"R. A. MacAvoy - Black Dragon 2 - Twisting the Rope" - читать интересную книгу автора (MacAvoy R A)

Evans hit her knees again, much harder. "You moron! More of that, Sullivan, and I'll haul back and hit you
one."
Pádraig had pulled back one sleeve of his dazzling sweater and was scratching a red spot on his forearm.
"Go ahead. I'm not worth anything anyway."
With complete spontaneity Elen did so, slamming him in the center of the chest with her right fist. Pádraig
fell backward, landing on his rear on the concrete floor. Elen hopped, cursed, and licked her palm, where her
sharp harper's nails had bit into her hand. Then she saw Pádraig flat out on the concrete staring up at her.
"Pat! What have I done? I've hurt you!" She got down on her knees and put her wounded hand behind his
head.
"Not at all. I fell over from the surprise of it," he said, disentangling his legs from the bench. He grinned and
blushed simultaneously. "It was a rotten hit. No strength in it."
"I'm not in practice. My aggressions are more subtle." Elen got up and dusted off the lavender cotton of her
skirt. With a moment's alarm she made sure the fall had not done harm to any of the instruments that had
been left in the room for the afternoon. She pushed back her little curls of hair and sighed. "Let's take a
walk."
Landaman Hall was as much a theater as a concert hall, and as in many theaters, the back of the stage
opened directly onto a loading dock, which was usually closed by roll-up steel doors. These were on the east
side, and barely visible along the alley that ran between the Hall and the supermarket which adjoined.
As Martha and company passed in front of the build ing on their way back to the motel from the beach, Long
happened to look in and see a square of darkness where the doors hung. "That's odd," he said and strolled
down the alley, still carrying Marty.
Martha had been a few steps in front, and his sudden diversion took her aback. "What's odd?" She followed
him into the cool shadow of the alley. It was chilly, after the sun, and pleasant to the skin.
The right-hand door was open, and she could look up into the ceiling of the backstage. No lower, though,
because she was not a tall woman and the dock was high. "Don't they know we left our sound equipment in
there? Or is Santa Cruz so faultlessly honest…?"
Long chuckled and expressed disbelief. Setting Marty on her feet, he grabbed the lip of the dock in his hands
and heaved up.
There was the disheartening hiss and pull of silk unraveling. He dropped again and stared at the rusty bolt
which had caught his jacket front. "Oh, damn," he said very primly, and sought about in his pocket.
"It can be mended," said Martha, but Long was too involved to pay attention. He drew out a pigskin box about
half the size of a cigarette case. It had some very pretty little nail trimmers in it, and a small pair of scissors,
and also stainless-steel tweezers, which he took out and held at the very tips of his long fingers. With
surgical care he reached into the tangle of hanging threads and puckered fabric and pulled.
Fascinated, both Marty and her grandmother watched one thread after another sucked back into its place in
the weave. Long's face was hard with concentration. At last he let out a sigh and snapped the pigskin case
closed. '"It will never be the same," he said, and gave one more rueful glance at the dock.
"I'll use the door after the approved manner."
Martha thought that was just as well, considering not only the dirt but also the possibility that thieves had
opened the door up there. If one had to walk in on thieves, one could at least avoid doing so head first,
clawing at the concrete. Besides, there was a large stone or cement pediment of some kind, tilted at a nasty
angle over the edge of the dock. Being theatrical in nature, it was probably papier-mache, and it did have a
cable wrapped around its middle, holding it in, but still…
It piqued Mr. Long that he had not been given the key to the Hall. Most managements along the tour had
been more trusting. Or more realistic. It was mere luck, now, that he found a man vacuuming the lobby, and it
was sheer persistence that made him continue his rapping on the glass door until the fellow heard him over
the racket of his machine. He was a colorless man dressed in janitorial drab.
Infuriating. The fellow refused to admit the dock gate was open. No one had been in the theater all day except
himself and the musicians, and the big steel gates were never opened except for deliveries. He did give Long
the key from the front stage to backstage.