"Best, Mark - Ceiling" - читать интересную книгу автора (Best Mark)

desk.
“What’s with Erica today? They start charging for coffee in the break room?”
Hoffman looked up from the stack of papers on her desk. “I was hoping you
wouldn’t have your usual cavalier attitude about this, Mike, but I can see I
was wrong.”
“Wrong about what? What are you talking about?”
Caroline tossed me the copy she was holding. “This will be running on page one
today. Care to read it?”
I picked the paper off of her desk and started reading. The byline was by Max
Antonucci, the Beacon’s sports editor, and the headline stated that Ivan
Lermatov, the Penguin’s superstar, was out of tonight’s Stanley Cup playoff
game. I am a diehard Pirate fan and haven’t missed a Steeler home game since
college, but I never shared my fellow Pittsburghites fascination with hockey.
In the past, they were lucky to get 500 people at a game. After a few good
years everyone jumped on the bandwagon. I had remained disinterested, and
wouldn’t even know how the Pens were doing if every single person in the
office didn’t loudly recall every minute of every game the next day.
I read the piece, slightly disgusted. The player had hurt himself in a drunken
brawl in a bar the previous night. My mind began listing all the athletes who
thought the ability to hit a home run or score a touchdown gave them the right
to flaunt society’s codes of conduct. But as I continued reading, I
temporarily lost the capacity for thought and let the words roll across my
brain like cold, numbing water.
“Beacon reporter Michael Masterson,” I read aloud, “reportedly insulted
Lermatov while both were in Radovic’s Tavern in Verona. According to
witnesses, when the hockey star’s entourage rose to leave, Masterson attacked
Lermatov. Before several patrons had managed to pull him off, Masterson had
inflicted a broken nose and a dislocated shoulder on the Penguin center.” I
laid the sheet down on the table. “What kind of joke is this?”
“That’s what I was going to ask you. I know you hate hockey, but now you’ve
got the whole city pissed at you.”
“Pissed at me?” I said. “I didn’t do anything. I’ve never met Lermatov, much
less fought with him.”
“Mike, there are several witnesses, including the bar owner, who tell the same
story. And you told me yesterday you were going to Radovic’s for your Russian
investigation.”
“Come on, C.H., you’ve known me for a long time. Does that really sound like
me?”
“No, Mike, it doesn’t. That is why we are talking instead of discussing a
suspension. Tell me your side. What happened?”
I started to tell Caroline about the previous night when I had to stop. I
remembered being at Radovic’s, and I remember Konstantine pointing out
Lermatov and a few other Penguins. And I remembered the vodka and I remembered
waking up in my bed. “I don’t know,” I said.
“You don’t know what?”
“I don’t know what happened. I mean, I know I didn’t get into a fight, but I
can’t remember anything after a certain point last night.”
“Great. Are you telling me you got drunk and blacked out?”
“No,” I said, my thoughts suddenly arranged with great clarity. “I’m telling
you I was set up.”