Американские боги
Chapter 8
JacquelbaredhisteethandgrowledatSweeney,thegrowlofahugedogwho’snotlookingforafightbutcanalwaysfinishonebyrippingoutyourthroat,andSweeneytookthemessageandsatdownandpouredhimselfanotherglassofwhiskey.
"HaveyourememberedhowIdomylittlecointrick?"heaskedShadowwithagrin.
"Ihavenot."
"IfyoucanguesshowIdidit,"saidMadSweeney,hislipspurple,hisblueeyesbeclouded,"I’lltellyouifyougetwarm."
"It’snotapalmisit?"askedShadow.
"Itisnot."
"Isitagadgetofsomekind?Somethingupyoursleeveorelsewherethatshootsthecoinsupforyoutocatch?Oracoinonawirethatswingsinfrontofandbehindyourhand?"
"Itisnotthatneither.Morewhiskey,anybody?"
"IreadinabookaboutawayofdoingtheMiser’sDreamwithlatexcoveringthepalmofyourhand,makingaskin-coloredpouchforthecoinstohidebehind."
"ThisisasadwakeforGreatSweeneywhoflewlikeabirdacrossallofIrelandandatewatercressinhismadness:tobedeadandunmournedsaveforabird,adog,andanidiot.No,itisnotapouch."
"Well,that’sprettymuchitforideas,"saidShadow."Iexpectyoujusttakethemoutofnowhere."Itwasmeanttobesarcasm,butthenhesawtheexpressiononSweeney’sface."Youdo,"hesaid."Youdotakethemfromnowhere.
