"Cook, Glen - Garrett 10 - Angry Lead Skies" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cook Glen)

Mom was too embarrassed to tell the truth. She never said a word.
But I’m not entirely stupid. I figured it out on my own.

I was born under an evil star. Maybe an evil galaxy. With zigging
mad lights quarreling all over angry lead skies.

The planets had to’ve been so cruelly misaligned that no equally
malignant conjunction will be possible for another hundred
lifetimes.

I have a feeling, though, that my partner will be there to gloat when
those celestial maladroits again foregather to conspire.

Grumbling, head aching, empty mug in shaky hand, I stomped
toward the front door. Some soon-to-be sporting an iron hook for a
hand pest refused to stop bruising the oak with his knuckles.

The air shivered with amusement that only rendered me more
glum.

Anything my partner found entertaining was bound to be
unpleasant for me.

In the small front room the Goddamn Parrot harangued himself in
his sleep, his language fit to pinken the cheeks of amazons.

I had to preserve the woodwork personally because Dean was out
visiting his gaggle of homely nieces. And the Dead Man won’t get
off his can and answer no matter what the circumstances might be.
He’s had a severe attitude problem for about four hundred years.
He figures just because somebody stuck a knife in him back then
he doesn’t have to do anything for himself anymore.

I peeked through the peephole.

I cussed some. Which always makes me feel better when that old
devil sixth sense tells me that things are about to stop going my
way.

Nowhere in sight, for as far as my eagle eye could see, was there
even one tasty morsel of femininity.

I was so disappointed I grumbled, “But it always starts with a girl.”
My seventh and eighth senses started perking. They couldn’t find a
girl, either.

Then my natural optimism kicked in. There wasn’t a girl around!
There wasn’t a girl around! There wasn’t anybody out there but my
old pal Playmate and a skinny gink who had to be a foreigner