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

feeling sick inside with you when you hit a dead-end.

It was getting so I hated the sight of you. Seeing you every day, night and day, never
losing you. And seeing you always moving in my sleep at night, moving on and on, your big body
slouched a little, stalking the trail, always ahead of me.

I thought I'd go crazy, always seeing you like this. And there were times when I wanted to
scream and run up to you with that automatic in my fist and blast your head off. And then I'd
watch you die, I thought, and I'd laugh. What did I care for thirty thousand dollars!

Yes, there were times when I felt that way and almost bumped you off. But, somehow, I
managed to keep going, letting you lead the way, and waiting. And I learned why you were
called "Relentless Johnnie Dale."

You used to see Betty Stanton often, too. You usually met her in that same little bar-and-
grill just below Times Square. It must have been hard to keep telling her that you had no word
about her brother and to see that look in her eyes.

That time when the river patrol had dragged the body of a kid out of the Hudson--there was
a note in your voice, deep and sort of choking, and I could tell it was hurting you when you
asked her to go down to the morgue and see if she could identify it.

But that kid they pulled from the river wasn't Wayne Stanton. You met his sister again the
next night, and the next more often than you really had to, I was thinking.

By now, it was on the grapevine that you were on the case and what you were doing; and, if
you had had any worries, you would have had more than me to worry about. Because I wasn't the
only one following you.

It doesn't take too long for that kind of news to get around the underworld, and there were
a lot of boys in New York who wanted to get their hands on that thirty grand!

And then I began to worry, too.

It wasn't till you ran across that bank note that I saw the play, and then things started
to build up fast. I guess I didn't get it at first, because I hadn't thought anyone else knew
where the money was cached. But there was something funny about the way that kid turned up the
bank note.

There had been a few large bills in with the bonds that Nickie Morielli had gotten away
with from the Century Trust, and a lot of the merchants in town had pasted their serial numbers
up alongside the cash registers.

The cashier in that little Village restaurant hadn't noticed the bill until the kid left,
but, fortunately, I remembered him because I had kept wondering where I'd seen him before.

And when you ram across another one of those bills in that bar on Greenwich Street, the
next night, I knew it wasn't just coincidence that they should turn up in the very places you
happened to be in.