Аннотация
Roger Zelazny
To Die In Italbar
To Janie and Dan Armel,
with pleasant memories
of crustacea craft,
artillery practice,
slushes, bicycles,
lots of Crocketts,
roads that went nowhere
and never on Sunday.
CHAPTER 1
On the night he had chosen months before, Malacar Miles crossed the street numbered seven, passing beneath the glowglobe he had damaged during the day.
All three of Blanchen's moons were below the horizon. The sky was slightly overcast, the few visible stars tiny and weak.
Glancing up and down the street, inhaling another puff of lung-conditioner, he moved forward. He wore a black garment with slit pockets, stat-sealed up the front. While crossing, he tested his pockets for access to the side-pacs. Having dyed his entire body black three days before, he was nearinvisible as he moved among shadows.
Atop the building across the street numbered seven, Shind sat, a two-foot ball of fur, unmoving,...
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