"Zelazny, Roger - Amber 06 - Trumps Of Doom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zelazny Roger)

"No."
He shrugged again. The check came by and he picked it up.
"This one's on me," he said. "After all, I'm working."
"Thanks. Maybe I can get back at you for dinner. Where're you staying?"
"Wait." He reached into his shirt pocket, took out a matchbook, tossed it
to me. "There. New Line Motel," he said.
"Say I come by about six?"
"Okay."
He settled up and we parted on the street.
"See you," he said.
"Yeah."
Bye-bye, Luke Raynard. Strange man. We'd known each other for almost eight
years. Had some good times. Competed in a number of sports. Used to jog together
almost every day. We'd both been on the track team. Dated the same girls
sometimes. I wondered about him again--strong, smart, and as private a person as
myself. There was a bond between us, one that I didn't fully understand.
I walked back to my apartment's parking lot and checked under my car's hood
and frame before I tossed my pack inside and started the engine. I drove slowly,
looking at things that had been fresh and new eight years before, saying
good-bye to them now. During the past week I had said it to all of the people
who had mattered to me. Except for Julia.
It was one of those things I felt like putting off, but there was no time.
It was either now or not at all, and my curiosity had been piqued. I pulled into
a shopping mall's lot and located a pay phone, but there was no answer when I
rang her number. I supposed she could be working full-time on a dayshift again,
but she could also be taking a shower or be out shopping. I decided to drive on
over to her place and see. It wasn't that far. And whatever it was that she had
for me, picking it up would be a good excuse for seeing her this one last time.
I cruised the neighborhood for several minutes before I located a parking
space. I locked the car, walked back to the corner, and turned right. The day
had grown slightly warmer. Somewhere, dogs were barking.
I strolled on up the block to that huge Victorian house that had been
converted into apartments. I couldn't see her windows from the front. She was on
the top floor, to the rear. I tried to suppress memories as I passed on up the
front walk, but it was no good. Thoughts of our times together came rushing back
along with a gang of old feelings. I halted. It was silly coming here. Why
bother, for something I hadn't even missed. Still...
Hell. I wanted to see her one more time. I wasn't going to back out now. I
mounted the steps and crossed the porch. The door was open a crack so I walked
in.
Same foyer. Same tired-looking potted violet, dust on its leaves, on the
chest before the gilt-framed mirror--the mirror that had reflected our embrace,
slightly warped, many times. My face rippled as I went by.
I climbed the green-carpeted stairs. A dog began howling somewhere out
back.
The first landing was unchanged. I walked the short hallway, past the drab
etchings and the old end table, turned 'and mounted the second staircase.
Halfway up I heard a scratching noise from overhead and a sound like a bottle or
a vase rolling on a hardwood floor. Then silence again, save for a few gusts of
wind about the eaves. A faint apprehension stirred within me and I quickened my