"Big U, The" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stephenson Neal)

enthesis of his thumbnails. "In your case we have E12S, giving
tower, floor and wing, and then 49, your actual room number."
Sarah did not know whether to scream, apologize or drop dead.
She shoved her forms into her knapsack and stood. "Thank you for
your trouble, Mrs. Santucci," she said quickly. "Thank you," she
said to Casimir, then snapped around and headed for the door,
though not fast enough to escape a withering harrrumph from Mrs.
Santucci. But as she stepped into the hallway, which in order to hold
down utility costs was dimly lit, she saw a dark and ragged figure
out of the corner of her eye. She looked behind to see Bert Nix grab
the doorframe and swing around until he was leaning into the office.
"Listen, Genevieve," he said, "she doesn't need any of your
phlegm! She's President! She's my friend! You're just a doorstop!"
As much as Sarah wanted to hear the rest of this, she didn't have the
energy.
Casimir was left inside, his last view of Sarah interrupted by the
dangling figure of the loony, caught in a crossfire he wanted no part
of.
"I'll call the guards," said Mrs. Santucci, who for the first time
was showing uneasiness.
"Today?" Bert Nix found this a merry idea. "You think you can
get a guard today?"
"You'd better stop coming or we'll keep you from coming
back."
His eyes widened in mock, crimson-rimmed awe, "Ooh," he
sighed, "that were terrible. I'd have no reason to live." He pulled
himself erect, walked in and climbed from the arm of Casimir's chair
to the broad slate sill of the window. As Mrs. Santucci watched with
more terror than seemed warranted, the derelict swung one window
open like a door, letting in a gust of polluted steam.
By the time he was leaning far outside and grinning down the
seventy-foot drop to the Parkway and the interchange. she had
resolved to try diplomacy—though she motioned that Casimir should
try to grab his legs. Casimir ignored this; it was obvious that the man
was just trying to scare her. Casimir was from Chicago and found
that these Easterners had no sense of humor.
"Now, Pert," said Mrs. Santucci, "don't give an old lady a hard
time."
Bert Nix dropped back to the sill. "Hard timet What do you
know about hard times?" He thrust his hand through a hole in his
jacket, wiggling his long fingers at her, and wagging his out-of-
control tongue for a few seconds. Finally he added, "Hard times
make you strong."
"I've got work to do, Pert."
This seemed to remind him of something. He closed the window
and cascaded to the floor. "So do I," he said, then turned to Casimir
and whispered, "That's the Julian Didlus III Memorial Window.
That's what I call it, anyway. Like the view?"
"Yeah, it's nice," said Casimir, hoping that this would not
become a conversation.