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

"Jeez. You got no spirit of adventure, Ramsden."

"Right. Poverty ate it."

My next bank statement indicated a total balance of $8.73. He even emptied my
checking account.

However, a month later, a package with a lot of strapping tape around it arrived
with "Educational Material" stamped several times on the outside.

Inside, in crude bundles of well-used twenties, fifties, and hundreds, I found
$915,920. First I was robbed, then I was rich. It took days to sink in. I kept
opening the box and studying the bills.

I, Derrik Ramsden, no longer had to look for angles. I could have a life just
like before I was disbarred. I was rich.

So I moved into a house with coherent wails, actual electrical wiring, and water
that came from faucets instead of a garden hose stuck through the kitchen
window. And I re-hired the one surviving junkie for my houseboy as soon as the
Honor Farm released him. His deceased partner, during a religious seizure, had
boiled a Bible to get the ink off the pages and had then mainlined the
distillate in order to get closer to God, which he did.

Cleetis worked furiously at whatever he did, his little crewcut blond halfwit
head devoid of the slightest thought, and he worked for practically nothing
except the revolting food he ate in tremendous quantities and the two-room
cottage he lived in behind the house.

Life was good. Life was wonderful.

I even had enough life in me to put a few lightweight moves on one Vera
Kamchatka, high-school nurse and part-time real estate agent who'd sold me the
house.

Then, one morning, there were three dead spots in the front lawn.

"Cleetis! You take a leak on the grass?"

"No boss! Nuh-uh. Not me. I'm a clean guy. I like white porcelain, boss."

"So what's the deal?"

True to form, Cleetis rushed to the front yard and on his hands and knees began
poking, smelling, and prodding the dead grass, the little brain in his blond
head popping along full speed on a cylinder and a half.

"Burn spot, boss! Done been burned." He stood up and wiped his hands on his
pants. "Wumme reseed it?" His little blue eyes jittered inside their sockets.