"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 141 - Satan Black" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

No one answered him for a while. Then Dave said, “Let me say something right now: I've never killed a
man. It'll take a damned good reason to make me kill a man. A mighty damned good reason.”

“You've got it,” Pack told him.

“I doubt that! By Heaven, I doubt that!” The fear in Dave's voice crawled like a snake.
There was a silence. Probably the others were thinking about the way Dave sounded, wondering if there
would be as much gut-torn terror in their own voices if they spoke.

Pack cleared his throat. “You yellow-bellied son!” he said softly. “Lost your insides right out on the
ground, haven't you?”

Dave breathed inward and outward deeply, audibly, the way a sick man breathes.

“Take it easy,” he said. “I'm all right.”

“You sure as hell don't sound all right.”

“I'm scared,” Dave said.

“How scared?”

“Skip it!” Dave said hoarsely. “Don't push me. I'm all right. Just don't push me, is all!”

Again silence, until Joe said uneasily, “Dave will be all right. I know Dave.”

Pack told Joe, “You'd better know him. You recommended him.”

“Listen, take it easy,” Joe pleaded.

Pack lit a cigarette. His hand shook, and he stared at the trembling hand. He grunted unpleasantly. “I'm
jittery myself,” he said.

It was a diplomatic statement.

“That's what I mean,” Dave said eagerly. “I've got the jitters, is all. I didn't mean anything.”

Pack shook out the match. He grinned in the darkness. He had deliberately made his hand shake, for
there was actually no tremor in him and no touch of uncertainty. He had long suspected Dave was weak,
and a moment ago he had made certain. Dave's weakness would have to be dealt with, but this was no
time for that. With his little shaking of hand and his false admission of fear, Pack had avoided doing
anything about it now.

Pack deliberately held silence for a while, letting the other three stew. The cruelty in Pack was more than
a streak; it was the big thing in his nature, and he enjoyed it the way some men enjoy strong drink, others
a meal and others a woman. Finally he spoke.

“Jones,” he said. “The one they call Preach Jones. He's down in the paybook as Alvin Edgar Jones.
Know him, any of you?”