"Murphy, Warren - [Destroyer 060] - The End of the Game" - читать интересную книгу автора (Destroyer)

The following month he sold the two cabs because the only way he wanted to deal with taxi drivers was from the back seat, giving them directions. That is, when his chauffeur was ill. Waldo had so much money from his growing Insta-Charge account, he moved from the Bronx to Park Avenue.

Millicent settled for a lump-sum divorce. She took the kids, and Waldo lived alone with closets full of clothes and new video games and television sets which he bought like he used to buy cigarettes. There had obviously been a computer error which was not going to be changed because only the computer knew. He didn't care whether the money was being taken out of someone else's account or out of some computer calculation somewhere or whatever. It was just there, some sort of grand welfare.

By year's end, it was no longer a gift or an error but his natural right. He found it very normal that every time he spent all the money in his account, it came back doubled and tripled.

And then it stopped growing. He almost phoned the bank to complain. The following month, it shrank. And then he got the first phone call.

It was a woman's voice, soft and massaging.

"We're so sorry that your funds have shrunk. Would you come in and pay us a visit?"

"My funds haven't shrunk. Everything is fine," he said. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. We just want to talk to you. Maybe you can use more money?"

"No, I'm fine," Waldo said. "Who is this?" His heart fell. They had found out. It was inevitable and now it had happened. Now they knew and Waldo Hammersmith was done for.

"Waldo," said the voice as beautiful as silver chimes. "Please don't play games. If there is one thing I hate, it is a person who plays games. Waldo, come in and we will get you some more money."

"Who are you?"

"Waldo, you have taken $1.47 million that is not yours."

"That much?" said Waldo. He could have sworn it was only a few hundred thousand but he had stopped counting. Why continue to count when you had all the money you wanted?

"That much, Waldo." The woman's voice was creamy smooth. Almost too smooth, Waldo thought. Almost mechanical.

"I didn't know it was that much," Waldo said. "I swear I didn't know it was that much."

The time had come to answer for the funds. The address the woman had given him was a bare office. The door was unlocked. Inside was one chair which faced a blank wall. It felt like a prison already.

"Hello, Waldo," came that beautiful voice. But she wasn't in the room.

"Stop looking for a loudspeaker, Waldo, and listen to me. You have had a good life recently, haven't you?"

"Not bad," Waldo said. It had been glorious. He felt his hands grow wet with sweat and wondered how long hacking would take to pay back the $1.47 million.

"It doesn't have to end, Waldo."

"Good. Good. It wasn't my fault. I didn't really know how big the overdraft was, you know. You go from fourteen hundred dollars to say a million and you sort of lose track. Kind of. Know what I mean? It gets away from you. For God's sake, have mercy on me. Please. I confess. I did it. Please."

Waldo was crying. He was on his knees.

"I'll do anything. Anything. I'll hack in Harlem. I'll pick up blacks on street corners at three A.M. Anything."

"Very good, Waldo," said the sinuous voice. "Although to be truthful, I wish you had shown some more resistance."

"Sure. I'll resist. What should I do? Don't send me to jail."