"George O. Smith - Stop Look and Dig" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith George O)

out. Sirens howled in the distance and from above I could hear the thin wail of a jetcopter. Someone
opened a window and called: "What's going on out there? Cut it out!"

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"Tea party," I called back. "Go invite the cops, Tommy."

The window slammed down again. He didn't have to invite the law. It arrived in three ground cruisers and
two jetcopter emergency squads that came closing in like a collapsing balloon.

The leader of the squadron was a Lieutenant Williamson whom I'd never met before. But he knew all
about me before the 'copter hit the ground. I could almost feel his sense of perception frisking me from
the skin outward, going through my wallet and inspecting the Private Operator's license and my
Weapon-Permit. I found out later that Williamson was a Rhine Scholar with a Bachelor's Degree in
Perception, which put him head and shoulders over me. He came to the point at once.

"Any ideas about this, Hammond?"

I shook my head. "Nope," I replied. He looked at one of his men.

The other man nodded. "He's levelling," he said.

"Now look, Hammond," said the lieutenant pointedly, "You're clean and we know it. But hot papas don't
go out for fun. Why was he trying to burn you?"

"I wouldn't know. I'm as blank as any perceptive when it comes to reading minds. I was hoping to collect
him whole enough to ask questions, but he forced my hand." I looked to where some of the clean-up
squad were tucking the corpse into a basket. "It was one of the few times I'd have happily swapped my
perception for the ability to read a mind."

The lieutenant nodded unhappily. "Mind telling me why you were wandering around in this
neighborhood? You don't belong here, you know."

"I was doing the job that most private eyes do. I was tailing a gent who was playing games off the
reservation."

"You've gone into this guy's wallet, of course?"

I nodded. "Sure. He was Peter Rambaugh, age thirty, and----"

"Don't bother. I know the rest. I can add only one item that you may not know. Rampaugh was a paid
hotboy, suspected of playing with Scarmann's mob."

"I've had no dealings with Scarmann, Lieutenant."


The Lieutenant nodded absently. It seemed to be a habit with him, probably to cover up his
thinking-time. Finally he said, "Hammond, you're clean. As soon as I identified you I took a dig of your
folder at headquarters. You're a bit rough and fast on that prehistoric cannon of yours, but----"