"Allen Steele - Free Beer and the William Casey Society" - читать интересную книгу автора (Steele Allen)

on Skycan; his jobs were always on the ground. I always figured that was
because of his drinking problem.

****

So Bob spent his nights in Diamondback JackтАЩs, swilling beer, talking shop
with the techs and other unemployed space grunts, making sour-breathed
passes at the college cuties who slummed in JacksтАЩ during spring break,
keeping his feelers out for job leads. Shooting the bull with anyone who
would buy the next round. ThatтАЩs how he told me the story, that Wednesday
night when the place was dead, about the Skycan beer scam.

He was already drunk when I sat down next to him at the bar. I
signalled to Jack to bring me a Bud, and the first thing Bob said to me was
the sort of thing one would expect from an inebriated wreck. Cocking his
head toward the door, he asked, тАЬYou just came in, didnтАЩt ya, Al?тАЭ

I nodded. тАЬDid you see any cars parked out there?тАЭ he asked.

тАЬSure, Bob. Yours. Mine. JackтАЩs. Whose car are you looking for?тАЭ

He cast me a look suggesting that I had become stupid since the last
time he had seen me. тАЬBrown Toyota-GM Cutlass. One or two men sitting
inside.тАЭ He paused, and added, тАЬWilliam Casey Society sticker on the rear
window. Remember what I told you last Saturday?тАЭ

I shook my head as Jack pushed a tallneck in front of me. тАЬI wasnтАЩt
here last Saturday, Bob.тАЭ

(Of course, I didnтАЩt say where I had been last Saturday. ThereтАЩs
nothing wrong with attending a routine press conference at KSC, unless
youтАЩre a patron at JackтАЩs. Spacers and reporters have an acrimonious
relationship going back to die days when Project Apollo press pool
reporters gave NASA a new definitionтАФNever a Straight Answer. Jack
used to keep a bag of MortonтАЩs salt underneath the counter for the novice
journalists who wandered into his bar looking for sources, to dump on their
head as soon as they pulled out their notebooks тАЬso the bloodsucking
leeches will wither up and die.тАЭ My presence was tolerated only because I
was low-key about my profession and because I never brought my work
into JackтАЩs. So the less said about my stringer work for the Times, the
better.)

тАЬHuh,тАЭ Bob said, wearing the vaguely puzzled expression of a heavy
drinker facing short-term memory lapses. тАЬMaybe I didnтАЩt tell you about it.тАЭ
He looked towards the door again. тАЬWell, is there a car like that out there?тАЭ

тАЬI didnтАЩt see one. But I donтАЩt think IтАЩd recognize a Casey Society
sticker if I saw one.тАЭ

Now Cowboy Bob had my curiosity worked up. Perhaps that was his