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

I pulled her close, and she murmured contentment.
But I started feeling unprofessional. I slipped out of bed without waking her,
pulled on my clothes. I looked out the window and sad mustache was back, just
standing out there. I stuck the cigar in my mouth and tried to think what I
should do about him.
I had the reckless notion I should go out and put the guy on the spot, just
flat out ask him what he was doing. Unprofessional. But I found myself
sticking my .380 auto in my belt, covering it with my jacket. Maybe I'd just
been cooped up too long. I ran my hand through my hair and stepped outside. I
closed the door behind me nice and easy.
I stood for a moment before approaching him, took in my surroundings. Down the
line of rooms, an old maid was slowly making the night rounds. The dull orange
light of the street lamp cast the empty pool in an eerie glow.
I walked to mustache. He was leaning against the Firebird again. The closer I
got to him, the more certain I was I'd made a mistake. The guy was near
starved, hadn't bathed in a week, greasy hair. About as dangerous as a
half-drowned squirrel. He threw down his cigarette and stamped it out.
I got within arm's reach and stopped. "Okay, pal. You've been out here all
day. What gives?"
He squinted at me and frowned. "Don't want no trouble, chief."
"That makes two of us, but you didn't answer my question." I stuck my cigar in
my mouth and tried to look tough.
The guy's hand went into his army jacket, came out too quick to be anything
good. I saw a flash of silver and didn't wait to feel the cold sing of his
blade in my gut. I launched myself at him. I caught the wrist of his knife
hand and pinned it against the Firebird.
I brought my knee up hard into his groin. He whuffed air, and went to the
ground, rolled on his back. I pulled the gun and stood over him. I stepped on
his wrist, and his fist opened. He didn't have a knife. It was a silver Zippo
lighter.
"I just thought you needed a light for your cigar, man." The guy groaned,
writhing on the ground in slow agony. "Why'd you jump me for, man? Pretty damn
unfriendly."
"I thought you were somebody else. Sorry."
"Shit, man."
"What were you doing out here?" I asked. "You've been standing in this spot
for hours."
"This lady, man. She said to watch her car." He nodded at the Firebird. "She
said there'd been a few auto thefts, and I should, like, guard her car, right?
Paid me five bucks an hour. She only said I had to stand out where people
would see me."
"Out in the open?"
"Yeah. Otherwise I'd of just sat under the tree across the lot and watched the
car."
Something wasn't right. I opened the door of the Firebird. Something fell out
and clanked metallic on the pavement. It was a half-crushed, empty RC Cola
can.
"Oh, God." I jerked my head around, looked back at the room.
The night maid's cart was right next to the open door. No. God, no. How could
I have been so stupid. I looked back at the guy holding his balls and groaning