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

compassion? That I don't have feelings? If you wanted to make an impression, you
could've sent flowers or a few good stock tips."

"Didn't kill woman," he said. "Those fire people, you not really see what you
think you see. We wanted to make big impression."

"So I'm impressed enough to be here. Speak."

"There a problem with reality fucks generators."

"Really. Well, reality does that to all of us every now and then. Look, Fang, I
can appreciate your having hard times, but if you want to get your rent reduced,
double-talk won't help. And if you keep turning people into charcoal briquettes,
or whatever the hell it is you're doing, you could find yourself back in
Port-au-Prince providing a little entertainment for the ton-ton police."

He looked worried. That was a good sign.

"Excuse moment please." He was up and back into the kitchen before I could stop
him. For an old man, he moved fast. I positioned myself by the door in case he
returned with armaments.

He came back holding one of those ninety-five cent Wal-Mart dictionaries,
thumbing through it as he went back to the sofa.

"Here," he said, pointing to a word. "Look. Reality fucks generators."

I leaned over to look at the extended book and the word he pointed to was flux.

"Reality flux generators?" I asked.

His face lit up. "Jess!" he said, nodding vigorously.

I was getting the feeling that rent reduction wasn't on his mind. I had been
hoping for something simple for a change, fool that I was.

I took a deep breath. "Okay, Fang, what is a reality flux generator?"

"It be what we want you to rejust for us. It keep things running same way all
the time, smoothly," he said pleasantly, his eyebrows raised, "and sometimes,
generators mess up, need be rejusted. All things attach to all things. Generator
in center of .... "He searched for a word, then his face lit up. "Generator in
center of center. When generator go out on whack, bad things happen, you know?
Like people get disease, go nuts. You like a beer, Mr. Ramden?"

"Certainly, Mr. Fang."

Deciding to humor him, while he was in the kitchen, I called out, "So why don't
you get yourself a wrench and adjust these things yourself?"