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

like this? Bolan might be out there somewhere, watching the joint, checking
it out. He could be.
Now if the boys just didn't get uptight and...
The Tiger went out through the French doors to the garden-patio and
casually circled the grounds. The fog was lifting. It was now holding at
about rooftop level, but the air below it was still saturated with moisture,
cold, uncomfortable. Miserable goddam crap! The outside boys would be
getting stiff and disgruntled if this kept up.
Rivoli made a mental note to make hourly shifts. As unobtrusively as
possible, he would have to rotate those boys between the cars and the
open-air stakeouts. The inside boys stayed inside, period and bullshit.
There would be no juggling around with those hard boys inside.
A police car went by out front, cruising slowly, and the sight of it
disrupted the Tiger's chain of thought. He frowned and headed that way.
Those jerks would scare the guy off. Imagine, patrolling in a marked
cruiser. How dumb could a cop get? Were they trying to scare the guy away?
As he reached the front of the big house, Rivoli noted that a delivery
van was standing at the curb down by the service gate, and a guy was coming
out of the van with a clipboard under his arm.
Cool it, goddammit, cool it! Don't go slapping that guy up against the
fence and frisking him, Christ's sake!
The Tiger hurried forward to personally supervise the reception of the
deliveryman, groaning inwardly with the certain feeling that the two gatemen
were going to over-react - and that those cops in the cruiser would nose
into the act. One thing Tony did not need at this point was cops swarming
all over the place and asking a lot of jerky questions.
His worries were apparently an over-reaction within himself, though,
and this he discovered as soon as he was within earshot of the service gate.
Apparently the boys knew this guy, this delivery jerk. He was a tall
guy wearing Levi's and a white jacket, and Rivoli himself had seen the Bay
Messengers truck around the neighborhood. The guy had shoved his hat back
away from his forehead, and he was grinning and scratching the bridge of his
nose with a pencil.
Jerry the Lover Aspromonte was jawing around with the guy through the
closed gate, obviously kidding him about something, and Rivoli caught the
scrap of a comment, "... told you the other day, meathead, LaManchas don't
live here,"
The guy sort of giggled and told Jerry the Lover, "Aw shit, ain't you
ever gonna let me live that down?"
"Shit it ain't my fault you can't read th' fuckin' addresses,"
Aspromonte was saying when Rivoli got there.
"I got it right this time," the guy insisted, with a pleading glance at
the new arrival. "You gonna take the damn package or ain't you?"
Tony Tiger didn't give a damn about this jerk and his small worries.
The cop car, sure as hell, had come to a complete halt and the dummies were
idling there beside the van and ogling the little exchange at the fence.
Rivoli angrily punched the electronic lock and swung out through the
gate, causing the delivery jerk to dance back out of the way. The Tiger
crossed the street and leaned into the cruiser.
"You guys need something?" he inquired quietly.