"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 127 - Hell Below" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

Doc Savage and Ham Brooks did not appear, for the simple reason that they'd had no chance to catch
sight of Too-Too Thomas.

Washington is a city of contrasts, where a remarkably shabby street often adjoins a fine one. Too-Too
Thomas picked one of the most ragtag thoroughfares to leave the cab.

He walked to a narrow alley and entered, striding along rapidly as if he knew where he was going.

Before Monk entered the alley, he cautiously used the shiny inside of the lid of his large silver watch as a
mirror, and examined the alley periscope fashion. He saw no sign of his quarry.

However, Monk found after he had walked about twenty feet into the alley that he had walked against a
gun. The gun was an impressive weapon of the type called a hogleg by cowboys. Too-Too Thomas, who
held it, had stepped from a niche that Monk hadn't noticed.

“If this gun was to go boom-boom,” said Too-Too Thomas, “it would blow you right out of this alley.”

Monk didn't doubt it. As a matter of fact, Monk was wearing a bulletproof vest, but thinking about the
kick that old gun would give his middle made him turn green.

“Figured one of you gents would trail me,” said Too-Too Thomas. “Trapped you neat, didn't I?”

“What do you want with me?” Monk asked.

“Why, you're gonna run that submarine for me,” Too-Too Thomas told him.



Chapter II. THE SCARED MEN
MONK was not concerned so much about the submarine as he was about what might come out of the
pistol. “You know about them things?” he asked uneasily. “They make a loud noise and a piece of lead
flies out.”

Old Too-Too Thomas chuckled. He was quite calm, a man who had walked in the path of danger
before. He was somewhat proud of himself, too.

“Before you start something,” he said, “just tell me where to send the body.”

They walked to the other end of the alley. Just before they reached the street, Too-Too Thomas stowed
his enormous piece of hardware inside his coat.

“We're going to take a ride in a taxicab,” he said. “Behave yourself. If you don't, I give a sort of twitch,
and the bullets fly around.”

“A model boy,” Monk assured him, “is what they always call me.”

They found a taxicab, although it was a job. Cabs were not plentiful in Washington, and the drivers had
more business than they could take care of.

Monk was familiar with the address which Too-Too Thomas gave the cab driver. It was a military air