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

why? Huh? Or did you ever ask?"

"Come on." Aman stood up. "I'll walk you home. You're going to fall down."

"I'm not that drunk," Jimi said, but he stood up. Aman caught him as he swayed. "Guess I am." Jimi
laughed loudly enough to make heads turn. "Guess I should get used to it, huh? Like you."

"Let's go." Aman moved him, not all that gently. "Tell me where we're going."
"We?"

"Just give me your damn address."

Jimi recited the number, sulky and childlike again, stumbling and lurching in spite of Aman's steadying
arm. It was one of the cheap and trendy loft towers that had sprouted as the neighborhood got popular.
Jimi was only on the sixth floor, not high enough for a pricey view. Not on his salary. The door unlocked
and lights glowed as the unit scanned Jimi's chip and let them in. Music came on, a retro-punk nostalgia
band that Aman recognized. A cat padded over and eyed them greenly, itsgolden fur just a bit ratty. It
was real, Aman realized with a start. Jimi had paid a hefty fee to keep a flesh-and-blood animal in the
unit.

"I got to throw up," Jimi mumbled, his eyes wide. They made it to the tiny bathroom… barely.
Afterward, Aman put him to bed on the pull-out couch that served as bed in the single loft room. Jimi
passed out as soon as he hit the pillow. Aman left a wastebasket beside the couch and a big glass of
water with a couple of old-fashioned aspirin on the low table beside it. The cat stalked him, glaring
accusingly, so he rummaged in the cupboards of the tiny kitchenette, found cat food pouches, and
emptied one onto a plate. Set it on the floor. The cat stalked over, its tail in the air.

It would be in the database, that Jimi owned a cat. And tonight's bender would be added to his intoxicant
profile, the purchase of the margaritas tallied neatly, flagged because this wasn't usual behavior. If his
productivity started to fall off, Raul would look at that profile first. He'd find tonight's drunk.

"Hey."

Aman paused at the door, looked back. Jimi had pushed himself up on one elbow, eyes blurry with
booze.

"Thanks… fr feeding him. I'm not… a drunk. But you know that, right?"

"Yeah," Aman said. "I know that."

"I knew him. Today. Daren. We were friends. Kids together, y'know? Were you ever a kid? Suit's
gonna kill him. You c'd tell." Tears leaked from the comers of his eyes. "How come? You didn't even
ask. You didn't even ask me if I knew him."

Damn. He'd never even thought of looking for a connection there. "I'm sorry, Jimi," Aman said gently.
But Jimi had passed out again, head hanging over the edge of the sofa. Aman sighed and retraced his
steps, settling the kid on the cushions again. Bad break for the kid. He stared down at Jimi's unconscious
sprawl on the couch-bed. Why? Didn't matter. The suit wouldn't have told them the truth. But Jimi was
right. He should have asked. He thought about today's profile of the runner, that break where he had
changed what he ate, what he wore, what he spent his money on. You could see the break. What