"onebullet" - читать интересную книгу автора (Daniels Norman A)

mob is named Renard. I'm going after him."

He wheeled toward the door and went out fast. Pickering shuddered and poured himself a drink of
whiskey. He kept looking nervously at the windows, and the glass rattled against his teeth as he
tried to drink. Five minutes went by. He started toward the hallway. There was a crash of breaking
glass. One of the drawn curtains was torn down. A gun cracked and the bullet hammered into the
woodwork framing the door. Pickering gave a squeal of alarm and did a nose dive across the floor.
He was picking himself up when his phone jangled. He answered it in a croaking voice.

"Pickering," Gallagher's voice came over the wire. "Listen--I just spotted Renard. He was heading
your way."

"He ... he's already been here," Pickering finally managed. "He ... he took a shot at me. Gallagher,
I'm scared. We've got to do something."

"I'll be right over," Gallagher said. "We'll both have to hide out."

Pickering was ready two minutes later, and he had a gun stuffed into his coat pocket. He met
Gallagher while the detective was on his way to the porch. Neither spoke and the detective moved
warily out to the sidewalk for a look around. He signaled Pickering that the coast was clear and
they headed north, walking fast.

A taxi rolled slowly down the street, suddenly picked up speed and swept in to the curb straight
toward them. Its front wheels mounted the sidewalk. Pickering gave a yelp of horror. Gallagher was
more practical. He gave the attorney a hard shove and sent him sprawling--about five feet away.
Then Gallagher jumped, too--just in time to avoid being run down. The cab backed up hastily,
grated gears and dashed off. Gallagher wiped his face and shivered as he helped Pickering to his
feet.

"Whew!" he said softly, "That guy Renard is persistent if nothing else. First he tried to gun you
out, and this time he must have swiped a taxi and tried to run you down. We'd better get away
from here."

"No!" Pickering said wearily. "I ... I'm going back to my home. You're sure that was Renard in
the cab ?"

Gallagher nodded. "I knew the rat. It was Renard, all right. Better run for it. He may come back."

Pickering gulped and nodded. He turned and ran madly toward his home. Gallagher sank quietly into
the shadows, trotted lightly across estates and emerged at the rear of Pickering's home. There he
took up a position from where he could observe three sides of the house. Renard, he knew, would
soon be coming to call. For twenty minutes he remained there wondering if his hunch was not going
to come true.

Then he saw a figure stealthily make its way toward the garage at the rear of Pickering's home.
The door swung open and a moment later a big car rolled out. It gained speed along the drive,
turned into the street and headed south, traveling fast. Another car pulled out from the curb,
halfway down the block, and took up pursuit. Gallagher put two fingers to his lips and whistled
twice. From around the corner came a cab. It slowed and the door opened. Gallagher hopped in. He
leaned forward.