"Дон Пендлтон. California Hit ("Палач" #11) " - читать интересную книгу автора

from the Golden Gate. "You got the wrong number, honey," it reported.
"There's no LaMancha here."
The operator went through the formality of verifying the number. The
man assured her that indeed she had gotten the number she'd dialed, but he
still didn't know anybody named LaMancha.
Bolan heard the decisive click of that instrument nearly three thousand
miles away. His own voice had never entered the connection. The operator
told him, "I'm sorry, sir. Would you like to refer to Pittsfield
information?"
He replied, "Thanks, I'll check my own book."
He hung up and studied his watch. It was 5:30. It would be 8:30 in
Pittsfield. He looked up to find the China doll studying him from the
kitchen doorway.
"Your kitchen is a mess," she told him.
"Find the coffee okay?"
She nodded her head. "Make your call?"
He said, "No good. Try again in five minutes please."
She smiled. "Thank you, Mack."
"For what?"
"For bringing me here. For... trusting me. I know what it must be
costing you - in your own peace of mind."
He grinned and told her, "That's one of war's nicer sacrifices."
"I guess I always pictured... men like you... as living high on the
hog. You know. Luxury hotel suites, flashy broads lying all around hot and
naked, gourmet food and vintage wines, all that..."
Bolan shook his head. "That's the enemy you're thinking of."
She said, "Well does this crash pad come equipped with a John?"
He smiled. "Off the bedroom, and watch out for the roaches."
She made a face at him and disappeared.
Bolan smoked and watched the time tick by. At 5:35 he again picked up
the phone, but this time he poked out a direct-dial to a public telephone
which was located several Pittsfield city blocks from the home of Leopold
Turrin, a caporegime in Bolan's home town, scene of the original
conflagration point of this impossible damned war.
One of the nicer surprises of the Pittsfield battle was the last-second
revelation that Leo Turrin was an undercover cop.
It was friends like Leo that made the war a bit less impossible... but
just a bit less.
They had worked out the telephone routine for contacts which would not
jeopardize the security of either.
Bolan got his response this time on the first ring.
A hell of a comforting sound said, "Yeah, hello."
Bolan said, "Avon calling."
"Well at least you didn't drag me out in the middle of the night this
time. Hey... paisano... get the hell out of that Goddamned town."
"Can't. Not yet. The irons are hot."
"That's not all that's hot. The wires are burning from coast to coast,
and they're all screaming one thing. Death to Bolan. You picked a bummer
this time, buddy."
"They're all bummers. The word is already out back there, eh."