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

"Say," Jennings said, stirring his coffee. "Where can a man get work
around here? Do you know?"
"What kind of work?" The young man came back, leaning against the
counter.
"Electrical wiring. I'm an electrician. Television, rockets, computers.
That sort of stuff."
"Why don't you try the big industrial areas? Detroit. Chicago. New
York."
Jennings shook his head. "Can't stand the big cities. I never liked
cities."
The young man laughed. "A lot of people here would be glad to work in
Detroit. You're an electrician?"
"Are there any plants around here? Any repair shops or plants?"
"None that I know of." The young man went off to wait on some men that
had come in. Jennings sipped his coffee. Had he made a mistake? Maybe he
should go back and forget about Stuartsville, Iowa. Maybe he had made the
wrong inference from the ticket stub. But the ticket meant something, unless
he was completely wrong about everything. It was a little late to decide
that, though.
The young man came back. "Is there any kind of work I can get here?"
Jennings said. "Just to tide me over."
"There's always farm work."
"How about the retail repair shops? Garages. TV."
"There's a TV repair shop down the street. Maybe you might get
something there. You could try. Farm work pays good. They can't get many
men, anymore. Most men in the military. You want to pitch hay?"
Jennings laughed. He paid for his coffee. "Not very much. Thanks."
"Once in a while some of the men go up the road and work. There's some
sort of Government station."
Jennings nodded. He pushed the screen door open, stepping outside onto
the hot sidewalk. He walked aimlessly for a time, deep in thought, turning
his nebulous plan over and over. It was a good plan; it would solve
everything, all his problems at once. But right now it hinged on one thing:
finding Rethrick Construction. And he had only one clue, if it really was a
clue. The ticket stub, folded and creased, in his pocket. And a faith that
he had known what he was doing.
A Government station. Jennings paused, looking around him. Across the
street was a taxi stand, a couple of cabbies sitting in their cabs, smoking
and reading the newspaper. It was worth a try, at least. There wasn't much
else to do. Rethrick would be something else, on the surface. If it posed as
a Government project no one would ask any questions. They were all too
accustomed to Government projects working without explanation, in secrecy.
He went over to the first cab. "Mister," he said, "can you tell me
something?"
The cabbie looked up. "What do you want?"
"They tell me there's work to be had, out at the Government station. Is
that right?"
The cabbie studied him. He nodded.
"What kind of work is it?"
"I don't know."