"Thompson, Jim - Recoil" - читать интересную книгу автора (Thompson Jim)

It was a room such as you might find in any firstclass hotel. The few touches of individuality consisted of a small two-bottle bar, with the bottles; a cigarette humidor on a revolving stand, with three kinds of cigarettes; and a magazine rack with a variety of magazines.
Doc switched on the bathroom light and turned on the Negro again.
"Everything all ready, eh?" he said. "What about pajamas, tooth brush, comb, shaving articles? What about socks and underwear and shirts--all that stuff I told you to get?"
"I have them, sir. Everything. I just haven't had time to . . ."
"Well, get on it! And get that telephone out of here! I--" Doc shot me a look of curt apology, "I didn't think you'd want one, Pat."
"Not at all," I said.
He slumped down into a chair and let his head loll back. He removed his glasses, and began wiping them thoughtfully. I felt sorry and embarrassed for him. It is always a little saddening to see a man upset over a woman who, obviously, cares nothing about his feelings.
The Negro unplugged the handset telephone and went out. He returned in a minute or two and began stowing various articles away in the chest of drawers and in the bathroom. Doc had him fix us a drink when he had finished.
"I'm pretty tired tonight, Willie," he said, as he took the glass from the youth's hand. "I'm sorry if I was abrupt."
"That's quite all right, Doctor."
"If Mrs. Luther should return within the next hour, please tell her I'm back here."
"Yes, sir."
The Negro left, closing the door noiselessly. Doc motioned with his glass.
"Well, Pat. Think you can struggle along in here?"
"I don't know about that," I said. "You know how it is at Sandstone. The best of everything and the guest is always right."
He smiled and I told him it wasn't necessary to put himself out so much on my account. I could hole up anywhere, and I'd be just as grateful to him.
"Forget it, Pat," he said. "I haven't anything simplier than this. At any rate, I don't feel inclined to discriminate against my one deserving guest. What did you think of the senator?"
"I'm not forming any opinions," I said. "For the next two years, at least, I intend to borrow them from you."
"I gather that you mean exactly that."
"I do."
He swished the whiskey around in his glass, staring down into it. "I hope very much, Pat, that everything goes all right. Frankly, you're considerably different from what I'd imagined you'd be. I didn't think that I could develop such a strong personal interest in a--well--"
"Bank robber? I didn't work at the trade long, Doc."
"Of course, I'm glad I have," he went on. "But what I'm trying to say is, I'd take it much harder than I thought I would if anything unpleasant should happen to you."
"Unpleasant?" I said.
"About your parole," he said, with a haste I could not understand. "I suppose you know it wasn't strictly on the level."
I swallowed. Hard. "You mean there's some danger that . . . ?"
"Now, don't get excited. Ijust thought I'd warn you that we are in a little hell when we face Myrtle Briscoe tomorrow morning. You know who she is. The State Commissioner of Corrections; also the head of the Parole Board."
"I know," I said. "I hope--"
"Myrtle would let you rot in hell before she'd parole you to me or any of my connections. Willingly. But Myrtle necessarily is sometimes absent from the capital, and, legally, the governor then becomes acting commissioner. He's legally the head of every department during the absence of its nominal head."
"But he's not supposed to use that power?"
"Not except in emergencies which I can't conceive as arising. It's a serious abridgement of democratic principles. Myrtle's elected--God knows how many times, incidentally--because the people like what she stands for. The governor, who's only in office to get as much as he can, gives them something else."
"What--" I swallowed again, "--what can she do, Doc?"
"I don't want to get you in an uproar, Pat. You seemed like such a cool-headed guy, I thought I could discuss things with you."
"You can," I said. "I'll keep my Sandstone shakes to myself."
"Well, there's nothing she can do. Nothing she will do. Oh, of course, she could go to the newspapers and throw her weight around generally, but the object lesson she'd give us wouldn't be worth the trouble. You're out now. Her tactic will be to take advantage of the fact."
"How can she do that?"
"More ways than I care to think about." He yawned, and eased himself from his chair. "That's my department, though. We'll hear some of them in the morning when we pay our courtesy call."
"Can't we--do we have to see her?" I said.
"Oh, yes. Any kind of delay would be very dangerous. Moreover, I imagine you'll have to see her every month during the term of your parole. I don't think she'd trust a case like you to a run-of-the-mill probation officer."
"Well," I said. "Forewarned, forearmed."
He chuckled and moved toward the door. "That's better. I'm glad to see I was right about you. A worrier could be very annoying."
"I understand," I said. "I'll try not to bother you."
"Well, don't get corked up. You'll need a lot of help in getting squared away and I'm glad to give it. I just don't want you upsetting yourself and me with senseless fretting."
We said goodnight.
I began to undress, wondering what made him tick, and why the ticks were as they were. It settled down to who he really was--the threatening, cold-eyed man who had bullied Burkman, or the man who had been angry over the pollution of a river and ashamed of being part of the general pattern of pollution.
Whichever was the case, one thing was certain: he was a considerable improvement over Warden Fish. Whatever happened to me, nothing could be worse than being back in Sandstone. I would be better off dead than there.
I went to sleep on that thought.

4
The little alarm clock at my bedside went off at seven, and after I had showered and was shaving, another white-jacketed Negro wheeled in a breakfast cart.