Нейромант
Chapter 1
Deane’sseamlesspinkfaceregardedCasefromapooloflightcastbyanancientbrasslampwitharectangularshadeofdarkgreenglass.Theimporterwassecurelyfencedbehindavastdeskofpaintedsteel,flankedoneithersidebytall,draweredcabinetsmadeofsomesortofpalewood.Thesortofthing,Casesupposed,thathadoncebeenusedtostorewrittenrecordsofsomekind.Thedesktopwaslitteredwithcassettes,scrollsofyellowedprintout,andvariouspartsofsomesortofclockworktypewriter,amachineDeaneneverseemedtogetaroundtoreassembling.
`Whatbringsyouaround,boyo?’Deaneasked,offeringCaseanarrowbonbonwrappedinblue-and-whitecheckedpaper.`Tryone.TingTingDjahe,theverybest.’Caserefusedtheginger,tookaseatinayawingwoodenswivelchair,andranathumbdownthefadedseamofoneblackjeans-leg.`Julie,IhearWagewantstokillme.’
`Ah.Wellthen.Andwheredidyouhearthis,ifImay?’
`People.’
`People,’Deanesaid,aroundagingerbonbon.`Whatsortofpeople?Friends?’
Casenodded.
`Notalwaysthateasytoknowwhoyourfriendsare,isit?’
`Idoowehimalittlemoney,Deane.Hesayanythingtoyou?’
`Haven’tbeenintouch,oflate.’Thenhesighed.`IfIdidknow,ofcourse,Imightnotbeinapositiontotellyou.Thingsbeingwhattheyare,youunderstand.’
`Things?’
`He’sanimportantconnection,Case.’
`Yeah.Hewanttokillme,Julie?’
`NotthatIknowof.’Deaneshrugged.Theymighthavebeendiscussingthepriceofginger.
