"Dibdin, Michael - Aurelio Zen 02 - Vendetta UC - part 09" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dibdin Michael)

rumbles and echoes continued to reverberate in the walls
and ground for several seconds.
The lion-keeper was on his knees at the far end of the
hut, bent over the heap on the ground. Zen started
towards him, his shoes rustling on the straw underfoot.
'Stay there!' the man shouted.
Zen stopped. He looked around the hot, still, fetid
gloom of the hut. Two pitchforks, some large plastic
buckets, a shovel and lengths of rope and chain were
strewn about the floor in disorder. A coiled whip and a
pump-action shotgun hung from nails hammered into the
roof supports.
'What was that?' Zen called.
The man got to his feet.
'The air force. They come here to practise flying low over
the mountains. When Signor Burolo was...'
He broke off.
'Yes?' Zen prompted.
'They didn't bother us then.'
I bet they didn't, thought Zen. A few phone calls and a
hefty contribution to the officers' mess fund would have
seen to that.
The low melancholy growl was repeated once more, a
feeble echo of the jet's brief uproar, like a child feebly
imitating a word it does not understand.
It does not sound happy, the lion,' Zen observed.
'It is dying.'
'Of what?'
'Of old age.'
'The planes disturb it'
'Strangers too.'
The man's tone was uncompromising. Zen pointed to
the scar on his forearm.
'But it is still dangerous, I see.'
The man brushed past him towards the door.
'A very neat job, though,' Zen commented, following
him out. 'More like a knife or a bullet than claws.'
'You know a lot about lions?' the keeper demanded
sarcastically, as they emerged into the brilliant sunlight
and pure air.
'Only what I read in the papers.'
The man walked over to the smaller hut and brought out
a plastic bucket filled with a bloody mixture of hearts,
lungs and intestines.
'I notice that you keep a shotgun in there,' Zen pursued,
'so I assume there is reason for fear.'
The man regarded him with blank eyes.
'There is always reason for fear when you are dealing
with creatures to whom killing comes naturally.'
Seeing him standing there in open defiance, the bucket