"Asprin, Robert - Catwoman 02 - Tiger Hunt (txt)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Asprin Robert)

target building. It had oversize wheels, a chrome-plated rollbar, and more
top-mounted lights than a precinct cruiser. It also had a customized sound
system and four sullen-faced attendants. It pumped the street full of what
passed for music, which, by the time it reached Selina keeping vigil in a
partially renovated building up the block, had been reduced to a thudding,
monotone bass.
The owners of the 4 ╫ 4 belonged to one of a handful of gangs doing the
drug business in Gotham's marginal neighborhoods. A long step down from
the million-dollar enterprises that kept Commissioner Gordon and the
municipal police busy, the gangs waged ceaseless, brutal wars with each
other. Abandoned buildings were the fortresses from which these hardened
men oppressed a few unfortunate city blocks and sold their merchandise to a
petty kingdom of hustlers and users. Once a day couriers brought the drugs
in; once a day they took the money uptown.
Inconspicuously perched on a windowsill, Selina held her breath when
another mobile sound system cruised up the street. She didn't know if the
noisy black vehicle belonged to friends of the stationary crimson one or to
mortal enemies. Elaborate greetings and gestures were exchanged; there
was no gunfire. Selina let her breath out with a sigh. The black vehicle
double-parked. Its speakers quieted. An exchange was made: a crate of
money left the building, a crate of drugs went in.
Catwoman's teeth showed through Selina's smile as the black vehicle fired
up its sound system and roared away. Her money worries were as good as
over.
She went inside and, using a lumpy grocery bag for a pillow, she curled up
for a nap while the gang converted its fresh supply of drugs into cold,
untraceable cash. The smile was replaced by a clenched-jaw snarl: the bass
was just erratic enough to keep her awake. The fresh-painted walls
surrounding her glowed yellow, amber, then red as the afternoon crept to an end. Streetlights flared; the sound never relented. Selina shed her street
clothes and pulled the sleek, black catsuit over her body. Its hood and mask
fit snugly around her head without dulling her senses.
She approached the building cautiously. The gang was undoubtedly
armed with automatic weapons and keeping a lookout for the enemies it
knew it had. The swaggering gangsters had little practice with the powerful
weapons they brandished readily. They were almost as likely to shoot
themselves or their friends as they were to shoot an enemy---especially a
nearly invisible enemy whose specialty was hand-to-hand, close-quarters
combat.
Ghosting down the trash-filled stairwell, Catwoman spotted the gang's
upstairs lookout slouched against an empty window frame. A state-of-theart
assault rifle was propped against the peeling wall beside him. She knew
the make of the rifle and that the paint was peeling, because they and the
lookout were illuminated by a cool, flickering light. His attention was
focused on the light on the windowsill in front of him; he had no idea there
was someone perched on the bannister one flight up.
Catwoman gathered herself for the pounce. He'd never reach his fancy
weapon; never know what hit him.
She froze instead.
A flicker of movement on another roof had drawn her attention. It was not
repeated. There wasn't much for her memory to chew on, just the