"Уильям Гибсон. Virtual light (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

in Trouble, which had been Rydell's father's favorite show, but she said she couldn't
actually talk to him until she'd spoken with his agent. Rydell said he didn't have one.
She said she knew that, but one was going to call him.

Rydell lay there thinking about all the times he and his father had
watched Cops in Trouble. 'What kind of trouble we talking here?' he finally asked.

The woman just smiled. 'Whatever, Berry, it'll probably be
adequate.'

He squinted up at her. She was sort of good-looking. 'What's your
name?'

'Karen Mendelsohn.' She didn't look like she was from Knoxville, or
even Memphis.

'You from Cops in Trouble?'

'Yes.'

'What you do for 'em?'

'I'm a lawyer,' she said. Rydell couldn't recall ever actually
having met one before, but after that he wound up meeting lots more.





face="Arial">Gunhead's displays were featureless slabs of liquid crystal; they
woke when Rydell inserted the key, typed the security code, and ran a basic systems check.
The cameras under the rear bumper were his favorites; they made parking really easy; you
could see exactly where you were backing up. The downlink from the Death Star wouldn't
work while he was still in the car wash, too much steel in the building, but it was
Sublett's job to keep track of all that with an ear-bead.

There was a notice posted in the staff room at IntenSecure, telling
you it was company policy not to call it that, the Death Star, but everybody did anyway.
The LAPD called it that themselves. Officially it was the Southern California
(icosynclinical Law Enforcement Satellite.

Watching the dashboard screens, Rydell backed carefully out of the
building. Gunhead's twin ceramic engines were new enough to still be relatively quiet;
Rydell could hear the tires squish over the wet concrete floor.

Sublett was waiting outside, his silver eyes reflecting the red of
passing taillights. Behind him, the sun was setting, the sky's colors bespeaking more than
the usual cocktail of additives. He stepped back as Rydell reversed past him, anxious to
avoid the least droplet of spray from the tires. Rydell was anxious too; he didn't want to
have to haul the Texan to Cedars again if his allergies kicked up.