"Альфред Бестер. The Flowered Thundermug (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора"You have my assurance that it is for freedom and justice, the man on the street, the underdogs and the L.A. Way of Life. Of course, you can refuse this dangerous assignment, and it will not be held against you, but you are the one man in all Great L.A. who can carry it out." "Well," Professor Muni said, "seeing that I have nothing better to do than mistakenly sneer at a cancer cure today, I might as well accept." "I knew we could depend on you. You are the sort of little man that makes L.A. great. Boris, sing the national anthem." "Thank you, but I need no praise. I'm just doing what any loyal, red-blooded, one-hundred-percent Angelino would do." "Very good. I will pick you up at midnight. You will be wearing rough tweeds, a felt hat pulled down over your face and stout shoes. You will carry one hundred feet of mountaineering rope, prism binoculars and an ugly snub-nosed fission gun. Your code identity will be .369." pleasure of introducing you to X, Y and Z?" "Good evening, Professor Muni," the Italian-looking gentleman said. "I am Vittorio De Sica. This is Miss Garbo. That is Edward Everett Horton. Thank you, Peter. You may go." Mr. Lorre exited. Muni stared around. He was in a sumptuous penthouse apartment decorated entirely in white. Even the fire burning in the grate was, by some miracle of chemistry, composed entirely of milk-white flames. Mr. Horton was pacing nervously before the fire. Miss Garbo reclined languidly on a polar-bear skin, an ivory cigarette holder drooping from her hand. "Let me relieve you of that rope, professor," De Sica said. "And the customary binoculars and snub-nosed pistol, I presume? I'll take them too. Do make yourself comfortable. You must forgive our being in faultless evening dress; our cover identities, you understand. We operate the gambling hell downstairs. Actually we are-" "No!" Mr. Horton cried in alarm. "Unless we have full faith in Professor Muni and are |
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