"Allston, Aaron - Doc Sidhe 01 - Doc Sidhe" - читать интересную книгу автора (Allston Aaron)

Phipps left the limousine and joined the men from the van. They sent Adonis around to the back of the houseЧinstructing it very carefully, as they always had to do, where the various hands of the pocket watch had to be before it walked through the back door. Then Phipps and two of his men moved up to the front door.
The old man watched and waited. He smiled; they were so close to his dream. It was like the end of a huge, exquisite meal, and the masterwork of a dessert had just been laid before him.
He watched one of PhippsТ menЧwas it Dominguez, the one with all the tattoos? no, Kleine, the one with the charming children in all the wallet photosЧkick in the front door. The three men rushed in. One of them closed the door immediately.
Minutes passed. Lights went on and off at various places in the Carpenter house. There were no gunshots, and the old man nodded approvingly. Knives were much better. Less apt to wake the neighbors.
But Phipps and all the others came trotting back out of the house . . . without the Donohue woman. PhippsТ face was rigid as he climbed back into the driverТs seat. УTheyТre gone,Ф he said.
The old man raised his brows. УInteresting.Ф
Phipps picked up the tracer and turned it on. УThe cars are still in the garage, and the place was locked up tight. Maybe they spotted usЧ Dammit!Ф
УIs she not registering?Ф
УNo, she is. Her signalТs getting fainter. She has a big head start. But that phantom blip is back.Ф Phipps scowled at the device, then handed it over to the old man.
The screen showed a big, fuzzy blur in the center. That represented the overlapping emanations from the old man and Adonis. The old man tilted and rotated the device until he picked up the fainter glow that had to be the Donohue woman.
But there, in the same direction, at the edge of the screen, was a new glow. Faint, fading in and out. But if he read its characteristics right, it was a strong signal, far away, at the limits of the deviceТs ability to detect.
He bit back on a curse. УLetТs go. The Donohue woman first. Then we find out who our new friend is.Ф
Phipps put the limo into motion. The van carrying the other men and Adonis lumbered into line behind.

One man kept Doc under the gun while the other quickly checked out the other rooms in the apartment, then stood Doc up against the wall and patted him all over. A search for hidden weapons, Doc guessed, and they found his pistol immediately. The man doing the patting pulled it free, saying УLookee here. DonТt tell me you have a license for this.Ф
УIЧФ
УShut up. IТm required to advise you of your rights. You have the right to remain silent . . . Ф
The man gave Doc a halting, badly memorized litany of his rightsЧgood to know, he thought, and committed them to memory as they were spokenЧwhile finishing the search. Then the man twisted his arm up behind him, obviously to conduct him to whatever served them as a gaol. Or so Doc thought.
Then pain, horrible burning pain clamped onto his wrist. It shot like fire up his arm and through his body. He heard the bellow of agony tear free of him, felt his knees begin to buckle, saw redness cloak his vision.
Torture. Harris didnТt say these police were torturers. Murderers. He twisted, brought his other elbow into his torturerТs gut, and was rewarded with a grunt of pain from the man. But the pressure on his arm didnТt let up, and shock was already robbing him of his strength. With his free hand he shoved against the wall, pushing them both backwardЧ
Then the second man hammered his head, once, twice, with something small and metal-hard. All strength left him and he crashed to the old, gray-green carpet.
As DocТs senses dimmed, he felt them twist his other arm around and shackle it, too, with the poisonous metal. Pain tore through his other arm.
УChrist, Jay, whatТs going on with his wrists?Ф
УHell if I know. Maybe they were already like that.Ф
Doc tried to speak, but the pain was too intense. Only a faint hiss emerged.
УGet the cuffs off him.Ф
УHell you say. HeТll be all over us again.Ф
УThen get on the phone and call this in. WeТre going to need . . . Ф
That was the last he heard.
* * *
HarrisТ stomach did flip-flops: what were they doing to Doc up there? Why? Had he been stupid enough to attack the cops?
Hell, УcopsФ didnТt mean anything to Doc, and there was no telling what he might have done. At least there hadnТt been any gunshots. Harris got to the corner and looked up the street. There was no police unit parked within sight; they must have arrived in an unmarked car. And in a couple of minutes, theyТd be leading him down in cuffs . . .
Cuffs. Did New York cops use steel handcuffs, or nickel-plated? Oh, hell.
Harris ran to the entrance, praying heТd remembered to take GabyТs keysЧand there they were, still in the fanny pack. Once again they got him through the main door.
He ran up to the third story two steps at a time, then slowed for the last flight.
No one in the hall outside her apartment. Mr. Crenshaw would be in his room, waiting for someone to tell him everything was all right.
Harris moved up to the door. It was ajar a couple of inches. He faintly heard someone talking. Peeking in, he could see DocТs feet. Doc had to be lying on his stomach. The manТs legs shook.
Harris hesitated. If the cops had cuffs on him, Doc could die before they figured it out. But if that wasnТt what was going on, Harris could be throwing away years of his life.
Or getting killed.
False bravado steeled him against that last thought. Hell, I almost got killed just showing that I could walk on I-beams. He threw the door open and charged.
One man, black and in good shape, was just emerging from the kitchen. The other, white and big, was kneeling over DocТs body in the middle of the living room. There was something going on with DocТs hands . . .
The men were caught off guard. Harris stopped over DocТs body and rotated into a side kick that caught the black man right in the balls, folding him up like a hinge; he fell to his knees.
Harris, still recovering, drove a knuckle-punch into the second manТs neck; then he had his balance again and brought his foot up in a forward kick against the manТs face. The white man, already grabbing at his injured throat, went over backwards, hitting the floor with a boom that shook the walls.
A glance for the black man; that man was up on shaky legs and was clawing awkwardly at his coat pocket. Harris stepped in close and spun. His backhand cracked into the manТs temple, dazing him, and a follow-through punch combination to the gut and ribs put him down.
Less than ten seconds from start to finish. Harris stood over the bodies of the men heТd beaten and trembled as though heТd run a marathon.
HeТd just beaten up two cops. His life was over.
Doc. The white-haired man lay still as death . . . and his hands. The flesh around the wrists was blackened as though it had been exposed to an acetylene torch. Blisters radiated away from the handcuffs, covering his hands, continuing up under his sleeves. His breathing was fast and shallow, like a dogТs pantЧbut at least he was breathing.
Harris hurriedly took the copsТ guns, then shut the door to the apartment. A minuteТs worth of searching yielded the handcuff keys in one of their pantsТ pockets.
Harris unlocked the cuffs on Doc, then delicately pried them free of his flesh. Blisters broke as he did so, and clear fluid ran across the manТs burned wrists; Harris had to swallow down revulsion as he got Doc free of the restraints.