[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
pale puffy face.
"I'm Jake Cardigan." He leaned and rested his left fist on the far edge of her
rubberoid desk.
"Miss McDonnell," said the voxbox in the desktop. "May I introduce
Miss McDonnell, Mr. Cardigan."
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
"Pleased to meet you." He lifted his hand and took a step back. "I'm with the
Cosmos Detective Agency and--"
"Oh, I've heard of you." The redhaired woman's voice was dim and somewhat
fuzzy.
"I'd like to talk to Larry Seagrove. His apartment tells me he's not at home,"
explained Jake. "Is he at work today?"
Miss McDonnell furrowed her brow, then glanced over her shoulder. "No, he's
not, but..." She looked up at a security camera in the distant grey ceiling.
"If Larry were in some kind of trouble, could you... No, I'm sorry, sir, Mr.
Seagrove is out of the office on confidential business. He'll be away for
several days."
A door across the large grey reception room had come flapping open.
"You, Cardigan." The thin darkhaired woman who'd appeared in the opening
beckoned to him. "Get on in here."
"Who might you be, ma'am?" he inquired, not moving.
"I'm Andre Larson. This is my agency." She made an impatient summoning gesture
with her right hand. "C'mon, c'mon--I want to see you."
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
The receptionist gave Jake a fleeting look of sympathy. Grinning, he entered
Andre Larson's office.
"Sit. No, in the black chair." She moved behind her clear Lucite desk.
Settling into the white chair, Jake asked, "Do you know where Larry
Seagrove is?"
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
The high walls of the large, chill room were covered with dozens of small
viewscreens. Silent images unfolded on each and every one--newscasts,
interviews, documentary footage about a variety of businesses and industries,
stock market quotations, animated charts, animated schematic drawings. Andre
gestured with her right hand and every screen went blind. She said, "He's out
of the office."
"Any specifics? A direction maybe? North? South?"
"Here's exactly what I have to say to you, Cardigan." Her long fingers touched
the steel frame of a holophoto of a thickset blonde woman and a thin blonde
girl of ten. "I know you're digging into Eve Bascom's death and I want you to
understand that Eve, rest her soul, died in an accident."
Jake said, "There's really no way, Miss Larson, that you can know for
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
sure that--"
"Mrs. Larson." She tapped the picture. "My wife and daughter."
"Okay, Mrs. Larson, there isn't any way that you, or anyone else at this
stage, can know for certain it was an accident."
"The police don't agree with you, Cardigan," she informed him. "They've ruled
her death accidental and I accept that. Whatever happened to poor Eve had
absolutely nothing to do with any Larson-Dunn client nor with any business
activities of this organization. Is that clear to you?"
"Eve's been dead less than twelve hours and you've determined all that
already, huh?"
"We've had earlier encounters with Walt Bascom and that band of grifters he
calls a detective agency," she said. "I don't want to see
Cosmos spread any further negative stories about my public relations agency."
"What accounts was Eve working on?"
"Her husband can tell you all that." She rose to her feet.
"Now, get out, Cardigan."
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
He remained seated. "Last night who'd she have dinner with?"
"I don't have any further time for you."
He eased up from the chair. "I appreciate this little interlude,
ma'am."
"Keep in mind that you're nowhere near as smart as you seem to think you are,"
she warned. "Remember, too, that I can make a whole hell of a lot of trouble
for you."
The office door snapped open. "And I can do the same for you,
Mrs. Larson."
Out in the reception room Miss McDonnell said, "You got a vidphone message
Page 33
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
while you were in there, Mr. Cardigan." She passed him a slip of paper.
It read: I PM. Mundy's Pub. Pleaser.
He pocketed it. "Thanks," he said. "I'll take care of that."
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Tim .d aD. AT the Level 10 exit to the building that housed the
Larson-Dunn offices was thick with roving midday shoppers and seated lunchers.
Robot waitresses in bright polka dot aprons were deftly wending their way
through the wide circular dining area that was surrounded by small shops.
There were several large animated billboards floating high above the tables.
One was extolling the virtues of Mechanix International's servo mech division.
It showed a chrome plated maidbot efficiently cleaning up a large kitchen,
supervising the dinner-fixing equipment and monitoring two pretty blond young
children in their nursery. The slogan MI SERVOS--THEY'RE ALMOST mo'M was
superimposed over the door sized screen at five-second intervals.
Another animated sign depicted a sun bright field of rippling grain.
FARMBOY INDUSTRIES--FEEDING AMERICA FROM THE HEART
OF FARMLAND flashed across the scene.
Wincing, Jake started for an exit that led to the nearest ped ramp.
Someone at a small table at the outer rim of the dining circle hailed him.
"Cardigan, if you can spare a moment."
Jake made his way over to the table. He recognized the short, Generated by ABC
Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
thickset man in the dark suit and the robot who was sharing his small table.
"Hi, Nate," he said, betraying not a shade of enthusiasm. ,
The robot started to rise. "You snubbing me, jailbird?"
"Enough, Sunny," warned Nathan Anger.
"He's got no call to high hat me."
Jake grinned at both of them. "Sunny, I mistook you for one of the
waitresses," he explained. "Should have noticed you weren't wearing an apron."
"Keep needling me, jocko, and--"
"
"Quit, Sunny," Anger ordered.
'.,!
"What brings you up from DC, Nate?"
"Sit for a moment, so we can have a talk."
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Page 34
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"Don't really have time."
"Hey, when we tell you to sit, buddy, you damn well better--" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl akte20.pev.pl
pale puffy face.
