"Dickson, Gordon - Stranger Txt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dickson Gordon R)

A deep wave of rage erupted in Merlin. It rose, crested, and broke. But fury was useless. Church was out of reach—and he had always been just what he was. The way life was now, it had been up to Merlin to protect himself—and he had failed to do so. He remembered, in The Availables' slave market, how he had taken Church for an innocent. Not Church. He, himself, had been the innocent.

Fifty-six hours later, at midnight, he stumbled off the Greyhound bus at the Minneapolis terminal. He had enough money left for a week's crash space in one of the office buildings—but this late at night, he would be taking unreasonable chances. His roommates might be relatively honest, but any stranger was fair game for the pack. Better to take his chances on the streets than pay to lie awake all night with his eyes open.

He headed east toward the University area, where people would be on the streets all night. The time had been when someone like himself could ease his way into a party of students, go back with them to whatever apartment, room or warehouse they were headed to, and pick up free crash space by pretending to pass out in a corner. But those easy days were gone. The best to hope for was to stay on the streets without attracting the attention of the police.

But this night the University district was swarm- ing. He had the incredible luck to catch on with a student party that ended up down in the park along the Mississippi riverbank. Anyone but students would have been rousted out of there by the police. But they were left alone; and so he made it through until Monday, and was waiting first in line outside the door when the slave market opened at six o'clock that morning.

The clerk came up the street to the door, recognized him as a familiar face and grunted at him sleepily before unlocking the door and letting them all inside. He took his time, yawning as he set up for the day. Finally, he was ready, seated behind his computer screen and keys.

"Name?" he said ritually, not glancing up.

"Merlin. Merlin Swenson. Did a long-distance phone call come here for me? Now look," said Merlin, swiftly, "I know this isn't the sort of thing you do, but I can reimburse you for your trouble. Did a long distance call come in here for me. Thursday afternoon or Friday?"

"Maybe," said the clerk and looked sour. "It was collect. I had to pay two hundred and eighty to accept it for you."

"Two hundred and—"

"Look, man!" said the clerk loudly. "You want to stiff me on money I've already paid out for you, that's all right. I'll live. But don't come around here again asking me to put you on somebody's payroll. Deadbeats like you don't deserve jobs."

"All right!" said Merlin, low-voiced. "I'll pay! What's the messsage—and tell me privately or it's no deal!"

"You come into the office with me," said the clerk, still loudly.

He stood up from behind his desk and opened the half-door in the barricade that joined his desk to the wall on either side of it to create a small privacy space. Merlin walked in and followed him through a door in the back wall to a tiny office.

"Here you are," the clerk said. His tone was cheerful and friendly once the office door had been closed behind them. He pulled down a sheet of paper that was thumbtacked to a cork bulletin board. "I didn't understand a word of it, but I figured someone like you would be along asking for it. That'll be two hundred and eighty."

He kept his grip on the paper until Merlin had counted over the money. Then he held it out in his fingertips. Merlin snatched it.

"This is no message!" said Merlin. "It's only a telephone number!"

"You expected more?" The clerk was curious. "That's all they gave me."

"But now I've got to call them long distance!" said Merlin. "And you cleaned me out. I don't have any money left!"

"Call them collect," advised the clerk.

"I can't call collect to a detective agency," said Merlin, desperately. "And I've got to reach them. It's a West coast outfit that's been locating my wife, and they were to phone like this when they found her."

"Sure, you can call collect," said the clerk. "For another two hundred, I'll show you how."

"Don't you understand?" said Merlin desperately. "You cleaned me out. I'm broke! Do you think I'd be standing in line here if I had more than what I gave you already?"

"Oh, what the hell!" the clerk said. He left the table, sat down before the phone terminal at the desk, and punched buttons. The screen lit up with the face of a young man.

"Yes?" he said. "Who's calling collect, please?"

"Merlin Swenson. The Avaiiables," said the clerk.