"Robert Weinberg - Logical Magician 01 - A Logical Magician" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weinberg Robert)

that finished the job."
"Funny that they didn't rob you," said Nelson, scribbling down notes on the police
form. "You're positive, Jack, that these hoodlums had no reason to rough you up?"
It took Jack a minute to realize what the physician was thinking.
"Hey, I'm innocent, doc. I'm not into drugs and never have been. I don't use them,
and I definitely don't sell them. And you're crazy if you think different."
Nelson raised his hands in protest. "Sorry. I had to ask. If I didn't, you can be sure
campus security would. Anderson is obsessed with drug dealers. It's the nature of the
times."
 "Great," said Jack, standing up. "Talk about guilt by association. I get mugged for
no reason by a bunch of lunatics and that means I'm a dope pusher. Meanwhile, logic
takes a holiday."
The physician shrugged his shoulders. There was an odd expression on his face.
"I'm only doing my job, Jack. No reason to get upset. Take it easy for a few days. Use
the whirlpool bath in the gym whenever you can. It'll help those bruises. If the pain
bothers you too much, give me a call and I'll prescribe something. Otherwise, check back
with me in a week. By then, you should be back to normal."
Still fuming, Jack left the doctor's office. Nobody ever accused the hero of any
fantasy novel he ever read of dealing in drugs as a sideline. Nor, for that matter, did he
recall any of those heroes experiencing any real aches and pains other than an occasional
hangover or arrow wound. Most of them shrugged off anything less than a life-threatening
injury.
Head throbbing, Jack shuffled down the street towards the student union building.
He needed food. It was nearly six o'clock and all he had eaten since the morning was the
cheeseburger and Coke at Merlin's office. The college cafeteria stayed open till nine.
Once he grabbed a bite, he intended to head back to his apartment and collapse. Jack
smiled wistfully. So far, his career as a world-saver was not progressing very well.
With evening classes already underway, there weren't many graduate students in
the student union. Which suited Jack fine. He wasn't in much of a mood to talk with
anyone. Loading up his tray with a hot turkey sandwich, potatoes, a Coke and a piece of
cake, he shuffled to the cash register.
It wasn't until Jack reached for his wallet to pay for his dinner that he remembered
his pockets were crammed full of greenbacks. He wondered if Doctor Nelson had noticed
the cash. That would explain the physician's questions about drug dealing. The more he
thought about it, the more obvious it became. Unfortunately, knowing the reason was not
a solution. The money suddenly weighed very heavy in his jeans.
Cautiously, he looked around for the campus police. If Nelson relayed his
suspicions to the security officers, they could be searching for Jack right now. And
explaining how he obtained all that money would be awfully difficult.
Feeling extremely paranoid, Jack marched to the far end of the cafeteria.
Dinnertime had the place packed with underclassmen. Finally, after a frantic survey of the
room, he spotted a small table isolated from the flow of traffic. With his back to the
cafeteria wall, he could keep a watch on the whole room.
With a sigh of relief, Jack sat down and started eating. Hungry but worried, he
wolfed down the food without tasting a thing. The sooner he hid the money, the safer he
would feel.
Gulping down his Coke and gobbling the last bite of cake, he pushed back his
chair, ready to leave. And found himself surrounded by a half-dozen undergraduates, all
talking at once. To him.
Preoccupied with his troubles, Jack had not noticed them approaching. Four