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

"You got me in trouble, you son of a bitch!"

"Come on, Frankie, calm down. We're not going to get anywhere if all you're going to do is swear at me." He went over and sat down in his chair.

"Why didn't you tell me that you'd gone to work?"

"I didn't think it was particularly important. It's not much of a job."

"You're supposed to report any kind of a job. You've got a hole in your progress chart you could drive a truck through. You didn't even go to vocational rehab. What were you thinking of?"

"You didn't tell me the rules. How was I supposed to know?"

"You stupid, inconsiderate bastard!"

"If you feel like swearing, Frankie, you can probably handle it without having me around."

"Cabrone!"

"Spanish, too? You are gifted."

"We had Spick neighbors when I was a kid." She drew in a long, shuddering breath and seemed to get control of herself. "We have to fill out reports, Raphael," she told him, her dark eyes still flashing. "Am I going too fast for you?"

"Be nice."

She made a somewhat elaborate obscene gesture that involved both hands. "There's a procedure, Raphael. First we discuss various occupations and decide what sort of job's compatible with your disability. Then you go to vocational rehab to get the training you need to qualify you for the job. Then we set up the interviews for you. You didn't do any of that. Now I'm going to have to fake all kinds of reports. My supervisor thinks I'm incompetent."

"I'm sorry, Frankie. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you were too busy trying to talk dirty to me to see if you could embarrass me." She laughed derisively. "Fat chance. I'm what's known as a tough little broad. You couldn't embarrass me no matter what you said."

"What was all that puppy-dog stuff about then?"

"You use what you've got, Raphael. It makes other people feel superior, and then they go out of their way to help you. It makes my job easier. I thought I had you all tied up with a neat little bow, and then you turn around and stab me in the back. Now we've got to fix it."

"Why don't you start at the beginning, Frankie?"

"All right. You've been assigned a number."

"Who's idea was that?" His voice was cold.

"My supervisor's. She's queer for numbers. She even assigns numbers to the pencils on her desk. You can be sure it wasn't me. I know how you feel about us, so I thought I'd handle you sort of informally. Then Goodwill sent in their quarterly report, and guess who's name was right at the top of the list of new hires. My supervisor got all over my case for not reporting your progress. I told her that I hadn't had time to fill out all the reports."

"You lied," he accused.

"Of course I lied. I had to cover my ass."

"You're gonna burn in hell, Frankie."

"Whatever. How did you learn to repair shoes without any training?"