Shibumi [antikvár]

WashingtonThe screen flashed 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3 . then the projector was switched off, and lights came up in recessed sconces along the walls of the private viewing room.The projectionist's voice was thin and metallic over the intercom. "Ready when you are, Mr. Starr."T. Darryl Starr, sole audience member, pressed the talk button of the communication console before him. 'Hey, buddy? Tell me something. What are all those numbers in front of a movie for anyway?""It's called academy leader, sir," the projectionist answered. "I just spliced it onto the film as a sort of joke.""Joke?""Yes, sir. I mean . . . considering the nature of the film . . . it's sort of fimny to have a commercial leader, don't you think?""Why funny?""Well, I mean . . . what with all the complaints about violence in movies and all that."T. Darryl Starr grunted and scrubbed his nose with the back of his fist, then he slipped down the pilot-style sunglasses he had pushed up into his cropped hair when the lights first went off.Joke? It damn well better not be a joke, I shit thee not! If anything has gone wrong, my ass will be grass. And if the slightest little thing is wrong, you can bet your danglees that Mr. Diamond and his crew will spot it. Nit-picking bastards! Ever since they took control over Middle East operations of CIA, they seemed to get their cookies by pointing out every little boo-boo.Starr bit off the end of his cigar, spat it onto the carpeted floor, pumped it in and out of his pursed lips, then ht it from a wooden match he struck with his thumbnail. As Most Senior Field Operative, he had access to Cuban cigars. After all, RHIP.3