"Wayne Wightman - The Attack Of The Ignoroids" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wightman Wayne)

brain damage -- but why should I care? Teenagers are famous for annoying their
elders. She read my mind.

"You should care, Derrik, because Khamphang LaNuit-Gomez has your number.
Khamphang both knew about STS and wanted to rent your specific house. He knew
your name. He knows something about your money, which I, fortunately, do not
know about. Put that together with the burning woman in your yard, and I'd say
you have an interesting situation developing."

"There's only one thing to do," I said, "and that's to get my hands on this Fang
person and find out who put him up to it."

"After school tomorrow, I'll go with you. I'd like to know what he meant by
`reality fucks generators.'"

"I'm not going to wait till tomorrow -- I'm going now. He's probably in bed,
sleeping like a child, and if there's one thing I've learned in life, if you
want to get a straight answer, catch them with their pants down. It's harder to
lie when you're naked, except when you're sexually aroused."

"In point of fact, Mr. Ramsden, you're looking a bit peaked at the moment."

"Nothing energizes me like the search for truth." I stood up and got to the
door. "I'll sleep tomorrow," I said heroically.

She followed me to her front step. Out in the car I could hear country music
playing softly.

"Actually," I said to her, "I feel like a piece of flank steak. But it's hard to
get to sleep when somebody's about to pull your plug."

"So well I know."

I went down the walk and looked back once as I got in the back seat of the car.
I could dream about those legs later.

Cleetis turned off the car lights and we coasted to a stop in front of the dump
where I used to live. The neighborhood was a mix of the three races and nine or
ten nationalities. The kids all played together during the day, but at night the
older ones came out to rob and stomp anyone with an accent different from their
own. At this hour, the houses were locked like vaults and the street was dark
except for a few windows dimly lit by low-wattage bulbs.

"Bet you glad you don't live here nomore," Cleetis whispered. "You gonna roust
this old guy? You want me to help? I could go screamin' at the back door--"

I studied the dark front of the house, but nothing looked unusual "Two things,
Cleetis. First, stay in the car. Second, no music. Keep your ears open."

"You think this old guy has a gun?"