"David Eddings - Losers, The" - читать интересную книгу автора (Eddings David)

On his third day in Spokane it rained, cutting away the snow and filling the streets with dirty brown slush. It was when he checked his wallet before going to the dining room for supper that a rather cold realization came to him. It was expensive to be disabled. Since the disabled man could do very little for himself, he had to hire other people to do them for him. He skipped supper that night and sat instead with pad and pencil adding a few things up. The very first conclusion he reached was that although the Ridpath was very comfortable, staying there was eating up his funds at an alarming rate. A man of wealth might comfortably take up permanent residence at the Ridpath, but Raphael was far from being a millionaire: The several thousand dollars Uncle Harry had given him in Portland had seemed to be an enormous sum, but now he saw just how small it really was. "Time to pull in the old horns," he said wryly. "I think we'd better make some other arrangements."

He took the phone book and made a list of a half dozen or so nearby hotels and apartment houses. The next morning he put on his coat and went downstairs to the cabstand at the front of the hotel.

The first hotel on his list was the St. Clair. It was totally unsuitable. Then the cab took him up Riverside to the Pedicord, which was even worse. The Pedicord Hotel was very large, and it looked as if it might at one time have had some pretensions about it. It had long since decayed, however. The lobby was filled with stained and broken couches, and each couch was filled. The men were old for the most part, and they smoked and spat and stared vacant-eyed at a flickering television set. There were crutches and metal-frame walkers everywhere. Each time one of the old men rose to go to the bathroom, a querulous squabble broke out among those who stood along the walls over who would get the vacant seat. The smell was unbelievable.

Raphael fled.

"Just what are you lookin' for, man?" the cabdriver asked when Raphael climbed, shaken, back into the cab again.

"A place to live."

"You sure as hell don't wanna move in to that dump."

"How can they live that way?" Raphael looked at the front of the Pedicord and shuddered.

"Winos," the driver replied. "All they want is a place that's cheap and gets 'em in outta the cold." He stopped and then turned and looked at Raphael. "Look. I could drive you all over this downtown area-run up a helluva fare-and you're not gonna find anyplace you'd wanna keep a pig in-not if you thought anything about the pig. You're gonna have to get out a ways-outta this sewer. I'm not supposed to do this, but I think I know a place that might be more what you're lookin' for. How much do you wanna pay?"

Raphael had decided what he could afford the previous night. He rather hesitantly named the figure.

"That sounds pretty close to the place I got in mind. You wanna try it?"

"Anything. Just get me away from here."

"Right." The driver started his motor again. They drove on back down Riverside. It was raining again, a misty, winter kind of rain that blurred the outlines of things. The windshield wiper clicked, and the two-way radio in the front seat crackled and hissed.

"You lose the leg in 'Nam?" the driver asked.

"No," Raphael replied. "I had a misunderstanding with a train." He was surprised to find that he could talk about it calmly.

"Ooog!" The driver shuddered. "That's messy. You're lucky you're still around at all. I saw a wreck like that out in the valley once. Took 'em two hours to pick the guy up. He was scattered half a mile down the tracks."

"How far is this place?"

"Not much farther. Lemme handle it when we get there, okay? I know the guy. You want a place where you can cook?"

"No. Not right away."

"That'll make it easier. There's a pretty good little restaurant just down the street. You'll wanna be on the main floor. The place don't have an elevator."

The cab pulled up in front of a brick building on a side street. The sign out front said, THE BARTON. WEEKLY-MONTHLY RATES. An elderly man in a well-pressed suit was coming out the front door.

"Sit tight," the driver said, climbed out of the cab, and went inside.

About ten minutes later he came back. "Okay," he said. "He's got a room. It's in the back, so there's no view at all, unless you like lookin' at alleys and garbage cans. He's askin' 'bout thirty-five a month more than what you wanted to pay, but the place is quiet, pretty clean, and like I said, there's that restaurant just down the street where they ain't gonna charge you no ten bucks for a hamburger. You wanna look at it?" '

"All right," Raphael said, and got out of the cab.

The room was not large, but it had a good bed and an armchair and a sturdy oak table with a few magazines on it. There was a sink and a mirror, and the bathroom was right next door. The walls were green-every rented room in the world is painted green-and the carpet was old but not too badly worn.