"Chalker, Jack L - G.O.D. Inc 1 - Labyrinth of Dreams" - читать интересную книгу автора (Chalker Jack L)

for this and you still put those lives over your own." The booze was getting to
me a little, and I was bolder than usual. "Maybe it's because in that outfit
you're the cutest, sexiest black bombshell I ever seen."
Well, you can figure the rest. We went back to her place, and went at it all
through the night. I had to. She pointed out that her conscience wouldn't allow
her to throw any white man out in that neighborhood at that hour.
Even though the case was wrapped, I only lived and worked an hour or less away,
and we kept seeing each other. It was amazing how well we meshed, considering
just how different our backgrounds had been. Oh, sure, she loved to dance and I
couldn't dance a step, but that was minor. She liked the Phillies and hated
basketball, same as me. Neither of us could ever get worked up over which dumb
millionaires with glandular conditions could put a ball in a basket without
jumping. My taste for jazz was matched by her fondness for blues music. We both
liked spicy ethnic foods and neither of us could get excited over a fried
chicken. We even liked the same kind of books -- murder mysteries and detective
novels, I admit, both old and new, where detectives did the kinds of things real
detectives only dream about.
The truth was, I couldn't think of much but her when I wasn't with her, and she
was getting the same way about me, as it turned out. She couldn't move in with
me, though, because she couldn't be a long-distance call from her office and her
contacts and stay in business at all, so we found an old but serviceable
one-bedroom apartment in the old suburbs of Camden and moved in together; but my
hours plus the commute and her erratic schedule didn't leave us much time
together. I tried to get her to quit, since with her overhead, small as it was,
she wasn't bringing in much money anyway, take the high school equivalency exam,
and maybe go to college, but she would have none of that. And that's how I wound
up quitting the Bristol police and becoming a full partner, such as it was, in
Spade & Marlowe.
We got married shortly after that in the courthouse, and honeymooned as fancy as
we -could afford -- Atlantic City. The moment they discovered that I'd married a
shvartse, my old friends always had something else to do and never called. Her
few friends weren't much different, particularly the men. Uncle Max never
returned another phone call. Even the Associated Jewish Charities stopped
sending form letters asking me to contribute. She also took my last name;
something that pleased my ego, although it wasn't anything I was hung up about
or even expected. She just loved the idea of somebody who looked like her being
Brandy Horowitz.
We did get some new friends, though. Every time we came across another
salt-and-pepper couple there seemed a kind of instant bond, although the nature
of the bond was never mentioned. The fact is, though, that in the five years
we've been married I've never been unfaithful to her and never really wanted
anybody else. We were like two kids and we didn't give a damn. Even the looks
don't bother me anymore. Knowing just how hand-to-mouth life would be, and how
insecure it would be, I'd still do it all over again with no regrets.
The funny thing is, after I came on with the agency, business picked up. Not
great; maybe we cleared fourteen grand a year the best year after expenses, but
it picked up. I don't know what it is, but poor black people want a white when
they have trouble with the authorities. I guess it's just because the system is
run by whites and they figure (wrongly) that a white guy can talk their language
and cut through the bullshit, but it picked up. The usual stuff of real P.I.