"I'm Jake Cardigan." He leaned and rested his left fist on the far edge of her
rubberoid desk.
"Miss McDonnell," said the voxbox in the desktop. "May I introduce
Miss McDonnell, Mr. Cardigan."
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
"Pleased to meet you." He lifted his hand and took a step back. "I'm with the
Cosmos Detective Agency and--"
"Oh, I've heard of you." The redhaired woman's voice was dim and somewhat
fuzzy.
"I'd like to talk to Larry Seagrove. His apartment tells me he's not at home,"
explained Jake. "Is he at work today?"
Miss McDonnell furrowed her brow, then glanced over her shoulder. "No, he's
not, but..." She looked up at a security camera in the distant grey ceiling.
"If Larry were in some kind of trouble, could you... No, I'm sorry, sir, Mr.
Seagrove is out of the office on confidential business. He'll be away for
several days."
A door across the large grey reception room had come flapping open.
"You, Cardigan." The thin darkhaired woman who'd appeared in the opening
beckoned to him. "Get on in here."
"Who might you be, ma'am?" he inquired, not moving.
"I'm Andre Larson. This is my agency." She made an impatient summoning gesture
with her right hand. "C'mon, c'mon--I want to see you."
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
The receptionist gave Jake a fleeting look of sympathy. Grinning, he entered
Andre Larson's office.
"Sit. No, in the black chair." She moved behind her clear Lucite desk.
Settling into the white chair, Jake asked, "Do you know where Larry
Seagrove is?"
Page 32
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
The high walls of the large, chill room were covered with dozens of small
viewscreens. Silent images unfolded on each and every one--newscasts,
interviews, documentary footage about a variety of businesses and industries,
stock market quotations, animated charts, animated schematic drawings. Andre
gestured with her right hand and every screen went blind. She said, "He's out
of the office."
"Any specifics? A direction maybe? North? South?"
"Here's exactly what I have to say to you, Cardigan." Her long fingers touched
the steel frame of a holophoto of a thickset blonde woman and a thin blonde
girl of ten. "I know you're digging into Eve Bascom's death and I want you to
understand that Eve, rest her soul, died in an accident."
Jake said, "There's really no way, Miss Larson, that you can know for
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
sure that--"
"Mrs. Larson." She tapped the picture. "My wife and daughter."
"Okay, Mrs. Larson, there isn't any way that you, or anyone else at this
stage, can know for certain it was an accident."
"The police don't agree with you, Cardigan," she informed him. "They've ruled
her death accidental and I accept that. Whatever happened to poor Eve had
absolutely nothing to do with any Larson-Dunn client nor with any business
activities of this organization. Is that clear to you?"
"Eve's been dead less than twelve hours and you've determined all that
already, huh?"
"We've had earlier encounters with Walt Bascom and that band of grifters he
calls a detective agency," she said. "I don't want to see
Cosmos spread any further negative stories about my public relations agency."
"What accounts was Eve working on?"
"Her husband can tell you all that." She rose to her feet.
"Now, get out, Cardigan."
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
He remained seated. "Last night who'd she have dinner with?"
"I don't have any further time for you."
He eased up from the chair. "I appreciate this little interlude,
ma'am."
"Keep in mind that you're nowhere near as smart as you seem to think you are,"
she warned. "Remember, too, that I can make a whole hell of a lot of trouble
for you."
The office door snapped open. "And I can do the same for you,
Mrs. Larson."
Out in the reception room Miss McDonnell said, "You got a vidphone message
Page 33
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
while you were in there, Mr. Cardigan." She passed him a slip of paper.
It read: I PM. Mundy's Pub. Pleaser.
He pocketed it. "Thanks," he said. "I'll take care of that."
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Tim .d aD. AT the Level 10 exit to the building that housed the
Larson-Dunn offices was thick with roving midday shoppers and seated lunchers.
Robot waitresses in bright polka dot aprons were deftly wending their way
through the wide circular dining area that was surrounded by small shops.
There were several large animated billboards floating high above the tables.
One was extolling the virtues of Mechanix International's servo mech division.
It showed a chrome plated maidbot efficiently cleaning up a large kitchen,
supervising the dinner-fixing equipment and monitoring two pretty blond young
children in their nursery. The slogan MI SERVOS--THEY'RE ALMOST mo'M was
superimposed over the door sized screen at five-second intervals.
Another animated sign depicted a sun bright field of rippling grain.
FARMBOY INDUSTRIES--FEEDING AMERICA FROM THE HEART
OF FARMLAND flashed across the scene.
Wincing, Jake started for an exit that led to the nearest ped ramp.
Someone at a small table at the outer rim of the dining circle hailed him.
"Cardigan, if you can spare a moment."
Jake made his way over to the table. He recognized the short, Generated by ABC
Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
thickset man in the dark suit and the robot who was sharing his small table.
"Hi, Nate," he said, betraying not a shade of enthusiasm. ,
The robot started to rise. "You snubbing me, jailbird?"
"Enough, Sunny," warned Nathan Anger.
"He's got no call to high hat me."
Jake grinned at both of them. "Sunny, I mistook you for one of the
waitresses," he explained. "Should have noticed you weren't wearing an apron."
"Keep needling me, jocko, and--"
"
"Quit, Sunny," Anger ordered.
'.,!
"What brings you up from DC, Nate?"
"Sit for a moment, so we can have a talk."
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Page 34
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"Don't really have time."
"Hey, when we tell you to sit, buddy, you damn well better--" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]