"Robert Reed - Treasure Buried" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reed Robert)

“But you almost did it.” A woman’s voice. A girl’s. Nobody Wallace knew, and he
turned his head before shyness could engage, the girl watching Mekal with a mixture
of concern and wariness. “Maybe you should warm up,” she continued. Then she
added, “Dear?” with a quieter voice.

Mekal came out of the spell, finding his old resolve. He snorted and said,
“Yeah, right.” His glove . . . where was it? Then he said, “Wallace? Tell you what,
since you’re here and all, why don’t you chart Marketing’s hits? All right? Which
field and how far, that sort of data. Give us an edge next time.

Will you do that for me, pal?”

“I’ll try. Sure.”

“Try?” Mekal laughed and shook his head. “Do!”

“Good luck,” offered the girl; and again Wallace looked at her, her pretty face
a little too round for the current fashion, her long blonde-white hair worn simply,
blue-white eyes radiant, both hands reaching through the chain-link and their
smoothness implying true youth, one finger adorned with a diamond-heavy ring a
gold band nestled beside it. She said, “Darling — ?”


“You’d better get back in the stands,” Mekal told her. “It’s all right. I’m fine.
Fine.”

She nodded, tried a smile and then tried to say, “Just do,” with her husband’s
intensity. That was Mekal’s rallying cry in R&D. “Just do.” Except it didn’t have the
impact, coming from her mouth. A couple other R&D players smiled at the sound of
her voice, and Mekal made the dramatic walk to the pitcher’s mound. As much as
Marketing, the R&D players were glad that the long fly ball had been caught.
Wallace could sense it, smell it. Because if Mekal won this game single-handedly,
they knew he wouldn’t be bearable for at least a week. He’d prance and grin, making
life miserable in the labs, which is why some of them giggled now, taking their
warm-up throws out of the dirt and joking about the oncoming rout.

Wallace himself didn’t dislike Mekal. Not really. He assumed some kind of
insecurity fueling the man, some partly hidden weakness or flaw, and with that in
mind Mekal was bearable. Sometimes amusing. Even friendly, given the right
circumstances. But then again, Wallace was a legend for his easygoing attitudes. His
ego genes were deleted, making room for more important talents. A different kind of
fuel driving him. . . .
 And now Mekal’s wife retreated, Wallace studying her bare legs — a little
thick but firm — and the way she carried herself, not with submissiveness but with
an enduring patience, allowing a couple screaming children to play chase around her
legs and then stopping to help some grandmother off the wooden bleachers. Mrs.
Mekal; a strange concept. But then Wallace was always surprised by people’s
private lives . . . and now the girl took a seat up high, near the center, her gaze steady
and honest and her applause genuine whenever R&D managed to make an out
against the juggernaut from Marketing.