"Mary Rosenblum - Search Engine" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rosenblum Mary)

"You following me?" Aman loaded his groceries into a plastic bag. "Or is this a genuine coincidence?"

"I live about a block from your apartment." Jimi shrugged. "I always shop here." He hefted his own
plastic bag. "Buy you a drink?"

"Sure," Aman said, to atone for not bothering to know where the newbie lived. They sat down at one of
the sidewalk tables next to the grocery, an island of stillness in the flowing river of humanity.

"The usual?" the table asked politely. They both said yes, and Aman wondered what Jimi's usual was.
And realized Jimi was already drunk. His eyes glittered and a thin film of sweat gleamed on his face.
Not usual behavior. He'd looked over the intoxicant profiles himself when they were considering
applicants. Aman sat back as a petite woman set a glass of stout in front of him and a mango margarita in
front of Jimi. Aman sipped creamy foam and bitter beer, watched Jimi down a third of his drink in one
long swallow. "What's troubling you?"
"You profile all the time?" Jimi set the glass down a little too hard. Orange slurry sloshed over the side,
crystals of salt sliding down the curved bowl of the oversized glass. "Does it ever get to you?"

"Does what get to me?"

"That suit owned you." Jimi stared at him. "That's what you told me."

"They just think they do." Aman kept his expression neutral as he sipped more beer. "Think of it as a
trade."

"They're gonna crucify that guy, right? Or whack him. No fuss, no muss."

"The government doesn't assassinate people," Aman said mildly.

"Like hell. Not in public, that's for sure."

Well, the indication had been there in Jimi's profile. He had been reading the fringe e-zines for a long
time, and had belonged to a couple of political action groups that were on the "yellow" list from the
government… not quite in the red zone, but close. But the best profilers came from the fringe. You
learned early to evaluate people well, when you had to worry about betrayal.

"I guess I just thought I was working for the good guys, you know? Some asshole crook, a bad dealer,
maybe the jerks who dump their kids on the public. But this…" He emptied his glass. "Another." He
banged the glass down on the table.

You have exceeded the legal limit for operating machinery, the table informed him in a sweet,
motherly voice. I will call you a cab if you wish. Just let me know. A moment later, the server set his
fresh margarita down in front of him and whisked away his empty.

"Privacy, what a joke." Jimi stared at his drink, words slurring just a bit. "I bet there's a record of my
dumps in some data-base or other."

"Maybe how many times you flush."

"Ha-ha." Jimi looked at him blearily, the booze hitting him hard and fast now. "When d'you stop asking