"Best, Mark - Comeback" - читать интересную книгу автора (Best Mark)

"I went up for assult with attempt to kill. I don't know from safes. Did you get too caught up reading Dick Tracy to check my file?"

The punch came. I was expecting it this time and braced myself, but it still knocked me down onto the wet ground. I felt a hand grab me by the belt and scoop me into the wall. My left arm went numb. His fist found my kidney. I didn't fall this time, but I was in pain.

"You're on your way to the hospital, boy. Then I'll bust you for assulting a cop, violating your parole by going to a bar and consorting with known felons, and anything else I can think up. You understand?"

I thought about complimenting him on the use of "consort", but I still had ribs he hadn't broken, so I just nodded.

"Good," he continued. "Now maybe we'll get somewhere.

"I've been reading up on you. Suspected in over twenty big money jobs from '88 to '94. I know it was more like fifty. All professional jobs, big scores, no evidence. Whoever done them was an expert in explosives. Your take had to be upwards of one hundred gees. You ain't one for drinking or gambling or spending it on broads, so I figure you got a cool nest egg set aside somewhere. Smart boy like you, probably thinking about going straight and spending some of that dough. I know a dozen ways to frame a two-time loser like you, chuck you in a cell till that money don't buy you nothing but a coffin. Or I could just kill you, put a gun in your hand, and nobody asks no questions. I done that one before."

Slattery stopped talking and I didn't start. The rain continued to fall and drowned out the city noises. The occasional car sloshing through a puddle, or the whine of a bus's diesel engine, was the only evidence that Slattery and myself were not alone on Earth.

I knew he'd tell me eventually, so I decided to get it over with. "Okay, you let me go straight. What's the cost?"

Slattery started to laugh. "I knew you weren't dumb. Now, you ever heard of someone in the DA's office named Ettleman?"

"Sure, everyone's heard of him. He's as dirty as you are."

Slattery ignored my last remark. "Ever since he got hisself promoted, Ettleman's been building his own little operation. About a year ago, he cut in on some of my business. I went to see him, to discuss my stuff, and do you know what happened?" The dick's voice got even higher and quivery. "Do you know what that college-puke sonuvabitch did? He threw me out. Called two state cops to throw me out of his office. Called me small time. Punk."

"Punk," I said. "But what does this have to do with me?"

"I'm getting to that peterman. Like I said, I know about your jobs. Ain't a safe been made that Jacko can't break. If you can't crack it, you blow it. Fact is, you're the best explosives man in the business."

"Not me. I was just a yegg. Someone else did the explosives. I never touched the stuff." I didn't like where this was heading.

Slattery threw his bulk at me with the grace of an avalanche, crushing me against the wall and bringing one knee up into my still-sore kidney. "The Parker House job. Fierstein's Jewelry. Old lady Stevenson's safe. You think I don't know what I'm talking about? You did all those jobs solo. I also know you blew the warehouse of the fence that was stiffing your gang. Blew up his entire stash. He tried to get even by icing one of your people, so you shot him in the kneecaps. He almost died."

I tried to conceal my surprise. Slattery had pretty good information himself. Nobody but the fixer could connect me to the heists he'd mentioned. I had gone to the resort for the kneecap shooting, but no one outside of my mob, I thought, knew about the warehouse bomb.

"He was nowhere close to dying. If I'd wanted him dead, I'd have aimed higher. I didn't want to kill him. I'm no chiller."

"You, punk, are whatever I say you are. I want Ettleman dead. I want it loud and I want pieces of him as far away as Jersey."

"Why me?" I asked.

Slattery smiled. "Because you can. You can blow anything, and no one will trace it to you, cause you're just a peterman who's too much of a wimp to put a bullet in the brain of someone who chilled one of your mob."

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope.

"Here's a grand. Get what you need. Don't think I'm gonna shaft you. Ettleman dies, you get ten grand. But you cross me, or try to run, I'll have your ass."

I was dismissed as Slattery turned his back and walked away.

I waited a few minutes to be sure that he had left, then staggered out of the alley. The beating Slattery had given me was as good a beating as I had ever had. Nothing was broken, there would be few marks, but anytime I moved in the next week, I would remember it. Whatever else he was, Slattery was a man who knew his job.

I went back into Mike's and received a much different welcome than I had only a few hours before. Eyes avoided mine, and no words were spoken. I was on Slattery's list and was to be left alone. His anger might rub off.