"deLuca, Sandy - The Hunter's Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Deluca Sandy)

Her pretty chestnut complexion turned white, her mouth went slack and she started twitching.
I turned, looked at Andra. With that weird look in her eyes she said, "Take your jewelry off and throw it in this bag. Then give us all your cash. When you’re finished get out of the car and start walking towards those buildings up ahead."
The woman nodded, removed her rings—all except for the a big diamond on her left index finger—unclipped her earrings and reached over to throw them in the bag.
The gun was still at the woman’s head.
I was sandwiched in between her and Andra, sweat stuck to my clothes.
"Give us the diamond too," Andra said.
"No, not that one. It’s got sentimental value. How can you be so heartless?"
"Look, bitch. You can buy another. We want that one—give it here."
"I can’t—"
"Well, then go to hell."
The shot still echoes in my head.
She didn’t die right away—despite the damage the bullet had done to her head and face.
She jumped and quivered for a while.
The moon—the Hunter’s Moon—reflected in her eyes. Somebody would find her before long and I wondered if the moon’s image would remain in her eyes when they took her away—when they buried her.
She laid there cold and quiet. Life draining from her slowly. I won’t forget that part.
I thought about it a lot.
I wanted to see it happen again.
We dragged the woman out onto the damp ground and covered her with some leaves. They scattered as the wind picked up and a light rain started to fall.
"We’ll be far away from here by the time they find her."
"Yeah, I guess we have no choice now."
"I want to wear the diamond for a while," Andra said holding her hand up to the moon. Moon beams danced on metal. "You get to wear it tomorrow."
"Deal, but I want the gold hoop earrings for now."
"Deal."
I took the cash from the woman’s bag—there was a little less than a thousand dollars.
Andra shook her head, looking at the silk dress. "Too bad it got messed up with blood and stuff. It’s really good silk."
We were in New York City by midnight.
We left the Caddie parked near the Metropolitan Museum of Art and started walking. It wasn’t long before a guy in a gold BMW pulled up and offered us a ride.
He didn’t have much money on him—only about two hundred dollars—but he was wearing a Rolex and a solid gold chain.
I had to wipe the blood off the chain after I cut his throat.
I hung it around my neck, Andra strapped the Rolex on her wrist.
We hopped into the BMW and headed South.
We stayed in New Jersey for a couple of weeks—all because of Moe.
We were heading for Philly, driving through Camden, when we spotted a bunch of guys hanging around outside a strip club.
"You thirsty," Andra said. She had that look in her eyes.
"Sure, we both could use a break."
We took seats at the bar, ordered draft beer and lighted cigarettes.
The bartender made small talk with us. He was about thirty, had dark waist length hair and a diamond stud in his left ear. His front teeth were crooked and his nose a bit too large, but there was something really sexy about him.
"So where you girls from?"
"A ways up North," I said as he poured us both another drink.
He put his hand to his chin, looking back and forth at both of us.
"So where’d you girls get all that fancy jewelry—and that Rolex?"
"Our Daddies are rich," giggled Andra raising her glass in a mock toast.
His eyes narrowed. "Don’t give me no lines. I’ve seen a lot—especially here."
He waved his hand—like a magician—and I saw a young girl half-naked on the stage, several others gyrating on table tops, pimps and dealers moving in and out the crowd.
Moe leaned over the bar. "So you girls selling or trading?"
It turned out that he bought and sold stolen goods. Before the sun rose Moe had given us a fair amount of cash in exchange for our jewelry.
We partied hard all the next day at Moe’s place, a small apartment over the topless bar. He had some good pot, lots of food in his refrigerator and he knew how to please his women.
Over the next few weeks we were either stoned, sleeping or hanging out with Moe.
I guess we stuck with him for so long cause he never asked questions and was willing to help us—sort of the same way we stuck with Byron later on.
We ditched the BMW and bought a 1985 Camaro. Moe helped us get plates and with all the details that come with owning a car.