"Best, Mark - Ceiling" - читать интересную книгу автора (Best Mark)

Hoffman stared at me for what seemed like ten minutes. “Do you know how that
will sound, if you go around and tell people that the biggest sports star in
this town since Mario Lemieux tried to set you up?”
“My instincts are never wrong. Never. It has to be tied in to the Russian
story. You have to believe me.”
“I do believe you, Mike. But I’m not the one you have to convince. There are
about a hundred thousand Penguin fans in this city, most of who want to
introduce you to the business end of a hockey stick. And all of them subscribe
to the paper. More than your reputation is on the line here.”
“Are you telling me this could cost me my job?”
“Could?” Caroline laughed. She laughed like a man, from deep in her belly.
“You were already fired. For some reason the boys upstairs gave you another
chance. You’ve got three days to dig yourself out of this. After that the
paper cuts you free.” I knew how persuasive C. H. could be, and was pretty
sure she was the reason I was still employed. I owed her one. I also owed
someone else one, and I could pay both of them back by getting myself out of
the frame.
Leo Radovic’s nose had been broken and set badly. As a result, he constantly
had the sniffles. Not that it bothered the patrons. A bartender/owner with a
runny nose was one of the reasons Radovic’s never became a trendy hangout. Of
course, the disdainful glares in response to an order for a fuzzy navel or a
light beer helped, too.
Leo was working the bar by himself this afternoon. The crowd consisted mostly
of old men nursing long flat beers and a few confirmed alcoholics with
bottomless glasses. No one paid any attention to me, and even Radovic didn’t
recognize me until I was seated at the bar.
“You ain’t supposed to be here, Masterson. You ain’t welcome.” A few of the
old men caught the tone in Radovic’s voice and looked up expectantly. This
might be the most excitement since McDonalds announced free coffee refills for
senior citizens.
“I just have a few questions about last night,” I said. “I want to talk to the
witnesses who saw me attack Lermatov.”
“Everyone saw you,” Radovic said. “No one is going to change their story.”
One of the old men said something in Russian. Leo hissed back in the same
language. It got so heated that the drunks actually looked up from their
drinks.
“You do not scare me, the old man said, switching to English. “I ran away
once, from Stalin, from my country. I do not do it again.” He turned to me.
“Do not believe all you are told. Look to the ceiling. That is your answer”
The man with him put a hand on his friend’s arm. “Be careful of what you say,
Josef Ilanovitch.” He looked at me. “This man can destroy our community.”
“Our community is being destroyed from inside, my friend. Destroyed by a
cancer that none dare speak of, but all know. All of you,” he shouted at the
crowd. “None of you are the cause, but you are all to blame.”
Radovic shouted something in Russian, and Ilanovitch’s friend took him by the
arm and led him outside. The old man did not struggle. He no longer wanted to
be in that bar.
“Looks like not everyone believes the story you gave the press,” I said.
Leo turned back to me. His breath smelled like stale kielbasa. “I told
everything to the cops, just like it happened. Exactly as it happened.”