screw it, it's a deal," he said.
"What's the situation?"
He pursed his lips, and shook his head. "I need backup on my judgment. You go see the Lady, and if she decides to fill you in, then nobody can blame me. If she doesn't, you get one day's pay and a hearty handclasp-for something that never happened."
"Can you give me a hint? What sort of beef are we talking? Do I bring a fingerprint kit, or a bazooka? Or a dozen condoms?"
He steepled his fingertips. "I would say you should bring along all of that garbage you dumped on thy carpet outside. And if you know where you could borrow a brain for a while, bring that by all means. But mostly bring your luck, Quigley. And.. ." He sighed.
"...your best judgment, such as it is."
"What does that mean?"
He frowned. "I don't know if I can make you understand. I want you to be absolutely candid with me in this matter. . . up to a point."
"I'm not following you."
"You are not going to get cute with this, like a TV detective. You will share with me fully any relevant information you learn. But it is possible-" He paused, and twisted his face up so badly that I wanted to offer him some Metamucil, "-that in the course of your investigation you will turn up information I do not have a need to know. And the hell of it is, by and large you're the one who'll have to decide when that is. I can only say: don't screw up."
I didn't have the slightest idea what the hell he was talking about. But he looked so uncomfortable that I got the idea he must have just done something noble. And maybe given me some kind of backhanded compliment at the same time. "I'll do my best," I said simply.
"Exactly what I'm afraid of. Any more questions?"
"Yeah. Why me?"
"Because every once in a while you're so dumb, you're a genius. That Favila case, for example. Most people can -only see the obvious if it makes sense. You proved you can see the obvious even when it's stupid. That may turn out to be what's called for here."


(start here)


I was a little stung. The Favila case had been one of my professional high points to date, had come this close to being a triumph. "I see," I said stiffly. "You need me, so you treat me like shjt."
"I only do that for two reasons," he said. "First, of course, because you are skit. . . and second because you look -like that moron on the tube, what's-his-name."
"Hey," I said, stung again, "that's not my fault." -
"I know. No one would look like him that could help it. Forget it. You knOw w~iere Sally's is?"
"I don't need to. The cabbie will know."
"True. Use the north entrance-and for God's sake don't use my name at the door if there's anyone else in earshot. Report to me, verbally, here, when you've cracked it. Not before. -If there's anything you need, at all, the Lady will provide. And nothing goes in writing." - -
"Can I go now?"
"Not yet. Look at me, Quigley. I know I've succeeded in hiring you. I think I've even succeeded in engaging your attention. But before I let you leave here, I want to be sure I've succeeded in scaring the living shit out of you. I want you to throw away whatever smart-aleck closing line you've got prepared, and just say these words: say, 'I'm going to be a good boy, sir,' and then get the hell out of here. Will you do that for me, Joe?"
I wanted this job more than I wanted a nymphomaniac secretary
- with legs up to here, but there are some kinds of shit a man just
can't eat. "Screw yourself, sir," I said. Besides, I'd been polishing
an exit line since I'd first gotten the call, and it was going to be
a beaut. -
He smiled faintly. "You think the worst I could do is have you ruined, disgraced, raped and beaten to death. It's much worse than that." The smile broadened into that oddly telegemc grin again. "If your pei-formance in this assignment is not satisfactory, I will put your real first name out on the street."
-and on the other hand, certain other kinds of shit are quite palatable with a little necessity spnnlded on them. I could always save my exit line for the next time a major VIP wanted to hire me. "I'm going to be a good boy, sir." -
"I know you are, 'Joe.'" The grin vanished. "I'm counting on it." -
I left, and found my own way out.
I collected my hardware from the butler on the way out the main door. He wouldn't give it to me until I put my shoes back on. I stepped out into the cool muggy night, stuck a Lucky in my mouth, and heard imaginary music swell in the background. -
Oui my way past the black-and-white I decided I had to do something, make some kind of move, a scene-closer to redeem my pride and get us-to the commercial. I leaned into the passenger's window and stared the fat cop in the eye. "Your mother wears combat boots," I stated, and blew smoke in his face.