"Michael Thomas - The Time Thief" - читать интересную книгу автора (Thomas Michael)

"I still think he's Service Department," Joey Hanson said.

"He's just a hobo," Mark said.

As they talked, Mark's conviction about the man weakened. Something about the
stranger, something knowing in the sunken eyes made him sure the man was much
more than a hobo. But he couldn't believe the man was one of the goons from the
Ford Service Department. Goons always wore suits and ties. Still, there was
something not quite right about the man. Maybe Joey was right, maybe the guy was
a spy trying to find out about the Hunger March.

He sipped melted ice cream from the bottom of the glass with a straw, then
smelled aftershave and his mood brightened.

"How's my favorites?" Randy Randolph said. He sat on a swivel stool at the
counter, played with one of his ruby rings, straightened his tie, smoothed his
greased-back hair. Randy had the look of an eager Doberman pinscher and just
about as much fashion sense, but to Mark he was as heroic as Charles Lindbergh.
Randy started out life like them, living off the Ford Plant like rats living off
a garbage dump, but now Randy dressed better than a politician and had no fear
of layoffs or the Service Department. Randy was the lord of numbers; his masters
weren't foremen, but the kind of guys you saw in movies, riding the running
boards of cars, Tommy guns in hand.

Randy made a quarter appear from behind Mark's ear, then repeated the sleight of
hand, pulling a stack of white cards from behind Mark's other ear. Randy fanned
himself with the cards and grinned.

"I'll sell twice as many as last week," Mark said.

"I'll beat you any day of the week," Joey said.

The Mellons leaped for the cards.

"Hold up there," Randy said. "There's plenty for everybody."

Mark pocketed his allotment of cards; he would be on Miller Road at shift
change, ready to sell the betting cards to plant workers, eager to impress
Randy, just as eager to collect his five percent commission. Other runners only
made two percent, but Randy took care of his runners, paid better, acted as
buddy, confidant and father figure to Mark and his friends.

Randy ordered a chocolate shake, ruffled Mark's hair for no reason, then forced
a comb through his own grease-caked hair.

Joey climbed onto the stool next to Randy. "Hey Randy, you gonna be in the
march?"

"March?" Randy asked.