"Mack Reynolds - Day After Tomorrow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reynolds Mack)

The phone rang and Steve flicked the switch and said, "Yeah? Steven
Hackett speaking."

He listened for a moment then banged the phone off and jumped to his
feet. "Come on, Larry," he snapped. "This is it." He fished down into a desk
drawer, came up with a gyro-jet pistol, which he flicked expertly into a
shoulder holster rig beneath his left arm.

Larry stood too. "What was that?"

"Fredrick, over at La Calvados. The girl has come in for lunch. Let's go!"

Larry followed him, saying mildly, "If it's just a teenage kid, why the
shooter?'

Steve looked back at him, over his shoulder. "How do we know this
crackpot kid didn't spend one of her fifties for a nice little pearl handled
root-a-toot-tooter? A teenager can put just as big a hole in you as anybody
else. Besides, maybe she's just a front for some guy who is in the
background, letting her do the dirty work."




IV


La Calvados was the swankest French restaurant in Greater
Washington, a city not devoid of swank restaurants. It duplicated the
decor of Maxim's in Paris, and was very red carpeted and plush indeed.
Only the upper echelons in government circles could afford its tariffs, the
clientele was more apt to consist of business mucky-mucks and lobbyists
on the make. Larry Woolford had eaten here exactly twice. You could get a
reputation spending money far beyond your obvious pay status.

Fredrick, the maitre d' hotel, however, was able to greet them both by
name. "Monsieur Hackett, Monsieur Woolford," he bowed. He obviously
didn't approve of La Calvados being used as a hangout where
counterfeiters were picked up by the authorities.

"Where is she?" Steve said, looking out over the public dining room.

Fredrick said, unprofessionally agitated, "See here, Monsieur Hackett,
you didn't expect to, ah, arrest the young lady here during our luncheon
hour?"

Steve looked at him impatiently. "We don't exactly beat them over the
head with blackjacks, slip the bracelets on and drag them screaming to
the paddy-wagon."