"Barker, Clive - Books of Blood 03" - читать интересную книгу автора (Barker Clive)

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'Ricky? Oh God, Ricky!'
Birdy knelt beside Ricky's body and shook him. At least he was still breathing, that was something, and though at first sight there seemed to be a great deal of blood, in fact the wound was merely a nick in his ear.
She shook him again, more roughly, but there was no response. After a frantic search she found his pulse: it was strong and regular. Obviously he'd been attacked by somebody, possibly Lindi Lee's absent boyfriend. In which case, where was he? Still in the John perhaps, armed and dangerous. There was no way she was going to be damn fool enough to step in there and have a look, she'd seen that routine too many times. Woman in Peril: standard stuff. The darkened room, the stalking beast. Well, instead of walking bang into that clichщ she was going to do what she silently exhorted heroines to do time and again: defy her curiosity and call the cops.
Leaving Ricky where he lay, she walked up the aisle, and back into the foyer.
It was empty. Lindi Lee had either given up on her boyfriend altogether, or found somebody else on the street outside to take her home. Whichever, she'd closed the front door behind her as she left, leaving only a hint of Johnson's Baby Powder on the air behind her. OK, that certainly made things easier, Birdy thought, as she stepped into the Ticket Office to dial the cops. She was rather pleased to think that the girl had found the commonsense to give up on her lousy date.
She picked up the receiver, and immediately somebody spoke.
'Hello there,' said the voice, nasal and ingratiating, 'it's a little late at night to be using the phone, isn't it?'
It wasn't the operator, she was sure. She hadn't even punched a number.
Besides, it sounded like Peter Loire.
'Who is this?'
'Don't you recognise me?'
'I want to speak to the police.'
'I'd like to oblige, really I would.'
'Get off the line, will you? This is an emergency! I need the police.'
'I heard you first time,' the whine went on.
'Who are you?'
'You already played that line.'


'There's somebody hurt in here. Will you please - '
'Poor Rick.'
He knew the name. Poor Rick, he said, as though he was a loving friend.
She felt the sweat begin in her brow: felt it sprout out of her pores. He knew Ricky's name.
'Poor, poor Rick,' the voice said again. 'Still I'm sure we'll have a happy ending. Aren't you?'
'This is a matter of life and death,' Birdy insisted, impressed by how controlled she felt sure she was sounding.
'I know,' said Lorre. 'Isn't it exciting?'
'Damn you! Get off this phone! Or so help me - '
'So help you what? What can a fat girl like you hope to do in a situation like this, except blubber?'
'You fucking creep.'
'My pleasure.'
'Do I know you?'
'Yes and no,' the tone of the voice was wavering.
'You're a friend of Ricky's, is that it?' One of the dope-fiends he used to hang out with. Kind of idiot-game they'd get up'to. All right, you've had your stupid little joke,' she said, 'now get off the line before you do some serious harm.'
'You're harassed,' the voice said, softening. 'I understand ..." it was changing magically, sliding up an octave, 'you're trying to help the man you love . . .'its tone was feminine now, the accent altering, the slime becoming a purr. And suddenly it was Garbo.
'Poor Richard,' she said to Birdy. 'He's tried so hard, hasn't he?' She was gentle as a lamb.
Birdy was speechless: the impersonation was as faultless as that of Lorre, as female as the first had been male.
'All right, I'm impressed," said Birdy, 'now let me speak to the cops.'
'Wouldn't this be a fine and lovely night to go out walking, Birdy? Just we two girls together.'
'You know my name.'
'Of course I know your name. I'm very close to you.'
'What do you mean, close to me?'
The reply was throaty laughter, Garbo's lovely laughter.
Birdy couldn't take it any more. The trick was too clever; she could feel herself succumbing to the impersonation, as though she were speaking to the star herself.


'No,' she said down the phone, 'you don't convince me, you hear?' Then her temper snapped. She yelled: 'You're a fake!' into the mouthpiece of the phone so loudly she felt the receiver tremble, and then slammed it down. She opened the Office and went to the outer door. Lindi Lee had not simply slammed the door behind her. It was locked and bolted from the inside.