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

mail delivery and electronic funds transfers it doesn't really matter. The
trouble is, we don't know if this is anything or not. It might just be that
Whitlock met with a guy the day he came over here, and lost this."
"That's probably it," she agreed, "but at least we have a name. Wonder what a
check of the airlines for the past two days might show?"
The funny thing about that was that it was so simple to do. Guys like Whitlock
have secretaries and agencies to make their plans, and they tend to have
corporate deals that keep them to just a couple of airlines. Even if he was
sneaking off, I had a hunch he'd still fly his favorite, and I knew from his
abortive Sunday tickets west what airline he favored. His idea of a real fooler
might be to fly coach, but I was even wrong there. Curry, Mr. and Mrs., first
initials M. and A., were flying strictly first class.
"Still San Francisco," I noted. "Why?"
"Simple. You can get real lost in a city like that, and they would have
connections with the underground set through their friends here. When did they
leave?"
"They landed two hours ago," I told her. "Might as well be two days or two
weeks."
Brandy thought for a moment. "Want to play a wild hunch? Maybe an expensive
one?"
"What do you have in mind?"
"Well, I was just wonderin' how you get from San Francisco to a little burg like
McInerney, Oregon, strictly first class."
"You know the odds of there being any connection between that business card and
what's happening now?"
She stared at me with those big brown eyes. "I know what the odds are unless
there is a connection. You wanna call Little Jimmy and turn the rest back in, or
do you wanna see San Francisco, maybe a little of Oregon, too, all on him?"
I had to admit that she had a real point there. "All right; then, we'll spend a
little time here this evening seeing if we can get some descriptions of them and
some impressions, then we'll fly off after them tomorrow if we can figure a way
to do it quiet."
"You gonna call Little Jimmy and the feds?"
"Yeah. Little Jimmy I'm gonna call from a phone booth in a few minutes with the
whole thing. The feds I'll call a little later. We'll give 'em the apartment and
that's it. I think we'll keep this charge slip and business card for ourselves."
She thought a moment. "You got to figure the feds have been doggin' our trail
all along, maybe Little Jimmy, too. How we gonna explain San Francisco if you
don't give 'em the name? Or stop 'em from keepin' on following us?"
"I been thinking about that. We'll have to come up with something, and fast."
I saw that evil smile on her face. "Maybe we just gotta take a leaf from old
Marty Whitlock."
"Forget it," I told her. "I'm not shaving my legs and I'm not wearing any
dress."
There weren't many people to canvass by the time we left, but we found a few.
They knew little about the occupant -- singular -- of that apartment, but they knew
what she looked like. Real butch, right down to the haircut, usually dressed
real mannish, too. Kept to herself, had a few visitors and no close friends, and
was away a lot. One couple thought she was a guy, although they'd never talked
to her or seen her close-up. It was more of the same androgynous pattern, only