"Robert F. Young - Hologirl" - читать интересную книгу автора (Young Robert F)

Pinched between them on the narrow front seat, I watched the streets and avenues unwind beneath
the greenery of maples, sycamores, lindens and box elders. Ideal city smothered with green boughs. The
park closed around us: songbirds sang; robins hopped on dappled swards; lovers held hands on benches
growing out of trees. Morning is when I am awake and there is a dawn in me.
When he was winiest, my father used to look out into the back yard and say that, even when it was
night.
The taller of my two escorts parked the Sparrow opposite an oak-tree bench, and the three of us got
out and sat down, me in the middle. "Ms. Rinehardt," said the shorter, "we've got your number."
"You've been watching too many antique movies on 3V," I told him.
"Button your lip, sister," said the taller.
Another antique-movie buff. "What's the rap?" I asked.
"No rap, sweetstuff. Just a warning. The IRS is already onto Kurilman and we don't want outsiders
poking around. One of Idealia's concerned citizens — a very prominent one — put us wise to the
white-slavery racket Talent Associates's a front for, and we're almost ready to close in on our man."
"Unreported income, huh?"
"You bet, unreported income! Oh, are we going to get him! Aren't we, Bernie?"
"You bet, Sam!"
I didn't have to go on sitting there. I knew it and they knew it. I stood up. "Sure you're going to get
him," I said. "You're going to get him the way your IRS forefathers got Al Capone. You're going to get
him for not leaving a tip for the waitress and let him get away without paying for his pasta. And afterward
you're going to go around bragging about it."
With that, I walked over to the curb and flagged down a passing electricab. "We'll audit you!" Sam
screamed as I climbed in.
I slammed the door. "Go ahead and audit!" I hollered out the window.

HOUSEWIFE SEES DOPPELGANGER; Claims she saw set exiting from local hotel. Mri.
Ralph Comminger this morning told the Roving Update Reporter that while she was driving by the
Halcyon Hotel — "an establishment of low repute I wouldn't dream of patronizing" — she saw herself
coming out of it. Etc.

CALL GIRL ARRESTED FOR OPERATING WITHOUT A LICENSE VANISHES FROM
JAIL CELL; Leaves dress, undies and shoes behind; believed to be walking the streets naked. Police,
acting on a phone call from a concerned citizen, early this morning arrested an unlicensed call girl, who
carried no identification, as she was leaving the room of a client at the Tryst Inn. Upon confiscating an
envelope concealed on her person, they discovered it contained three $100- and two $50-bills. Etc.

ALLEGED CALL GIRL TURNS OVER NEW LEAF: REFUSES FURTHER RELATIONS
WITH CASH CUSTOMER; Claims to be respectable housewife. James P. Rowe, arrested last night
for assaulting Marianna Mori, insists she is the call girl to whom he paid $400 three nights ago for
services rendered at the Amour Arms. Etc.

I didn't bother scanning the rest of the Idealia Update back-issues the morgue selectacron had
deposited in the carrel. Except for a missing paragraph, I already had the whole story. The time had
come for me to earn my $700.
Since I couldn't do so till night, I decided to knock off for the afternoon.
It came as no great surprise to me when I entered my apartment to find Goldilocks and the Three
Bears awaiting me in my living room (printlocks, for all their vaunted infallibility, pose no problem for
pros). Goldilocks was sitting on one of my love seats; opposite him on the other, squeezed tightly
together, sat the Three Bears.
"Anybody for a can of beer?" I asked.