"Allston, Aaron - Doc Sidhe 02 - Sidhe-Devil" - читать интересную книгу автора (Allston Aaron)

УGod, what a catastrophe that would have been.Ф
У-they insisted on being helpful. Hey, watch Gaby. SheТs going to her uncle Pedro, the cop. I bet she lifts his piece.Ф
УYouТre kidding.Ф Zeb watched. Gaby hugged a middle-aged Latino man, talked sweetly to him, tucked something away in her flower bouquet as she was doing it. УJe-zus. What have you two really been up to the last six months?Ф
УTell you later. Okay, sheТs got fire.Ф
УHuh?Ф
УA gun. Time for us to take off. These guys canТt be here for anyone else but us, so our departure will probably draw them off, keep everyone else safe.Ф
УIТm with you.Ф
УI meant, me and Gaby. Bye.Ф Harris made a strangled noise loud enough for half the hall to hear. He tugged his tie free. УEnough! Time to change before this thing kills me.Ф The crowd laughed. The photographer, plainly upset, tried to wave him back to his position, to no effect.
УGaby and I will be back in fifteen minutes, dressed to gorge. WeТll eat until the first guest blows up.Ф More laughs. He moved through the crowd toward his wife.
Zeb caught up with him. УI meant it, man. You owe me some answers.Ф
УI do. You want someone to shoot at you while you get them?Ф
They reached Gaby. Harris snagged her by the waist, pulling her from the embrace of her father. УIТm stealing her away again, Ted. Be back soon.Ф
When they were a few steps away, Zeb continued, his voice a growl, УI donТt want them shooting at you, either, moron.Ф
Gaby said, УI didnТt spot any more in the crowd.Ф
УThey left,Ф Harris said. УProbably not far.Ф
УWhat do you want to bet theyТre either in our rooms or between here and there?Ф
Harris gave her an admonishing look. УSucker bet.Ф They reached the doors and the hall beyond.
УSo, youТre going to call the police on this?Ф Zeb asked.
Harris shook his head. УNah. Too many complications already. What did you do with the door guard?Ф
Zeb pointed at the couch.
УGet his gun. If he doesnТt have it when he wakes up, he canТt use it.Ф
Zeb stooped beside the couch and dragged the unconscious manТs revolver out. He shoved it into HarrisТs jacket beside the one heТd taken earlier. УI do all this, I do get an answer, donТt I?Ф
УOh, I imagine,Ф Gaby said. УOkay. You want to earn a hundred bucks the easy way?Ф

Zeb shook the conciergeТs hand and pressed the fifties into it. УMy pal just got married down in the Catalina Suite. I want to play a little practical joke on him. IТd like to borrow a staff jacket and one of those rolling dinner trays . . . and to charge some champagne to my room.Ф

Zeb knocked on the brideТs door. There was no response. Gaby slid her card into the lock and Zeb opened the door, then pushed the cart ahead of him as he entered. He slowed the doorТs closing so it came to rest against the jamb without latching. УRoom service,Ф he called.
He didnТt see them until he was almost through the entry hall; beyond, two men, one whose blond beard was heavily tinged with gray and another who was clean-shaven, sat on the bed to the right, and a third, an older man, sat in a hotel chair dragged against the wall to the left.
All were squat and surly. The two on the bed had hands hovering near their armpits. The third, the one with the grayest beard, held something the size and shape of an egg but a gleaming black; this he rolled delicately around in his hand as he stared at Zeb. There was something unnatural about the little item; it didnТt roll the way it should, but wobbled as though something alive were inside it. The man kept his other hand tucked into his jacket pocket.
Zeb managed a smile he didnТt feel. УChampagne for the brideТs party. Compliments of the house.Ф
There was suspicion in the older manТs voice: УWhat house?Ф
Zeb just stared for a moment. Was there anyone in the U.S. who didnТt know what Уcompliments of the houseФ meant? УThe hotel,Ф Zeb said. УCompliments of the hotel. That means free.Ф
The hands moved away from the concealed holsters, but Zeb didnТt sense that the menТs guards were lowering. УPut it there,Ф said the grayest of them, pointing to the window.
УYes, sir.Ф Zeb positioned the rolling rack just so, then gestured like a game-show hostess at the bottle and the bucket of ice. УShall I bring more glasses up?Ф
УNo,Ф said the graybeard. УGet out.Ф
The door into the room widened. Silent, Harris entered. Zeb forced himself not to glance in that direction. УYes, sir,Ф he said.
He took a step as if to leave, then stopped and looked expectantly between them. He gestured at all of them, two fingers toward the men on the bed, one for the one in the chair. УSirs, a gratuity is appropriate.Ф
УWhatТs that?Ф asked the graybeard.
Harris moved forward. Gaby entered behind him. She had PedroТs revolver in both hands, barrel raised toward the ceiling.
УA tip,Ф Zeb explained patiently. УAn informal reward of money for services rendered. At a hotel like this one, an appropriate tip is, well, too damned much.Ф
They looked at each other, confused.
УOkay, forget it,Ф Zeb said. УYou look like some cheap bastards anyway.Ф He lashed out with his left foot, hitting the beardless gunman in the side of the head, a gratifyingly solid connection.
Graybeard was fast. He lobbed the black egg toward Zeb. It hit Zeb in the chest and split open with a moist noise. Graybeard said something; Zeb thought the word was Уbeater.Ф
And suddenly Zeb was wrapped up tight in a black sheet. It felt and smelled like rubber, constricting his arms and legs, holding him tight. He lost his balance and tipped over backward across the bed.
Someone was shouting in his ear, a wordless yammering, УYa ya ya ya ya!Ф Zeb, wrestling with the black sheet, turned to look-right into the glowing eyes of a black rubber face. It was flat as a paper plate, approximately human in its arrangement of features, but looked like a cartoon image of a wild, buck-toothed native, and continued to shriek at Zeb.
УGoddammit, get this thing off me!Ф
Zeb heard a pair of thuds and a click that sounded like the cocking of a gun. He heard Gaby say, УDonТt move. These are steel-jacketed slugs. You know what they do to you.Ф Then hands were on him, rolling him over, yanking at the black sheet.
It seemed actually to struggle, but finally came away from Zeb, and he could see Harris tugging at it. Harris gave it another yank and Zeb rolled free, off the bed and onto the floor.
What Harris held was something that looked like what would result if a large black cartoon man were squashed beneath a steamroller. It was sheet-thin and large enough to be a bedspread, but had definable limbs and head-a lolling head that continued to yammer. Its body now lay limp. Harris thoughtfully began rolling it up into a tube, starting with the head so the yammering was cut off.
Zeb sat up. Nearby, Gaby stood covering the graybeard, the one squat man who was still conscious; she held her gun in a two-handed grip, her wedding dress making it a curious picture. ZebТs gunman was unconscious, leaning against the bedТs headboard; HarrisТs target lay flat on the bed, holding his throat and making choking noises. The graybeard was standing, gripping his right forearm in a way that reminded Zeb of hairline fractures.