"Shadow - 360215 - Back Pages - Grace Culver - Hit The Baby" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brown Roswell)

slowly out of the loosened braid. Gracie pressed the green "pill" into the keyhole
of the closet door. A match, from a pocket of her smock, was lighted and the
flame applied to the dangling string.
"Well, redhead: Hit the baby!"
The muffled boom, like a single drum beat, jerked Jake from the pile of rags
he was gathering from a far corner of the kitchen.
Spinning, he was in time to see the narrow door of the broom closet splinter
open as if a mule had kicked it from inside. And right behind the door came a
small, leaping figure made up of shredded clothing and a powder-blackened face.
Jake let out one yell. Then he dove. And the dive was in the direction of a
corner cabinet, where two guns-a businesslike army pistol and a midget
automatic-lay cuddled together like sleeping lovers.
That instinctive move was just what the girl from Noonan's was figuring on;
just what her keen, brown eyes had been watching for. It located the weapons for
her.
Swerving, she bore down on the cabinet.
Still dazed, Jake swung to attack her, He balanced hastily; and, as she flung
herself abreast, leaped with a sprawling forward lunge. His fists flayed
murderously.
Spinning like a leaf on a whirlpool, Grace slid past the driving knuckles so
close that they contacted her swaying braid. Back slammed to the corner cabinet,
she thrust a lightning-swift arm behind her.
Twisting, Jake lunged again. His eyes glittered wickedly. He left his feet in a
direct dive, thrusting forward with all his weight and with telling speed. The
space between him and the cornered girl closed like--
Cra-ack!
Scant inches from his prey, Jake jerked back as if a rope had caught him. A
tiny black hole appeared between his eyes. Surprise, then terror, flickered over
his pasty face.
Sobbing softly, he buckled to his knees and slumped against an old black
camera lying unheeded on the floor.
Palmed gun still smoking, the girl from Noonan's leaped across him and
sprinted for the kitchen screen.
Stage 5 loomed ahead of her in the glaring noon light as she sped across the
empty lot. The open gate had been unguarded. Barit Tyson was through playing
watchman.
The heavy roller doors were shut and locked for the "take" supposedly going
on inside. But what must really be happening on that set was something Big Tim's
helper flinched to think about.
Panting, she drew up before the big barn. Directly in front of her, set into the
huge roller door, was the regulation small hinged one for the necessary passage
of technicians during a "take." Had they thought to lock that on the inside? But
she was praying Tyson had left it ready for a quick get-away.
Automatic steady despite her jerky breathing, she thrust out for the latch
left-handed. It moved under her clammy fingers! Sobbing with relief, Grace
flung her whole weight against it. The panel gave. She hurtled forward-into inky
darkness.
The blaze of lights she had left on the busy Stage 5 had been blotted out.
Blackness blanked the walls, the cameras, the catwalk and light grid.
Dead ahead of her, one white spot gleamed from above like a devil's eye.