"Mack Reynolds - Romp" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reynolds Mack)

Rosy fumbled through the report sheets which Zogbaum had brought with him. He kept his voice
even. "You finished with this one of Dave Shriner?" he said to Mary Zogbaum. Zogbaum looked up
impatiently. "Shriner, Shriner? I don't remember them by name."
Rosy said, "Code 22D-11411-88M."
"Oh, that one. Yes," Zogbaum muttered. "All finished. Don't bother me now. I've got a dozen to go."
"O.K.," Rosy said. Unobtrusively, he put the report sheet in his pocket and left the room.
He walked softly by Pop Rasch and made his way back into the corridor. He set off at a pace for the
far side of the great building, making his way by instinct and quick animal reasoning rather than by
knowledge of this part of the establishment.
Up one corridor and down another.
It was a matter of ditching the other two. Pop Rasch was too old to move fast enough and Zogbaum
was too jittery in the dill to trust. The situation had pickled now and it was each man for himself.
He came finally to a window that opened on a dark alley-like entryway. He peered through it. Could
see nothing.
He flicked the window's simple lock and drew it aside. He threw a leg over the sill and dropped to
the ground below.
A voice chuckled and said, "Got you, you funker!" Rosy Porras felt arms go around his body.
He dropped suddenly, letting his legs go from under him so that the full weight of his husky body was
on the other's arms. He fell on through, his buttocks hitting the ground. Without aim, he threw a
pile-driving punch upward and struck low into the other's stomach.
The voice that had chuckled but a moment ago, gave out with a deep groan of anguish. Rosy rolled
quickly, came to his feet and lashed out at the other with both hands. It was too dark to strike accurately,
but he could tell the other had crumpled. The gun was in his hand again and he peered down,
indecisively. He had no time to make sure of the other. He spun quickly and ran for the entryway's head.
He paused a moment there and looked out. The way seemed clear. This part of the Administration
Building opened onto the back of extensive offices, devoted to lower echelon workers. He holstered the
gun.

Rosy Porras walked rapidly, but kept himself from a run. It was a matter now of relying on the good
fortune his name promised. It was a matter of getting a hovercab before things exploded behind him.
But even as he hurried toward a more traffic ridden street, his mind was checking back, reevaluating.
Whatever had gone wrong, shouldn't have. It was all but impossible. Neither Zogbaum, nor certainly Pop
Rasch would have purposely betrayed them. Not any way that he could figure it.
He went back over the day. There had been nothing untoward until the appearance of the DS man,
Willard Rhuling. Could he have said anything to Rhuling that had given the other a clue? No. Was there
any way in which Rhuling could have tailed him? No. He had taken every precaution and then, after he
had met the others, they had once again made sure they were not being followed.
He reached an entertainment area, hurried to a cab park. He began to dial the coordinates of his
apartment, but then brought himself up sharp. He dialed the address of a hotel nearby instead.
He leaned back in the hovercab and forced his mind along the path of the past few days. No, there
was nothing until Rhuling had shown up. His lips thinned in a grimace of rage. The cool, efficient
effrontery of the DS snooper. The way he'd calmly entered the Porras apartment and then had the nerve
to run his hands over Rosy's body checking for a gun. The frisking!
That was it! Rosy Porras quickly ran his hands through his pockets, the pockets Willard Rhuling had
touched. He found it nestled down beneath a key ring and a cigarette lighter. A tiny device, no bigger
than a shirt button.
Rosy stared at it and snarled. He threw it out into the street. A subminiature direction transmitter!
Rhuling had planted it on him back there in the apartment and the DS operatives then had been able to
tail him at their leisure. A trick as simple as that. Pop Rasch would have laughed him to scorn.
They probably had Pop by now, and Mary Zogbaum, too. And here he was on the run, simply