"Laurell K. Hamilton - Anita Blake 03 - Circus Damned" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Laurell K)

Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Laurell K. Hamilton
Circus of the Damned

Chapter 1

There was dried chicken blood imbedded under my fingernails. When you raise
the dead for a living, you have to spill a little blood. It clung in flaking
patches to my face and hands. I’d tried to clean the worst of it off before
coming to this meeting, but some things only a shower would fix. I sipped
coffee from a personalized mug that said, “Piss me off, pay the consequences,”
and stared at the two men sitting across from me.
Mr. Jeremy Ruebens was short, dark, and grumpy. I’d never seen him when he
wasn’t either frowning, or shouting. His small features were clustered in the
middle of his face as if some giant hand had mashed them together before the
clay had dried. His hands smoothed over the lapel of his coat, the dark blue
tie, tie clip, white shirt collar. His hands folded in his lap for a second,
then began their dance again, coat, tie, tie clip, collar, lap. I figured I
could stand to watch him fidget maybe five more times before I screamed for
mercy and promised him anything he wanted.
The second man was Karl Inger. I’d never met him before, He was a few
inches over six feet. Standing, he had towered over Ruebens and me. A wavy
mass of short-cut red hair graced a large face. He had honest-to-god
muttonchop sideburns that grew into one of the fullest mustaches I’d ever
seen. Everything was neatly trimmed except for his unruly hair. Maybe he was
having a bad hair day.
Ruebens’s hands were making their endless dance for the fourth time. Four
was my limit.
I wanted to go around the desk, grab his hands, and yell, “Stop that!” But
I figured that was a little rude, even for me. “I don’t remember you being
this twitchy, Ruebens,” I said.
He glanced at me. “Twitchy?”
I motioned at his hands, making their endless circuit. He frowned and
placed his hands on top of his thighs. They remained there, motionless.
Self-control at its best.
“I am not twitchy, Miss Blake.”
“It’s Ms. Blake. And why are you so nervous, Mr. Ruebens?” I sipped my
coffee.
“I am not accustomed to asking help from people like you.”
“People like me?” I made it a question.