"killerinthehouse" - читать интересную книгу автора (Blackmon Robert C)

Johnny yelled almost as loudly as I did and came out of the closet on my heels. He was
swinging a coat hanger he'd grabbed off the rod in the closet.

I swung at the pale blob of the man's face before me and connected with a glancing blow.
It didn't do much harm. Steel made a liquid path through the darkness, and I yelled as it
sliced into my shoulder. I missed the next punch entirely.

Johnny closed in, yelling and swinging the coat hanger.

The knife-armed man whipped around and sprinted toward the hall door. I saw that he was
in his underwear. I went after him. Johnny got in my way, and both of us went to the floor
in a sprawling fall. Before either of us could get up, the half-dressed killer had got out
of the room and closed the door.

Swearing, I went after him. Johnny came along behind me, still swinging the coat hanger.
I got the door open, and we plunged out into the hallway.

A man in shorts and a white cotton undershirt was sprinting along the main hallway,
toward the other side of the building. There was a knife in his right hand, in the dim light
of the hallway, I could see blood on the steel. It must have been my blood, it was so fresh.

I ran faster than I've ever run. I'd always thought a big man couldn't get over the
ground fast, but I covered ground then. I made about six long jumps, then went into a
plunging dive, my arms out for the moving legs of the man before me. Johnny was running
along behind, with the coat hanger,

My hands banged into a bare ankle and I clamped onto it with my fingers. It was almost
jerked out of my grip, but I held on, crashed to the floor, and dragged the knife-armed man
down with me. I hit on my chest, and the fall all but knocked all the breath out of me.

Grunting, gagging for air, I let go my ankle hold and scrambled forward, pulling myself
up and over the half-dressed knifeman. I already knew who he was. I'd known it about a
minute.

Cursing, he twisted around on the floor, slashed at me with the bloody knife, and ripped
the left sleeve of my best blue suit coat from shoulder to wrist. But the steel didn't get
any of me. I hitched up higher, half on my knees and holding myself up mostly with my left
arm, and let go a hard right. All of my two hundred and thirty pounds were behind the punch.

My knuckles exploded squarely on the jaw and I felt the shock of the blow all the way
to my shoulder. I knew I wouldn't have to hit again for a good half-hour. The man under me
went limp, his head banging back against the floor. The knife fell as his right hand opened
suddenly. Johnny kicked the weapon twenty feet along the hallway a split second after it hit
the floor. He was dancing around us, yelling and waving the coat hanger.

Then it was all over. We had murder, two of them, in the house, but I had the killer.
He was Neal Carter, the dark-haired, stocky man from Room 706.