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

"Listen, lady, don't get so damned uppity. When you have to testify in open court, you'll have to answer these questions. Probably the jury'll want to see your knockers anyway, to see if there was any injury. So the guy grabbed you. Did you encourage him?"

"I most certainly did not."

"Did you grab him first?"

"I have heard about police embarrassing women over such things," she said coldly, "but this is ridiculous."

"Listen, I nailed this molester in the street. Are you going to charge him or not? What do you want, lady?"

There was silence in the large chrome-and-fluorescent computer center. Waldo heard someone in the back of the crowd ask what he had done.

"Tried to grab that young woman right out in front of everybody. Copped a feel."

"He sure picked the right one."

Pamela stood up at her desk, smoothed her skirt. Her blazing eyes bore into Waldo Hammersmith.

"Sir, if you leave of your own accord and promise not to return, I will not press charges," she said.

Waldo looked to the detective.

"Let's go," the detective said. He left the center with Waldo, but when Waldo tried to walk away, the detective strode with him down the street.

"Are you in trouble?" he asked. His voice was steady and concerned.

"No. I just tried to-- uh, do that thing," Waldo said.

"You don't look like the sort," the detective said.

"Thank you," said Waldo. He hung his head in shame.

"Somebody make you do it?"

"No, no. Gee, who would do that? I mean who would want me to do something so silly, right?"

The detective shrugged. He reached into his hip pocket and took out a card. "If you're in any trouble, you call me." The embossed card bore the detective's name. Detective Lieutenant Joseph Casey.

"I'm Joe Casey. You've got my home phone. You've got my department phone. If you need help, call."

"I'm all right, thank you."

"That's what everybody says when they're in over their heads," said Detective Lieutenant Joe Casey. He offered a warm hand. Waldo shook it.

He put the card inside his vest pocket and then, carefully at home, away from the vision of the new butler, he hid the card in a small ivory box. On his next Insta-Charge, he received another computer message. This time he was to appear at a different address.

It was another empty room in another vacant office in midtown Manhattan. This time, the voice in the room said:

"Goose Ms. Thrushwell."