"Simon R. Green - Drinking Midnight Wine" - читать интересную книгу автора (Green Simon R)

Jimmy Thunder stood on the sloping tiled roof of the station's waiting room, leaning casually
against the disused chimney stack. There was a cold wind blowing, but he didn't feel it. He'd
chosen the roof for his stake-out because in his experience, people rarely look up, even when
they're expecting unwanted interest. And the shadows were so very deep and comforting
tonight, almost as if they knew something. Jimmy pricked up his ears as he caught the exact
moment the Reality Express dropped out of Mysterie and into Veritie, its awful cry of the
damned dopplering down into nothing more than the rush of escaping steam. The train would
be here soon, disgorging its cargo of the lost and the wretched, and then he would see what he
would see.
Jimmy Thunder was a great bull of a man, with long red hair and a jutting red beard. He
had a chest like a barrel, muscled arms the size of most men's thighs, and shoulders so broad
he often had to turn sideways to pass through doors. He had legs that could run for miles, and
feet that never complained, despite all the standing around his job entailed. He wore black
leathers adorned with brightly gleaming chains and studs, and looked every inch what every
biker wants to be when he grows up. His eyes were as blue as the sea, and twice as deadly,
though he had a charming smile, when he could be bothered. Descended, at many, many
removes, from the Norse god Thor, Jimmy was fast and strong and disturbingly powerful -
when he put his mind to it. Long-lived, though by no means immortal, he was a god by
chance and a private eye by choice. His godliness was diluted by a hell of a lot of generations
of mortals, but the power of storms, of thunderclap and lightning strike, was still his. Not
many people worshipped him any more, for which he was quietly grateful. He'd always found
it rather embarrassing.
Also his was the ancient mystical hammer Mjolnir, a (mostly) unstoppable force that
(sometimes) came back when he threw it. The hammer had once been Thor's, and in its day
had changed the fate of men and nations. It was his only material inheritance. It stirred in its
sleep in its holster, snoring quietly. Mjolnir was a good weapon, but it was getting old and
forgetful. Forged from stone or crystal or metal at the dawn of Time, or perhaps from some
starstuff that no longer existed in the material world, Mjolnir was not what it once was. It was
created to be immortal, a weapon that would endure till Ragnarok or Judgement Day; but
nothing lasts for ever. Ask Thor, if you can find his body.
Jimmy Thunder was the only private eye in Bradford-on-Avon, in reality or otherwise, and
he had a reputation for getting things done, whatever the cost. During his long life he'd
investigated many cases, both mundane and bizarre, and his unwavering pursuit of the truth
had seen to it that a lot of not very nice people had good reasons for wanting him dead. Just
as well he was a god, really. Even if he did have to chase after his hammer sometimes. He
poured the last of the hot sweet tea out of his Thermos and into the plastic cup, and sipped at
it carefully. It was still pleasantly warming, but not nearly bracing enough for the early hours
of a very cold morning, so he goosed it up a bit with a tiny lightning bolt from his index
finger. The wind had no damn business being so disturbingly cold this deep into summer, but
then the weather had been strange of late; whimsical, almost wilful. Jimmy was quietly
hoping someone would hire him to look into that.
Not that he was complaining about the cold, or the early hour of the morning. Jimmy liked
stake-outs, especially when there was a fair chance of a little hurly-burly in the offing.
Smiting the ungodly was right up there on his list of favourite things. He lived to the hilt the
role he had chosen, and the more he played it, the less like play it was. A god became a
private eye, and an old myth became a new. Jimmy believed in progress. It's always the
legends which cannot or will not change that wither and fade away. Faced with being just
another minor deity in a long line of godlings, with no fixed role or future in the modern
world, Jimmy had cheerfully embraced a different destiny. The first time he saw a private
investigator at the cinema,