"Gischler, Victor - The Royal Crown Killer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gischler Victor)

attorney. Just hang tough. Everything's going to be fine."
"Right." Corrupt cops. Great.
We hung up.
I went back to the window. A sleazy guy with a sad mustache leaned against a
Firebird. He wore an army surplus jacket which might have concealed about a
hundred guns, and he puffed hard on a cigarette like he was in love with the
thing. He sure as hell didn't look like a hired killer, but maybe that was the
point.
The phone again. I picked it up.
"Porcupine."
"Uh . . .what?" A woman's voice.
"Nevermind. Who's this?"
"It's Laurie from the front desk. Are you staying another night, or shall I
make up your bill."
Frank had said not to pay ahead on the room in case we had to move suddenly.
This was the first time Laurie had called from the desk. Usually I'd have been
down hours ago to renew for another night. I'd forgotten.
"Another night please," I said.
"Okay."
I hung up and went back to the window. Sad mustache had gone.
Naomi had done a few laps with the remote control but decided nothing was on.
She switched off the set. "I'm bored."
"I'm paid to keep you alive, not entertained."
"But there's only so much two people can do for kicks in a motel room." She
stretched on the bed, arching her back and pretending to yawn. You're nice,
Mr. Samson."
"It's my cologne."
"You are a tough guy, aren't you?"
"I've been practicing." I peeled a cigar out of its wrapper and stuck it in my
mouth. "I learned the snappy talk at Shamus school."
"You signed up for the weekend course?"
"Yeah, but I stayed the extra day, learned how to shrug off cheap come-ons."
"There's nothing cheap about me, I assure you."
"I never said --"
"It's okay, Mr. Samson." She kicked off her shoes, curled on the bed like a
cat. "You don't like all my little tricks. I've been nibbling my lip and
batting my eyes and crossing my legs in front of you for three days, and you
don't even sweat. I know I'm attractive. You don't like my little tricks, but
I like you for not liking them."
"And what's left when I get past the tricks?"
She pulled off the tank-top. Her nipples almost put my eyes out. "A lonely,
frightened girl," said Naomi. "That's all, Mr. Samson. Just a girl."
I went to her, pulled her to me. "Call me Conner."


It was night when I awoke. Naomi curled warm and naked in front of me. I
looked at her face in the pale light which spilled in from the bathroom. She
was different asleep. The years fell away, and instead of being a gangster's
moll, she could have been somebody's daughter, a young coed, the girl next
door.