"Джон Варли. Платежное поручение(engl) " - читать интересную книгу автора

memory would be gone when he was released. Destruction of all the plans.
Destruction? There was the alternate clause in the contract. Others had
seen it, used it. But not the way he intended!
He was after much more than anyone who had come before. He was the
first to understand, to plan. The seven trinkets were a bridge to something
beyond anything that --
At the end of the block an SP cruiser pulled up to the curb. Its doors
slid open.
Jennings stopped, his heart constricting. The night patrol, roaming
through the city. It was after eleven, after curfew. He looked quickly
around. Everything was dark. The stores and houses were shut up tight,
locked for the night. Silent apartment houses, buildings. Even the bars were
dark.
He looked back the way he had come. Behind him, a second SP cruiser had
stopped. Two SP officers had stepped out onto the curb. They had seen him.
They were coming toward him. He stood frozen, looking up and down the
street.
Across from him was the entrance of a swank hotel, its neon sign
glimmering. He began to walk toward it, his heels echoing against the
pavement.
"Stop!" one of the SP men called. "Come back here. What are you doing
out? What's your --"
Jennings went up the stairs, into the hotel. He crossed the lobby. The
clerk was staring at him. No one else was around. The lobby was deserted.
His heart sank. He didn't have a chance. He began to run aimlessly, past the
desk, along a carpeted hall. Maybe it led out some back way. Behind him, the
SP men had already entered the lobby.
Jennings turned a corner. Two men stepped out, blocking his way.
"Where are you going?"
He stopped, wary. "Let me by." He reached into his coat for the Boris
gun. At once the men moved.
"Get him."
His arms were pinned to his sides. Professional hoods. Past them he
could see light. Light and sound. Some kind of activity. People.
"All right," one of the hoods said. They dragged him back along the
corridor, toward the lobby. Jennings struggled futilely. He had entered a
blind alley. Hoods, a joint. The city was dotted with them, hidden in the
darkness. The swank hotel a front. They would toss him out, into the hands
of the SP.
Some people came along the halls, a man and a woman. Older people. Well
dressed. They gazed curiously at Jennings, suspended between the two men.
Suddenly Jennings understood. A wave of relief hit him, blinding him.
"Wait," he said thickly. "My pocket."
"Come on."
"Wait. Look. My right pocket. Look for yourselves."
He relaxed, waiting. The hood on his right reached, dipping cautiously
into the pocket. Jennings smiled. It was over. He had seen even this. There
was no possibility of failure. This solved one problem: where to stay until
it was time to meet Rethrick. He could stay here.
The hood brought out the half poker chip, examining the serrated edges.