"Wilson-Retired" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilson Robin)

"Medicare covered it, hey?"

"No! I mean there was no charge. They done it for free, only asked me to, you
know, kinda pass the word."

This last was too much for Arnie. He took another long pull on his beer. "You
mean they want to do more -- uh -- operations?"

"What they said."

"Want you to find 'em more people need something taken out?"

"Guess so."

"And you're telling me all this. . . ?"

Pop drained his bottle, head thrown back, Adam's apple bobbing. Empty back on
the old galvanized sheet metal bar with a solid clunk. "Ah," he said. "Yeah. I'm
telling you most of all 'cause you aren't worth a cup fulla cold piss but you're
about the oldest and best friend I got and, basically, who else is gonna believe
something as fuckin' weird as this? And second I know you got that prostate
thing worries you and . . ." He paused to find an afterthought that would mask
emotion. ". . . hell, I promised those guys that were in, you know, in that
thing over the lake, that I'd find other customers for 'em."

Arnie was deeply touched by Pop's concern for him, but he would not show it. He
said, "Hah! Customers! You said customers! Somebody buyin' something from
somebody. So what's the deal? Whaddaya pay 'em in, some kinda Klingon goodies
outta that Star Trek show? They after -- ah --earthling nooky? You got some a
those girls from over at, like, Monique's Massage and Manicure out there in your
bass boat?"

"No," said Pop quietly. "Said all they wanted was to keep the parts. Whatever
they took out you didn't need anymore. Said they were . . . harvesting."

Patsy Cline fell to pieces on the Wurlitzer.

Late that afternoon, feeling foolish, half expecting a bunch of giggling people
from the club to show up on one of those party houseboats they rent at the
marina, Arnie sat waiting in the bow of Pop's battered boat as Pop, trolling
motor humming just enough to counter a gentle eddy, sat in the stern,
half-heartedly casting a plastic rattlin' lunger into the weeds along the bank.

"You know," Arnie said, "I wouldn't a done this except the guy at the
Elderclinic, that black doc, he told me it was probably gonna be surgery, and
odds on gettin' it up afterwards ain't all that hot."

"All you think of?" said Pop, trying to make light.

"Well I ain't ready to hang it up yet, Pop."