"Crais, Robert - Elvis Cole 08 - L.A. Requiem 1.1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Crais Robert)

Pike looked away, and sighed.

The homeless man peered at us hopefully. "Would you have a small job that needs a careful craftsman? I am available, don't you know?"

I gave him ten bucks. "What's your name?"

"Edward Deege, Master Carpenter."

"Okay, Edward. Thanks."

"No job too small."

"Hey, Edward. We want to talk to you again, you around?"

"I am but a Dixie cup on the stream of life, but, yes, I enjoy the reservoir. I can often be found there."

"Okay, Edward. Thanks."

Edward Deege peered at Pike some more, then stepped back, as if troubled. "Release your rage, my friend. Rage kills."

Pike pulled away.

I said, "You think he saw anything, or he was just scam-mingus?"

"He was right about the ponytail. Maybe he saw a four-wheel-drive."

We followed Lake Hollywood Drive down to Barham, and when we turned left toward the freeway, Pike said, "Elvis."

Karen Garcia's red Mazda RX-7 was parked behind a flower shop on this side of Barham, opposite the Jungle Juice. We hadn't seen it when we were at the Jungle Juice because it was behind a building across the street. We couldn't see it until we were coming down, and I wished then that it wasn't there to see.

Pike turned into the parking lot, and we got out. The Mazda's engine was cool, as if it had been parked here a very longtime.

"Been here all night."

Pike nodded.

"If she went up to run, that means she never came down." I looked back up the hill.

Pike said, "Or she didn't leave by herself."

"She's running, she meets some guy, and they use his car. She's probably on her way back to pick up the Mazda now." I said it, but neither of us believed it.

We asked the people at the flower shop if they had seen anything, but they hadn't. We asked every shopkeeper in the strip mall and most of the employees, but they all said no. I hoped they had seen something to indicate that Karen was safe, but deep down, where your blood runs cold, I knew they hadn't.



CHAPTER 3

With her father's money, Karen Garcia could've lived anywhere, yet she chose a modest apartment in a Latin-hip part of Silver Lake favored by families. The Gipsy Kings played on someone's stereo; the smells of chili and cilantro were fresh and strong. Children played on the lawns, and couples laughed about the heat storm. Around us, great palms and jacarandas slashed like the tails of nervous cats, but the area wasn't littered with fronds and limbs. I guess if you cared about your neighborhood you cleaned up the mess without waiting for the city to do it for you.