Аннотация
Glen Cook
Whispering Nickel Idols
(Garrett Files — 11)
This one is for my mom, who was a rock in aturbulent stream.
With thanks to Jim K. and Ellen W.
1
There I was, galumphing downstairs, six feet three of the handsomest, ever-loving blue-eyed ex-Marine you’d ever want to meet. Whistling. But it takes me a big, big bucket to carry a tune. And my bucket had a hole in it.
Something was wrong. I needed my head examined. I’d gone to bed early, all by my own self. And hadn’t had a dram to drink before I did. Yet this morning I was ready to break into a song and dance routine.
I felt so good that I forgot to be suspicious.
I can’t forget, ever, that the gods have chosen me, sweet baby Garrett, to be their special holy fool and point man in their lunatic entertainments.
I froze on the brink of my traditional morning right turn to the kitchen.
There was a boy in the hallway that runs from my front door back to my kitc...
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