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

sometimes but never leave the parking lot to go home. That's why nobody was
surprised that his car stayed there overnight. Sometimes he'd take a leave of
absence for a while, often up to a week every month, but nobody knows where. He
sure didn't use any family funds, or bank funds, either."
"Nice puzzle. Let me see what I can do."
I drove off then, feeling very lucky, but I was now paranoid about every pair of
headlights. Now, at least, I knew why we were worth the bucks. We'd trod the
well-worn trails with the feds knowing us and breathing hard on us while Little
Jimmy's big agency, probably an out-of-towner, poked and probed in anonymity.
Was it worth fifty gees -- maybe a hundred, the way Brandy was using that card -- to
somebody to do that? When this much was at stake, maybe it was.
Brandy was waiting at the diner, and I told her about the feds and what I'd
learned. Come to think of it, except for the picture, I'd learned more from
Kennedy than I had from Mrs. Whitlock. Brandy, however, had far more.
"He's pretty kinky and she knows it," she told me. "There's three closets up
there in the master bedroom. His, hers, and hers."
"Two wives? He keeps his mistress's clothing at his house?"
"Uh uh. The other hers is also a his. He's a transvestite. He likes dressing up
in women's clothing and pretending to be one. Minnie says there's an old album
"she found once in a closet that shows him in drag back from his teenage days.
She says he's better looking than his wife."
"Hmmm. . . . That explains a lot, including how he was able to vanish so
completely even in a panic, and maybe why his marriage is a name-only affair. So
he is a thrill seeker after all. Probably not gay, though. Few of them are."
"He might swing both ways. That's Minnie's feeling, anyway. But most of the
stuff at the house hasn't been touched in months, and the bulk of it was donated
to the Goodwill long ago."
It was beginning to come together. If he had photos, so did others, and somebody
on the wrong side, maybe even an old classmate from Harvard who was graduating
Magna Cosa Nostra, knew about it and filed it away. He had another place
somewhere, and that place was probably downtown. He had periods when he came to
work normally, yet didn't go home at night. He wouldn't want to risk going even
by taxi or public transportation, for fear of being recognized by some bank
employee or other and finally being traced. That meant walking distance.
"Sansom Street," we both said together. "Now, who do we know in that area?" I
added, trying to think.
Sansom was a tiny little street right downtown that was the focus for the local
gay community, but also had been a refuge for the social misfits from other
areas. It had those kinds of shops that sold incense and handmade leather goods,
and had others that sold bean curd by the pound. It was more picturesque and
quaint than raunchy, which is why it survived. The raunchy areas weren't far
away, but Sansom was safe. These blue bloods sure had more interesting lives
than the folks I hung out with.
The trouble was, while this narrowed down the area and gave us someplace to
look, it also vastly complicated matters. We didn't really know what he looked
like dressed as a woman, and Minnie had said that the album had vanished and was
never seen again after that one time. Hell, he could be wearing a wig in any
style, made-up, wearing a padded bra under a dress, high heels, and come right
up to us and ask us to buy him a drink. Worse, he'd walk right past the feds at
the airport or train station, laughing all the way out, carrying the money in