"Daniels, Norman A - Paid To Die - Avenger 4003 backstory" - читать интересную книгу автора (Daniels Norman A)

can work over you without rushing things. You're under arrest for aiding and abetting a murder. Make
a grab for one of those pig stickers, and I'll plow you under with lead!"


"Wait a minute, copper," a harsh voice snarled. "Drop that roscoe and turn around--real slow.
Nick, take the gun away from him. Watch yourself!"

Nick wrested the gun from O'Hara's fist. The big detective wheeled carefully. There were two men
in the lunch cart. Both had guns held low so anyone from the street wouldn't see them. The two thugs
motioned O'Hara to walk out of the lunch cart.

At the door a gun was drilled into his spine. The killer had only to squeeze the trigger, an act
that would take far less time than O'Hara's movements in getting clear.

"Beat it, copper!" one of the thugs snarled. "There's a car right at the curb. Climb in and one
peep outta y'u means y'ur finish."

O'Hara opened the door of the diner. There were a few pedestrians walking along the street. None
of them seemed to have been attracted by any disturbance.

O'Hara climbed into the car and the two thugs sat on either side of him. The driver had the
motor purring and the car slid away smoothly,

"Better put his lights out," the thug on his right suggested with a grin of anticipation. "Not
that it makes much difference if he knows where we're taking him, but y'u never can tell."

O'Hara braced himself for the blow. It came, with murderous violence down on his already
tortured skull. He rolled back with it expertly. A galaxy of spinning lights flashed before his
eyes. O'Hara slumped, slid off the seat and landed on the floor. One of the thugs laughed raucously
and kicked him.

But O'Hara wasn't out. The full force of the blow had been tempered by his act of moving with
it. He was dizzy, weak as a two-hour-old pup, but he knew what was going on.

The car headed east, toward the river, passing along squalid streets that were silent, now, for
it was early morning. Once a thug leaned down and slapped O'Hara across the face. When he drew no
response, he settled back contentedly.

"When I slug 'em, they stay cold," he boasted. "What do y'u suppose the boss will do with this
copper? Wait--I know! He'll get what a couple of other mugs did--a foot bath in plaster of Paris and
then a real bath on the bottom of the river. Not a bad way to get rid of him, either. The boss has
plenty of brains,"

When the car finally drew up before a ramshackle old house, O'Hara risked a quick glance in
order to get his bearings. He was dragged out of the car, gripped by his arms and lugged over a
cement walk, up a few steps and into a house. He was flung into a chair, and someone threw a glass
of cold water in his face.

O'Hara opened his eyes, groaned and looked around through half-closed eyes. He seemed badly
affected by the blow on his head. Someone laughed harshly. Ten minutes went by and O'Hara made no