"L. Lee Lowe - Mortal Ghost" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lowe L Lee)

self-confidence: intelligent, a privileged only child, plenty of money, decent (OK, fascinating) family, scores
of friends, boyfriend too probably, herself nice enough to look at it though nothing special really -- way too
thin, too angular, ropy with muscle, even if she did have nice eyes, and that long gleaming hair, and he liked
the way her mouth crept slowly upwards in amusement as though she'd found a hoard of beautiful polished
stones like the ones he kept in a soft leather pouch and Emmy's eyes shine, her mouth spreads in a wide
astonished smile when he gives them to her for her birthday, 'jewels,' she breathes, 'my own jewels' ...

Nubi made a choking sound in his throat. Jesse started, he must have tugged too hard on the lead. He
slackened his grip, then slowed to catch his breath while he tried to work out why he was still here. His
headache was all but gone; his stomach was full; and the sky had cleared. There was no reason to remain, and
a lot of reasons to move on. From the outset he'd established an ironclad rule never to stay more than one
night in the same place.

Sarah looked at him in concern. 'Should we get a coke or something?'

He shook his head and strode ahead. It was better to keep going. Sarah called out to turn left, and they
rounded the corner into a world he knew all too well.

A knot of lads -- hardly older than kids -- were crowded round an object on the pavement. Jesse stopped short.
At first he thought they had an animal, a dog or a cat, or even a large sack of spoils, which they were prodding
and kicking and sniggering over. Then he heard the sobs and the pleading, and his headache exploded behind
Chapter 3 20
his temples, along with his memories. The boy was doing exactly the wrong thing by begging. They would
finish him off if he didn't shut up fast. Maggots fed on soft flesh.

There were about six or seven of them, and Jesse spotted the ringleader straightaway: a tall lad with a shaved
head, smooth sallow face, and very white teeth. He was standing at the kerb with his arms crossed, enjoying
his handiwork without getting his own hands dirty. His eyes glittered with intelligence, and Jesse had the
feeling the guy was so stoked on his own power that he had no need of other stimulants. In different
circumstances, he'd easily have been headed for a career in politics.

It was a party. Music was blaring from a ghetto blaster, and several of the kids had tins of lager in one hand,
though they were certainly underage. Nobody would dare to challenge them. Jesse could smell that particular
kind of hot sour sweat which a gang exudes when pumped on drink and adrenaline and bloodlust -- on sheer
strength of numbers -- as well as the stink of urine. The poor bugger had pissed himself. He didn't stand a
chance.

Sarah came up behind Jesse and exclaimed when she saw what was taking place. She gripped him by the arm,
and this time he merely winced when she dug her fingers into his flesh. The dog retreated the full length of its
lead, sensing trouble. Jesse grabbed her arm and dragged her backwards while she tried to fight him off.

'Let go of me,' she said. 'We've got to do something.'

Jesse looked round. Far down the street an elderly man was scurrying out of sight into a doorway. A couple of
girls were giggling at the next crossing, and casting curious glances at Sarah and him to see if the show was
about to get really interesting. Anyone else who might have been prepared to help had disappeared or was
keeping a low profile. Even the traffic seemed to have taken an alternate route. Jesse grasped Sarah's arm
tighter and slowly hauled her back around the corner before the fuckheads had a chance to notice them. For
the moment their attention was still focused on their prey. All except the tall bloke, who had seen them right
enough. He'd narrowed his eyes and was cupping his chin with his hand and tapping one long forefinger