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.Instead, Skinner was thin tothe point of being emaciated his checked cheviot suit hung off hisshoulders as though draped on a wire hanger.He had combed his fewgray hairs over a bald pate; they resembled the horizontal dividing lineson shiny graph paper.He crossed his arms over his sunken chest and peered at the moneyon the desk through sunken eyes.Sensing that Hadad was looking athim, he looked back with one narrow eyebrow lifted.He didn t seem toknow whether to be haughty or subservient.He decided on neither.Hereached into a desk drawer Hadad immediately grabbed for the Stahlin his shoulder holster pulled out two Havana cigars, looked up atHadad, and held one out to him in bony fingers.Hadad dropped his hand and shook his head.Skinner dropped hiseyes to look at Hadad s hand for a moment, and then down at the cigar.He frowned as he bit off the end, put the cigar in his mouth, and took amatch from his Diamond Matchbook.Warily striking it on the scratchplate too many of the clusters of matches in these matchbooks hadcaught fire, since the scratch plate was on the inside he lit the cigar,then tossed the match into his white marble ashtray.He leaned back inhis chair, puffed on his cigar, and studied the smoke with half-liddedeyes.Then he looked up at Hadad again, now with a wisp of a con-spiratorial smile.Expressionless, Hadad tilted his head back a little.He said nothing.Skinner leaned forward and waved his cigar at him, creating a faintcloud of gray smoke between them. My good man, who do you wantme to kill? he asked in a gravelly voice, then showed his nicotine-stained teeth in a grin.Hadad hesitated.Is the man serious? he wondered.This is theAmerican Old West.No, it just must be one of their crazy expressions.He finally pointed to the money and said authoritatively,  That is foryour pocket in return for simple information.Yesterday, a man namedJohn Banks bought from you a deserted warehouse formerly owned bya company that had gone bankrupt.Provide me with the address of thewarehouse, and that money is yours.Skinner s brow jumped up down, and his eyes widened for just asecond; he shoved his cigar in his mouth when it fell open. That s all?May I ask why?R.J.Rummel72Hadad squared his shoulders and gave Skinner an unblinking look.After a pause of several seconds, he responded sternly,  No you maynot. He paused again for effect, then narrowed his eyes, and said in alower and harsher tone,  But, I will tell you anyway, if you promisethat it will remain in this office. Of course, Skinner responded in a puff of smoke.His gravellyvoice made Hadad want to wince. Very well.This is secret government business.You understand?Skinner rose from his chair to stand at round-shouldered attention,his suit coat flapping open. I do, he said in a low voice that soundedlike paper ripping. I will get you the address.You can trust me. Hecharged out of the office.While he waited, Hadad looked around.There were chocolatecandy squares neatly stacked in a crystal bowl on the desk; he put halfof them in his pants pocket.He leaned over the desk and opened thedrawer containing the humidor and took a handful of the cigars, whichhe dropped into his larger coat pocket.After a quick glance at the door,he caressed the naked statue on the desk with a finger, his lips pursed.Then he shook his head.With a shrug, he lifted the gold letter openerfrom the statue s hands and shoved it into his inner coat pocket.Hadad was about to go through the other drawers in the desk whenthe manager returned.With his cigar clenched between his teeth, heheld out a slip of paper to Hadad.Gazing down at it as though it werethe only thing in the room, he whispered confidentially,  Here s theaddress.The warehouse is at 8th and Hooper Streets. He sounded likea hand rubbing across a blackboard.Hadad s nerve endings twitched.Hadad put the paper in his pants pocket, saying,  The money isyours.He strode briskly out of the office, then through the bank as thoughhe owned it.With a vigorous shove, he pushed open the bank s largedouble doors, ignoring the guard who was reaching to push them openfor him.He knew the assistant manager watched him all the way, hismind one huge question mark.He was sure the manager would leave itthat way.CarlaThe rain had stopped, and fog was moving in.Carla, wearing ablack Melton automobile coat with a heavily ruffled, lawn hat, waiteddown Sansome Street in their Buick.She looked at Hadad expectantlyas he approached, her raised eyebrows disappearing underneath theReset Never Again73hat s low brim.Smiling broadly, he tossed his briefcase on the rearseat, pulled open the wet driver s side door, climbed slowly into thehigh seat, and nonchalantly pulled the door closed.She wondered for a moment what the strange sound was, and thenrealized he was humming.It spiked to a stop when Hadad saw his doorhad not latched.He pushed it open and jerked it closed with a slam,spraying drops of water onto his lap.It still did not latch.This time heused two hands and pulled it hard.It shut, spraying more drops, andshaking the Buick.That ruined his moment, she thought.Nonetheless, hegave her a smirk, and seemed to be waiting for her inevitable question. Well, did you get it? Carla asked, not hiding her impatience. Of course, he replied, as though she had asked if San Franciscowas in California.It was just the tone to irritate Carla. It is about time you did some-thing right, she replied coolly.Hadad reached into the glove compartment for the map of post-1906 earthquake San Francisco they had brought with them from thefuture.As he unfolded it, Carla reached into her purse, pulled out TheOfficial Map of the San Francisco Police Department that she hadbought locally, and opened it on her lap. What is the address? sheasked. I have it on a piece of paper. Sitting as he was behind the steeringwheel, he had to squirm around to get his hand into his tight pantspocket, and when he did, he stopped abruptly.Something between dis-taste and dismay crossed his face.He withdrew his hand, holdingsomething covered in brown goo between two fingers. What is that? Carla asked.After a long pause, Hadad replied,  Chocolate candy. He held thechocolate-coated paper up to let the sunlight fall on it, and tried to readthe address.Carla leaned closer to peer at it too.Not only had thechocolate oozed over the address, the ink had become blotched andsmeared.Hadad gritted his teeth. This is Satan s work.I cannot read thegoddam address.Carla looked heavenward for help, and then demanded,  Here, giveit to me. She snatched it from his hand.She squinted at it, then shookher head. I cannot believe this. She leaned toward him, rubbed thesticky paper across his nose, and dropped it onto his lap.She licked herfingers clean.Refusing to look at him, she told the windshield,  You will justhave to go back and get the address again.R.J.Rummel74 I cannot do that [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]