"Block, Lawrence - CMS - Strangers On A Handball Court" - читать интересную книгу автора (Block Lawrence)

"Of course I'd never do it. Because if anything ever happened to that woman, the police would come straight to me."

"Same here. If I ever put my ex in the ground, there'd be a cop knocking on my door before the body was cold. Of course that particular body was born cold, if you know what I mean."

"I know what you mean," I said. This time I signaled for more beer, and we fell silent until it was on the table in front of us. Then, in a confessional tone, I said, "I'll tell you something. I would do it. If I weren't afraid of getting caught, I would literally do it. I'd kill her."

"I'd kill mine."

"I mean it. There's no other way out for me. I'm in love and I want to get married and I can't. My back is to the proverbial wall. I'd do it."

He didn't even hesitate. "So would I."

"Really?"

"Sure. You could say it's just money, and that's most of it, but there's more to it than that. I hate that woman. I hate the fact that she's made a complete fool out of me. If I could get away with it, they'd be breaking ground in her cemetery plot any day now." He shook his head. "Her cemetery plot," he said bitterly. "It was originally our plot, but the judge gave her the whole thing. Not that I have any overwhelming urge to be buried next to her, but it's the principle of the thing."

"If only we could get away with it," I said. And, while the sentence hung in the air like an off-speed curve ball, I reached for my beer.

*******

Of course a light bulb did not actually form above the man's head-that only happens in comic strips-but the expression on his jowly face was so eloquent that I must admit I looked up expecting to see the light bulb. This, clearly, was a man who had just Had An Idea.

He didn't share it immediately. Instead he took a few minutes to work it out in his mind while I worked on my beer. When I saw that he was ready to speak I put my stein down.

"I don't know you," he said.

I allowed that this was true.

"And you don't know me. I don't know your name, even your first name."

"It's-"

He showed me a palm. "Don't tell me. I don't want to know. Don't you see what we are? We're strangers."

"I guess we are."

"We played handball for a couple of hours. But no one even knows we played handball together. We're having a couple of beers together, but only the waiter knows that and he won't remember it, and anyway no one would ever think to ask him. Don't you see the position we're in? We each have someone we want dead. Don't you understand?"

"I'm not sure."

"I saw a movie years ago. Two strangers meet on a train and-I wish I could remember the title."

"Strangers on a Train?"

"That sounds about right. Anyway, they get to talking, tell each other their problems and decide to do each other's murder. Do you get my drift?"

"I'm beginning to."

"You've got an ex-wife, and I've got an ex-wife. You said you'd commit murder if you had a chance to get away with it, and I'd commit murder if I had a chance to get away with it. And all we have to do to get away with it is switch victims." He leaned forward and dropped his voice to an urgent whisper. There was no one near us, but the occasion seemed to demand low voices. "Nothing could be simpler, friend. You kill my ex-wife. I kill your ex-wife. And we're both home free."