"Dan Simmons - Vanni Fucci is Well and Living in Hell" - читать интересную книгу автора (Simmons Dan)

time.
The thin man in the dark suit unhurriedly cleared his throat. "The IRS continues to
make threatening noises but they don't have a leg to stand on. Since all of the
ministry affiliates are under the Born Again Ministries exemption, you don't have to
file a thing. The Huntsville papers have reported that your daughter's house has been
assessed at one million five and they know that it and your son's ranch were built
with a three million dollar loan from the ministry, but they're just guessing when it
comes to salaries. Even if they found out ... which they won't ... your official annual
salary from the Board comes to only $92,300, a third of which you tithe back to the
ministry. Of course, your wife, daughter, son-in-law, and seven other family
members receive considerably more liberal incomes from the ministry but I don't
think..."
"Thank you, George," interrupted Brother Freddy. He stood, stretched, and walked
to the color monitor attached to the computer terminal on his desk. "Sister Betty Jo,
you said there were several thousand requests for the Personal Intercession
Prayer?"
"Yes, Brother," said the woman in white, laying her small hand on the console next
to her chair.
Brother Freddy smiled at George Cohen. "I told these folks I'd personally pray over
their letters if they'd send in a love offering," he said. "Might as well do it now. I've
got thirty seconds before Brother Beau goes into his intro. Betty Jo?"
The woman tapped a button and smiled as the list of thousands of names flashed by
on the color monitor. After each name was a code relating to the category of
problem for which intercession was requested according to the checklist provided
on the Love Offering form: H-health, MP-marital problems, $-money problems,
SG-spiritual guidance, FS-forgiveness of sins, and so on. There were twenty-seven
categories. Any one of Brother Freddy's two hundred mail room operators could
code more than four hundred intercession requests a day while simultaneously
sorting the letter contents into stacks of cash and checks while cueing computers to
provide the appropriate reply letter.
"Dear Lord," intoned Brother Freddy, "please hear our prayers for the receipt of
Thy mercy for these requests which are made in Jesus's name..." The list of names
and codes flashed past in a blur until the suddenly blank screen held only a flashing
cursor. "Amen."
Brother Freddy turned on his heel and led the suddenly scurrying-to-keep-up retinue
on the thirty yard walk to the Hallelujah Breakfast Club studio just as the program's
opening graphics and triumphant music filled the sixty-two monitors in the Broadcast
Headquarters' corridors, offices, and board rooms.


Brother Freddy knew there was a problem eighteen minutes into the program when
he introduced Dale Evans only to watch a tall, dark-skinned man with long, black
hair walk onto the set. Brother Freddy knew at once that the man was a foreigner; the
stranger's long hair was curled in ringlets which fell to his shoulders, he wore an
expensive three-piece suit which looked to be made of silk, his immaculately
polished shoes were of soft Italian leather, his starched collar and cuffs dazzled with
their whiteness, and gold cufflinks gleamed in the studio lights. Brother Freddy knew
that some mistake had been made; his born again guests—despite their personal
wealth—went in for polyester blends, pastel shirts, and South Car-olina haircuts if
for no other reason than to stay in touch with their video faithful.