"John Dalmas - The Second Coming" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dalmas John)

Carl's answer snapped. "Watch your mouth! Your mother's our big sister!"


"And my dad's a Finn."


"Finns are Aryans!"


"You ever hear Finnish? It's kin to Mongol. Finns are Asiatic."
"I don't give a shit about the language! I've seen Finns. Used to work in the woods
with 'em. Worked with your dad. He was blond, blonder than Anna, and when you
were little, you had hair the color of cotton. That's Aryan!"


He paused, waiting for Lute's comeback. When all he got was another grin, he asked,
"How come fifty thousand?"


"How many people do you think would like to kill Ngunda Aran?"


"God! There's got to be millions! I know a hundred myself."


"And he's still running around breathing and talking. Why do you suppose that is?"
When neither of his uncles replied, Lute answered his own question. "To him, fifty
thousand is nothing. He wipes his ass with hundred-dollar bills. He's living on a big
ranch in Colorado, farther out in nowhere than you are, and you can bet your ass he's
got protection. High-powered, expensive, professional protection."


He paused for effect. "I'll tell you what. You give meтАФthree thousand ought to cover
itтАФand I'll drive down to Colorado. Go to the Soil Conservation Service and buy the
aerial photos for Huerfano County. Then I'll rent a plane and fly over the place. Learn
the terrain. There's a squatters' camp full of hippies on the property; I'll go there and
see what I can learn. Snoop around in the dark with night binoculars, sketch out a
map. If it looks doable, I'll talk to some guys I know. Old buddies from my merc
days; best pros you can find. Then come back and talk business. If it doesn't look
doable, you're out three big ones, and I've wasted three, four weeks of my time."


He raised the mug and sipped boiled coffee. There was a long silence before Carl
spoke again. "Three thousand's a lot of money for no guarantee."


Lute grunted. "You ought to be used to that. You put in a crop every spring without
knowing if you'll get diddly out of it. And I drove nine hundred miles from Portland
with no guarantee, because you asked me to."