"deaths_option" - читать интересную книгу автора (Barton Gary)

DEATH'S OPTION
by Gary Barton

Jerry Kane couldn't take his eyes off the girl--and it led to murder!

Next to taking rats apart--human rats--and forgetting to put them back
together again, I like to mingle with people. I like crowds, Iights, gaiety.
That's how I came to be in Times Square that night. I was off duty. Rather,
I was officially off duty. That was before I saw the girl.

I don't know why I happened to stroll into Marty's. Maybe I wanted to sit
down a while after having been chasing out of homicide all day. Maybe I
wanted to have a beer and watch the show.

I know damn well I wasn't thinking of murder!

But I started thinking about a lot of things when Iamped the girl sitting
in the corner booth; and they all didn't have anything to do with her
figure. One of those gorgeous Broadway creations--raven-black hair, dark
eyes and that glamorous but cold beauty born in the theater.

But she wasn't turning on the glamour, now. Her lips trembled; her eyes
were wlde and staring--staring at me! And they were filled with terror.
In a swift glance, I took in the party with her-the young, dark-haired
chap next to her: the heavy-set, middle-aged man at the head of the
table with the long, black cigar in his mouth; the paunchy, bald-headed
guy on the opposite side of the table, obviously on the make for the
hard-Iooking blonde on his right. They all seemed to be having a good
time, chatting among themselves.

All but the raven-tressed girl. I turned back toward her. But with that
fleeting, frightened glance she had looked away. But that was enough.
There was something wrong, here. I knew it! I could feeI it.

I wondered what I was supposed to do about it. I couldn't just bust
in on that little party. I couldn't--

I didn't have to wonder any longer. The man's blood-cillling scream
snapped me to my feet. I covered the yards to that table in two leaps.
The middle-aged at the head of the group had slumped across the table,
knocking glassware and service clattering to the floor. He lay with one
side of his face up; he clawed convulsively at the table linen. Bubbling,
gurgling sounds escaped from his lips. Then, like a spent balloon, he
spraddled out and lay still.

And tiny wisps of smoke drifted from his mouth!

I stood watching him for a moment, fascinated by those lazy curls of
smoke. Women were screaming, men shouting; everyone was clustering around
the table. The place was suddenly a bedlam! It, shook me out of my daze.