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

they were two different people, one male, one all female. I sometimes had the
idea he'd gotten the operation. Become a she, if you know what I mean, and that
the man part was the acting."
I exchanged glances with Brandy and knew that we were both thinking the same
thing. Suppose Joey Teasdale was right? It would explain a lot about why he and
his wife hadn't had a real marriage in a long time but might still care for one
another. It would also explain some of the long absences and why a guy like that
would need enough money to be into the mob. If so, there might be nothing short
of fingerprints that would nail him.
"You got any line on him?"
"Not immediate, but he never played around. Oh, he'd come into a place now and
then, but mostly he didn't stick around here. He had a regular thing with
somebody up in northeast Philly, I'm pretty sure. Only saw the guy once, when he
came down to Honey's to get some of her -- Whitlock's -- things and they wouldn't let
him in the door. I happened to be passing by and played kind of Sir Galahad; got
somebody who could go get what he wanted."
"What'd he look like?" Brandy asked.
"I dunno. Average height and build, I guess. The only thing I remember clearly
is he had long, flowing blond hair and a bushy blond walrus moustache and really
gorgeous blue eyes. Looked kind of like an overage drummer from some rock band.
Dressed that way, too. He was quite attractive, but it was kind of funny."
"Yes?"
"You sometimes get a sixth sense about these things. It can't be, of course, but
I'd swear he wasn't the least bit gay."
I nodded. "When was this?"
"Just day before yesterday. That's why I remember him."
That was about all we could get from Joey, but it was both valuable and
puzzling. Now we had at least one other player in Martin Whitlock's bizarre
double life, and that player was a total unknown.
Honey Rodriguez was the second and last name on our list, and was also the one
referred to by Joey Teasdale. This was strictly Brandy's to handle now, for the
same reason that our mysterious blond man couldn't get in to get Martin
Whitlock's things, although it was frustrating to me. They just didn't let men
in the Center City Lesbian Center and Coffee House without a warrant.
She was in there about forty minutes while I guzzled black coffee on the corner
across from the dump, wishing I'd taken up smoking again when the money came
back. Brandy had, unfortunately, which only made it worse. Neither of us needed
to smoke at all, and poverty had been a real good excuse to give it up, but deep
down it was the only reason we'd given it up. It's bad for you, and antisocial
these days to boot, but, damn it, we'd only ballooned out to our weights when we
quit, and while I might be healthier now I sure didn't feel any better. Maybe
not cigarettes, but in self-defense maybe an occasional cheap cigar or one of
those curved Sherlock Holmes-type pipes. On Little Jimmy's card, naturally.
She finally came out and gave me a smile and crossed over and we walked over to
a small cafe off Chestnut. "Well? Did she convert you?" I asked her.
Brandy laughed. "There were some mighty-good-lookin' broads in there, but when
you got down to it they all lacked an essential ingredient, and since it's the
only thing we keep you men around for anyway, why spoil it?"
"Got anything?"
"Some real interesting stuff, but it only gets crazier and crazier. This kind of